Chapter Five - Hell in the Highlands

CHAPTER FIVE

Hell in the Highlands

IN OCTOBER 1935, the invasion began.

Italian bombers crossed into Ethiopian skies. Artillery shelled villages. And Mussolini — bloated on fascist pride — called it a “civilizing mission.”

What followed wasn’t just a war. It was a massacre.

The Second Italo-Ethiopian War was supposed to be over quickly. Italy had the numbers, the tech, and the firepower. Ethiopia had a fractured army and fading muskets.

But the terrain had other ideas.

The Ethiopian Highlands are brutal. Thin air, jagged mountains, winding roads that disappear into mist. Italian tanks got stuck. Planes couldn’t see. Soldiers were ambushed by guerrilla fighters who knew every ridge and cave.

It was never going to be clean.

So Mussolini escalated.

He used chemical weapons.

Mustard gas dropped from the sky. Sprayed from planes. Dumped into rivers. Italy bombed hospitals, Red Cross camps, and civilian centers. No shame, no mercy.

It was one of the first large-scale uses of chemical warfare in the modern era — and the world knew. Photographs leaked. Reports circulated. Journalists described burned skin, suffocated lungs, and dying children.

The League of Nations issued a sharp finger wag as punishment.

Italy laughed.

Back in Addis Ababa, Selassie did what he could. He tried to rally troops, organize defenses, and coordinate local lords. Some fought fiercely. Others betrayed him. Whole provinces were swallowed. The capital felt the heat.

So in May 1936, after months of devastation, Selassie made a decision no Ethiopian monarch had made in centuries:

He fled.

It wasn’t cowardice. It was strategy.

He boarded a train, then a ship, then a plane — bound for Geneva, where the League of Nations was still pretending to matter. He wasn’t going to beg. He was going to speak.

On June 30, 1936, Haile Selassie stood before the League, in full imperial dress, and delivered what would become one of the most iconic anti-fascist speeches of the 20th century.

“It is us today.
It will be you tomorrow.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t shout. But the words cut.

He accused Italy of war crimes. He detailed the gas attacks. He named the victims. And he called out the world for its silence.

“God and history will remember your judgment.”

Some delegates booed. Some applauded. But no one forgot.

The press dubbed him “The Voice of Africa.” Time Magazine put him on the cover.

He had lost his country — but in that moment, he gained a global voice.

Meanwhile, Mussolini marched into Addis Ababa. Italy declared victory. Streets were renamed. Statues went up. The fascist press celebrated the return of Roman glory.

But the war wasn’t over.

Ethiopia bled. But it didn’t break. Resistance fighters took to the hills. Priests hid soldiers in monasteries. The people remembered.

And Selassie?

He was in exile.

Watching. Waiting. Writing.

Because emperors fall.
But myths don’t die that easy.