By Megdelawit Getahun Haile

I’m still at the beginning. Still learning how to take up space. Still figuring out how to shape my questions into something that resembles a path. But whenever I find myself in a room where we’re talking about media, rights, or freedom of expression, I always find a way to bring up his name.
Hassen Mohammed.

I was 19 when I first walked into his Jurisprudence class. I didn’t know it yet, but that class would stay with me in ways I still carry. He didn’t make things easy. He didn’t hand us answers or simplify complex ideas. He asked questions that cracked things open. Questions like: Whose truths get recognized? Who gets erased? What happens when justice contradicts the law?

He made it impossible to see the law as neutral. He made it clear that the law is built, maintained, and defended. That it’s deeply political.

He changed the atmosphere of a classroom. He made it feel like something more than just a lecture hall—not in a grand or showy way, but in a way that stays with you. Years later, when you’re sitting in advocacy spaces or meetings, trying to piece together thoughts about media, law, feminism, and power—suddenly, there it is. His voice. His questions. The way he made everything connect.

He didn’t just teach Jurisprudence. He performed it—with clarity, humor, and these metaphors that hit you in the gut. He spoke in everyday language, but behind every joke, every turn of phrase, there was depth. Theory. Jurisprudence, but also life.

Because with Hassen, everything was part of the law. The streets. The systems. The silences. All of it mattered.

When we got to Media Law in our fourth year, it started to click. Media as freedom. Media as control. Media as a weapon, a shield, a mirror. He brought case studies, but more than that, he brought stories. He taught us how easily truth can be punished or erased, and he gave us room. He didn’t just lecture—he left us with questions that still follow us around in the best way.

What I remember just as clearly is how he was outside of class. He saw us—not just as students, but as people. He’d buy coffee, crack a joke, ask how you were holding up. And somehow, that made things feel a little less heavy. Like maybe, you could do this.

He was the first person who defined feminism for me in a classroom. Not as something controversial or “emotional,” but as a way of understanding power—a way to see how the world works. I didn’t have the words then. But he gave me a way to start.

Looking back now, I’m proud to say that he is one of the people who shaped me—not just as a legal thinker, but as a person. And I can say without hesitation that his classes were one of the experiences that made my time at Mekelle University’s Law School feel meaningful. Like something I could actually grow from.

Today, Hassen is facing a difficult time with his health. It’s not easy to witness someone who has poured so much into his students, his work, and the people around him now navigating a moment of vulnerability.

There is a fundraiser to help support his medical care—a small but very important way for us to stand with someone who has stood for so many with integrity, clarity, and heart.

Hassen Mohammed shaped how I think—but also how I see. He modeled a kind of integrity that didn’t need to announce itself. It was just there. In the way he spoke. Taught. Noticed. Gave.

I know I haven’t done him justice. Because how do you explain someone like Hassen Mohammed? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully explain what he gave us. But I carry it every day, and I know I’m not alone.

Because before I had the words for what I believe in, Hassen gave me the questions.

Link to GoFundMe: Donate Here
For Ethiopia: 1000011860838 (Hassen Mohammed)
For abroad:
Zelle: +1 206 928 1933 (Mejid Shufa)
+1 425 521 9192 (Elham Mohammed Seid)