Abiy Ahmed's rise to power in April 2018 was itself a rupture in Ethiopian politics. For nearly three decades, the Tigray People's Liberation Front had dominated the ruling coalition. Abiy, an ethnic Oromo, became the first leader from Ethiopia's largest ethnic group, and he moved fast: releasing political prisoners, lifting bans on opposition groups, making peace overtures to neighboring Eritrea. The public response was electric. The Meskel Square rally was the physical expression of that enthusiasm — a crowd so vast it filled one of Addis Ababa's largest public spaces. But not everyone shared the optimism. Abiy's reforms threatened entrenched interests, and some factions viewed his agenda with suspicion, fear, or outright hostility. Ethiopia had a long history of political violence against its leaders: coup attempts during the reign of Emperor Haile Selassie in 1928 and 1960, and against the Derg military junta under Mengistu Haile Mariam in 1976 and 1989. What happened in Meskel Square was different in method but familiar in motive.

The attack unfolded with unsettling precision. According to local media reports, the assailant disguised himself in a police uniform and moved through the security perimeter undetected. He attempted to throw the grenade toward the stage just after Abiy finished speaking and sat down. The explosion detonated close to the crowd rather than the stage. Security officials quickly detained the attacker and evacuated the prime minister. In the immediate aftermath, the area was flooded with police, and public transportation through the square was suspended as investigators moved in. The initial casualty count reported one dead and ten injured, but Health Minister Amir Aman later confirmed two deaths — one at the scene and one at Black Lion Hospital — along with more than 150 injuries. For the hundreds of thousands who had gathered in celebration, the day turned from jubilation to confusion to grief in the span of a few seconds.

Abiy Ahmed appeared on state television the same day, visibly shaken but resolute. He described the attack as "an unsuccessful attempt by forces who do not want to see Ethiopia united," and addressed the perpetrators directly: "You weren't successful in the past and you won't be successful in the future." His chief of staff, Fitsum Arega, posted on social media that an unidentified assailant had launched the attack. The tone was one of defiance rather than retreat — a signal that the reform agenda would not be derailed by violence. It was a calculated choice in a country where political assassinations had historically triggered regime changes or prolonged instability.

On September 28, 2018, national prosecutors charged five suspects: Getu Girma, Birhanu Jafar, Tilahun Getachew, Bahiru Tollosa, and Desalegn Teafaye. The prosecutors revealed a political motive: the accused believed Abiy would not protect Oromo interests and wanted the Oromo Liberation Front (OLF), then outlawed by the government, to assume leadership of the country. The irony was sharp. Under Abiy's own reform program, the OLF would soon be removed from the government's list of terrorist organizations, and exiled members would be allowed to return home. The men who tried to kill the prime minister to advance a cause would see that cause advanced by the very leader they had targeted. Meskel Square — named for the Ethiopian Orthodox festival of the Finding of the True Cross — had long served as a gathering place for celebrations, religious festivals, and political demonstrations. The grenade attack added another layer to its history: a reminder that in Ethiopia, the distance between hope and violence can be measured in meters.