Reflections on Somalia’s Chaotic History: A Fragile State in Perpetual Turmoil

Among those endeavoring to understand Somalia’s present challenges, a poignant question looms: What went wrong? This inquiry has haunted Somali intellectuals, writers, and activists for decades, many attributing the roots of today’s turmoil to the disintegration of the socialist military regime in the 1990s, a regime notably served by Sheikh, a once-prominent figure. The backdrop of this narrative traces back to 1969 when a military coup dismantled a corrupt and ineffective civilian administration, promising a beacon of hope for development and modernization.

Initially, the military’s ascendance was met with enthusiasm, an excitement reminiscent of Ashis Nandy’s notion of “the romance of the state.” In this context, the people believed that a competent local leadership could restore the nation’s dignity. However, the optimism quickly dimmed. Over the next decade, the regime spiraled into a dictatorship that brutally suppressed its own populace. Following armed resistance, Somalia plunged into a prolonged civil war—the bloodiest in Africa’s history. Fast-forward more than thirty years, and Somalia remains a fragmented landscape, where the whispers of war echo continuously, leaving a fragile state in its wake.

As we revisit the period that led to this downfall, it becomes evident that the situation by the late 1990s starkly contrasted with the early optimism surrounding Siad Barre’s military rule. Nandy’s “romance of the state” offers an interesting lens through which to view the dynamics of Somali governance, revealing the fragile hope initially held by its citizens.

Barre’s regime transformed from a revolutionary government into a full-blown dictatorship, turning on those it once promised to uplift. Sheikh himself would feel the regime’s wrath when arrested in 1982, subsequently enduring six harrowing years in the grim Labatan Jirow prison. Reflecting on his imprisonment, Sheikh poignantly wrote about the long, dark hours spent waiting for a glimmer of hope, underscoring the emotional and psychological toll that such regimes can exert on their citizens.

The bulk of scholarly discourse surrounding the Somali civil war acknowledges its complexity and the multifaceted dynamics that have contributed to its persistence. James Barnett astutely notes that the civil conflict “periodically assumes different forms,” demanding a careful historical review to decipher its root causes. The governance system that emerged after independence failed to account for the rich tapestry of clan-based societal structures, and the international community’s interventions further exacerbated the tensions. An increasingly authoritarian regime, disastrous conflicts—including a protracted war with Ethiopia—and shifting global alliances fueled the fire of discord.

In the wake of independence in 1960, Somalia briefly tasted the fruits of democracy, hosting flawed but functional multiparty elections. Aden Abdulle Osman, the nation’s founding president, exemplified a commitment to peaceful governance, exemplified when he relinquished power respectfully in 1967. Remarkably, in his candid diary, Osman admitted the limited achievements of his administration—a testament to the integrity with which he governed. He asserted, “At least the people do not have a master,” encapsulating a yearning for democratic freedoms that would unfortunately not flourish.

Historian Mohamed Isa Trunji poignantly critiqued this era, labeling Somalia as more of a “clanocracy” than a true democracy. He emphasized that the political spectrum was dominated by the interests of various clans, each vying for their slice of power rather than working collaboratively for the national good. In this context, the assassination of President Shermarke on October 15, 1969, became a moment of reckoning—an indication of the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of Somalia’s nascent governance structures.

The transition to a military state was swift and brutal. On October 21, just days after the president’s assassination, Barre’s forces seized power, announcing a revolution to the Somali people. His rhetoric aimed to galvanize a sense of national identity and unity, with Barre proclaiming that the military would restore true Somali values and eradicate the “evils” inherited from colonial rule. “We will build a great Somali nation,” he declared, invoking a firebrand nationalism that both inspired and frightened the populace.

Initially, Barre garnered significant support as he positioned himself atop the Supreme Revolutionary Council, advocating for a Somali Revolutionary Process grounded in a specific brand of socialism. This “scientific socialism” sought not only to modernize the nation but also to challenge lingering colonial influences. Yet, Barre’s ambitious plans found themselves overshadowed by escalating tensions with Ethiopia and an increasingly untenable grip on power. It was a delicate dance, one that embraced various ideological affiliations, including communism and Arab nationalism, which did little to quell internal strife.

As Barre’s regime solidified, the dissonance between intent and execution became glaringly apparent. Infrastructure improvements flourished, but the concentration of power in the hands of a few imbued it with fragility. Meanwhile, public sentiment began to warp under the weight of repression and a spiraling economy, which saw corrupt officials luxuriating in newfound wealth. By the late 1980s, Barre’s increasingly desperate maneuvers sowed further discord.

The eventual collapse of the regime, catalyzed by mounting opposition from clan-based armed groups and international neglect, set Somalia ablaze. Sheikh’s firsthand accounts reveal a regime incapacitated by its own failings; Barre’s inability to adapt to the shifting political landscape ultimately led Somalia toward its grim fate—a fate which continues to reverberate today. The pain of exile tugged at Sheikh’s heart as he bore witness to the destruction from afar, illustrating how personal and national narratives intricately intertwine.

Reflecting on Sheikh’s life and the anguish he endured while witnessing his nation crumble underscores the universal truth of political exile. How often do we question the leaders we once revered? What remains of a vision when those tasked with nurturing a nation succumb to their own power? The chasm between hope and reality in Somalia signifies a tragic lesson in self-governance and the need for inclusivity. Competing narratives shaped by fear, betrayal, and ambition have left the country in a seemingly unending cycle of conflict. As Sheikh poignantly stated, “When a Somali writes about what has been happening in his country since 1991, he can only do so with a heart full of sadness, anger, and even a bit of shame.”

Seeking lessons from the past, we can ponder another thought-provoking question: Can Somalia reclaim its narrative of resilience? Or will it remain shackled to a history that has often conspired against its people? Ultimately, the story of Somalia is one of endurance—a reminder of the delicate balance between hope and despair in the face of catastrophe.

Edited By Ali Musa
Axadle Times International – Monitoring