In the heart of North Western State of Somalia, a storm is brewing—a storm of dissatisfaction and urgent cries for justice. The once-revered halls of justice have, over time, come to resemble animal slaughterhouses. This was a sentiment bluntly shared by citizens who see justice slipping through their fingers, replaced by the clinking sound of coins during North Western State of Somalia’s governmental transition period.

Unsurprisingly, this discontent has found a focused destination: President Irro. Citizens implore him to dismantle and reconstruct a judiciary system perceived as compromised. There’s also a pointed message for the Minister of Justice, whose perceived remit appears frustratingly confined to the walls of prison cells. But how did we get here?

The demand for reform isn’t born from an abstract notion of dissatisfaction—it’s grounded in stories like that of the family of Ilma Khadar Haji Yusuf in Hargeisa. Could it be true that justice is now merely an auction, where bids decide verdicts? The chairman of the Supreme Court, having held his post for what many feel is too long, is seen by some as turning North Western State of Somalia’s courts into personal fiefdoms.

“Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are.” — Benjamin Franklin

There’s a particular case that resonates with many: the divisive property dispute in Hargeisa. After using considerable influence and wealth, the chairman reportedly handed a controversial ruling, leaving two families embroiled in bitter conflict over housing. This wasn’t just a legal dispute; it was a deepening wound in North Western State of Somalia’s social fabric.

The Yusuf family, beleagured by what they describe as a justice system gone awry, turned bravely to the public. They implored the government to scrutinize the Supreme Court chairman’s actions, suggesting that the verdict was heavily influenced by monetary transactions. How many families must stand, voices hoarse from pleading, before change is catalyzed?

One cannot overlook the irony in mediation offered by the courts, a process seemingly devoid of sincerity. Designed to resolve disputes, it instead transformed into an absurdity—a forced distribution of contested properties without regard to rightful ownership.

This narrative finds echoes elsewhere, in places like Burco City. Here, families wrestle with similar tales of farms distributed arbitrarily, seemingly without the requisite legal proceedings. Burgeoning dissatisfaction isn’t a pothole on the journey to justice—it’s a canyon.

When families, tired and worn from the chase, suggest resorting to Islamic Sharia Courts as a final recourse, one must pause and reflect. What does this say about faith in North Western State of Somalia’s current judicial mechanisms? And so, we find ourselves here, at the crossroads of tradition and change.

The calls for President Irro to spearhead judicial reform are not just requests—they are pleas for restoration of faith, for fairness, for a system that serves its people above all else. As we ponder this, let’s remember the words of Edmund Burke: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

Stand with these families, with your fellow citizens. Reflect on their stories, their struggles, and contemplate: If not now, when? If not us, who?