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Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
I never imagined that my life would take such a drastic turn. I was immersed in work that many would consider a dream as an analyst executing high-stakes mergers and acquisitions at one of Canada’s largest investment banks. I was helping shape the corporate landscape of the country.
But everything changed for me on Nov. 4, 2020.
Tigray, a region in Ethiopia where my parents were born, was under attack. The Ethiopian and Eritrean governments, along with allied forces, had launched a military invasion. Overnight, Tigray was cut off from the world – no internet, no electricity, no communication. My heart sank as I realized that I had lost contact with almost all my relatives. For nearly two years, that silence persisted.
The little information that trickled out was horrifying. Reports of massacres, rape and starvation were pouring in – atrocities documented in reports by Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International and New Lines Institute. Every day, I found myself torn between two worlds. On one side, there was my career, my financial models and billion-dollar corporate mergers that demanded my attention. On the other, there was my homeland, bleeding and crying out for help, with no one to hear its pleas.
I was born in Ethiopia and raised in Canada, my parents instilled in me a deep sense of community, justice and cultural heritage. As a child, I volunteered, teaching younger children Ethiopian dances and languages and participating in student leadership roles. The importance of giving back was deeply ingrained in me, and it is what propelled me into action.
Leveraging all my past experiences I quickly found myself leading and co-ordinating efforts to bring aid and relief to Tigray. For the next three years my life turned into a relentless cycle – long days spent analyzing financial data and late nights devoted to writing letters, meeting with members of Parliament, advocating for humanitarian support and organizing parliamentary studies. Sleepless nights became the norm as I juggled my responsibilities as a banker with my growing role as a humanitarian advocate.
Yet, it was an isolating experience. I would ride the subway to Bay Street, reading articles about young men being slaughtered in my parent’s hometown, while the world around me carried on, oblivious. I felt like I was living in two disparate realities – one filled with the dispassionate concerns of finance, the other with the raw, unrelenting pain of a people fighting for survival. The disconnect was unbearable.
In the face of this indifference, I organized a fundraiser in Toronto to support the victims of the war. The event was more than just a fundraiser – it was a celebration of Tigrayan culture, a defiant act of preserving our identity in the face of destruction. We raised nearly $8,000, which I took directly to Tigray.
In September, 2023, after securing only two weeks of vacation from work, my mother and I travelled to Tigray. The trip was not without its challenges. There were risks involved, and I was advised by some to stay away. But my resolve was firm – this was something I needed to do, not just for the people of Tigray, but for myself.
Upon arrival, I was confronted with a reality that no report could ever fully capture. The once-vibrant towns were now shadows of their former selves, populated by traumatized survivors struggling to make sense of the horror they had endured. The air was thick with grief, the faces of the children haunted by what they had seen and lost. In my mother’s hometown of Selekleka, we worked with village elders and local administrators to organize aid for 40 orphans. I’ll never forget the pain in their eyes.
One of the most heartbreaking aspects of the conflict was the widespread use of sexual violence as a weapon of war. In collaboration with the Women’s Affairs Bureau, we distributed aid to nearly 400 survivors of sexual and gender-based violence. These women, who work with survivors daily, shared stories of unimaginable cruelty and suffering. Sitting with them, listening to their stories, I felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility – not just to provide material aid, but to show them that they were not alone, that people across the world, in Canada and beyond, stood with them.
That trip changed me in ways I am still coming to understand. When I returned to Canada, I knew that I could not go back to the life I had before. The world of banking, which had once seemed so vital, felt hollow compared with the needs I had witnessed in Tigray. I’ve left banking and made the decision to carry out this work full-time, to support not just Tigray, but in other places where people are struggling with little opportunity to better their lives.
I am filled with a sense of purpose that I had never known before. My journey from banking to humanitarianism is not just a career change – it is a calling. I am committed to creating lasting change, turning tragedy into hope and despair into resilience.
Aser Hailu lives in Toronto.