Somalia: The Flag Still Waves, But the Nation Does Not Stand

OP-ED — Last evening, the iconic blue flag with its white star proudly fluttered over bustling city squares and quiet alleyways. Patriotic music spilled from loudspeakers in Mogadishu, filling the air with nostalgia and hope. In contrast, Hargeisa exuded a more subdued atmosphere, while Garowe’s celebrations, albeit vibrant, were tinged with contemplation. As people exchanged polite smiles, one unspoken question lingered: “Where is our nation headed?” Sixty-five years ago, Somalis bid farewell to colonial rule, believing they were stepping into a new era—an era defined by unity, dignity, and independence.

Yet, if you looked into the eyes of the young souls in Mogadishu, even those caught up in the revelry, a sense of emptiness was palpable. Amidst the jubilant songs and radiant lights, one pervasive question persists: “What has all of this brought us?”

The milestone of July 1st, 1960, marked the union of the British Protectorate of North Western State of Somalia and the UN-Trust Territory of Somalia. This was a union forged in optimism and mutual aspiration—without coercion, without conflict. It was a pact signed in good faith, a heartfelt effort by two newly liberated peoples.

For a brief moment, the experiment seemed to succeed. A civilian government emerged with a constitution, an elected president, and an operational parliament. Somalia stood as a beacon of African democracy. Yet beneath this promising exterior, the state was already beginning to fracture. Tribal loyalties swayed elections, and corruption seeped into the fabric of governance. The 1969 elections exacerbated these divisions. The assassination of President Abdirashid Ali Sharmarke in Las Anod soon followed, plunging the nation into uncertainty.

Within two weeks, General Mohamed Siad Barre seized power through a bloodless coup. He declared a “Revolution,” and many believed in his promise.

Barre’s reign lasted 21 years. He built infrastructure, promoted education, and fostered a sense of national identity. Yet, his rule was shadowed by fear. Imprisonment, silencing, and exile loomed over dissenters. His intelligence network sowed distrust among neighbors. By the time his regime imploded in 1991, Somalia was left irreparably divided.

This collapse was not merely governmental—it was the shattering of Somalia’s very identity. Civil war engulfed Mogadishu, and warlords seized control. Aid workers fled. The world watched as one of Africa’s most hopeful nations succumbed to famine, anarchy, and chaos.

As if to cement this fragmentation, North Western State of Somalia—integral to the birth of the Somali Republic—declared independence in 1991. For over three decades, it has stood alone: stable, organized, even democratic. Yet its status remains unrecognized globally. The dream of 1960, once vibrant and unifying, seemed to perish silently, unremarked upon.

In the South, chaos ensued. Islamic Courts briefly restored order, only to be crushed by foreign-backed militias. From their ashes rose Al-Shabaab, an insurgency that continues to haunt the nation, stifling its potential.

Billions in aid were pledged as donors flocked to conference after conference in cities from Nairobi to London. They crafted peace plans, blueprints, and roadmaps. Despite these efforts, the resultant federal government was a paper entity. The president ruled from a secure compound, while peacekeepers guarded fragile institutions.

Currently, Hassan Sheikh Mohamud leads the nation once more. Having been elected and previously criticized for failing, many voice doubts about his current tenure. His actions—tinkering with the constitution, enforcing contested electoral frameworks, alienating federal states, and igniting the very fires he vowed to extinguish—only deepen these concerns.

Somalia’s leadership, across eras, bears responsibility. A culture of unaccountable power without performance prevails. Leadership often lacks true purpose, direction, and accountability.

Amid this turmoil, Somalia’s youth—the nation’s largest demographic—are left in limbo. Educated but jobless, they find themselves connected to yet exiled from the world. Each year, countless young Somalis risk perilous sea journeys in search of dignity, far from their homeland. Others succumb to violence, extremism, or addiction.

So, what does this anniversary truly signify?

If independence championed dignity, sovereignty, and progress, how do we characterize a state that has lost territory, time, and, nearly, its essence?

The flag still waves. Ceremonies unfold. Speeches are delivered. Yet, symbolism alone cannot sustain a nation—nor can it deceive a generation that discerns memory from substance.

Somalia requires more than mere remembrance. It demands genuine repair. Constitutional reverence, authentic leadership, electoral justice—these are imperative. A generational shift must occur, moving beyond romanticized nostalgia to champion a future resonant with the ideals of that courageous July day in 1960.

Because if we refuse to safeguard our inherited dream, someone might come and reshape it entirely.

Mohamad Abdirahman Mohamad (Farole) — A Somali political leader and current Minister of Environment in Northeastern State