The Roots of Somali Political Culture 9781626375413

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THE ROOTS OF SOMALI POLITICAL CULTURE

THE ROOTS OF SOMALI POLITICAL CULTURE M. J. Fox

Published in the United States of America in 2015 by FirstForumPress A division of Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 1800 30th Street, Boulder, Colorado 80301 www.rienner.com

and in the United Kingdom by FirstForumPress A division of Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London WC2E 8LU

© 2015 by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Fox, Mary-Jane. The roots of Somali political culture / by Mary-Jane Fox. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-62637-204-7 (hardcover: alk. paper) 1. Political culture—Somalia. 2. Somalia—Politics and government. I. Title. JQ3585.A91F683 2015 306.2096773—dc23 2015024634

British Cataloguing in Publication Data A Cataloguing in Publication record for this book is available from the British Library.

This book was produced from digital files using the FirstForumComposer.

Printed and bound in the United States of America

The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1992. 5 4 3 2 1

This book is dedicated to Osman, who said … “I don’t care if someone belongs to this clan or that clan. And when they ask me, I just tell them I am a proud African.”

Contents

Preface

ix

1

A Fragmented State

1

2

Precolonial Foundations

43

3

British Administration in Somaliland

91

4

The Impact of Italian Colonization

131

5

Unifying North and South

165

6

The Legacy of Political Culture

201

Bibliography Index

219 231

vii

Preface

It had always seemed to me that the Somali Democratic Republic’s demise in 1991 led to one of the most curious political outcomes in the post–Cold War era. As Siad Barre was seen hightailing it out of Mogadishu in a tank and the region began its descent into warlordism and violent inter-clan conflict, the northeast and northwest areas of the country were beginning to morph into something quite different. Each had their own style of fits and starts, of stumbling and rising, and stumbling and rising again. Two somewhat different and yet somewhat similar outcomes began to take shape in the form of two autonomous entities, each with a difficult birth, or perhaps re-birth. There is no singular explanation that led to such different outcomes, but more a convergence of several contributing factors. It is the legacy of political culture that is investigated here as one of those contributing factors. This book has its own roots in work that I was doing more than twenty years ago at Uppsala University’s Department of Peace and Conflict Research. Both Peter Wallensteen and Mats Hammarstrom at Uppsala must be thanked for their lively debate, challenges, and constant good humor and support both then and now. Also at Uppsala at the time was the extraordinary Somali specialist Bernhard Helander, now deceased, who spurred my interest in the Somali conundrum and proved to be a most engaging and informative sounding board. Expanding on my original work meant many long hours at the Bodleian Library at Oxford University, and it must be said that its staff and facilities were second to none; I am profoundly grateful for their wide range of invaluable assistance. Special thanks go to the Bodleian’s Social Studies Library and Rhodes House Library (now Weston Library) and the Scan and Deliver service as well; this book would not have been possible without them. During this lengthy process, there have been several individuals along the way who have directly and indirectly been

ix

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The Roots of Somali Political Culture

part of the process, offering advice, assistance, inspiration, and more: Edward Alpers, Doug Bond, Katherine Boulton, Michael Clough, Robert Feldman, Cynthia Irvin, Keith Seamus MacRoibín, Brock Millman, Jason Mosely, Dawn Priory, Paolo Tripodi, Michael Walls, and Wendy Willson. Their input is appreciated. In addition, Faye Donnelly at St. Andrews University deserves special thanks for her unwavering encouragement and feedback. And of course Lynne Rienner has my gratitude for her interest in this topic, her professionalism, and her patience, making her a pleasure to work with. One last person to thank is Adam Roberts at Oxford University, who has seen this book come full circle and offered thoughtful support that always seemed to come at the right moment. It was in the early 1990s that I mentioned to him the possibility of adding Somalia as one of several cases for a different project. “You just might want to have a closer look in the northern areas,” he said. “There’s something very interesting going on there.” Indeed, there certainly was.

1 A Fragmented State

The value of historical evidence, harnessed in focused, within-case comparisons of successive periods of history in a single country, remains relatively untapped.1

The fragmentation of the former Somali Democratic Republic as three distinct political entities constitutes a political and legal phenomenon, the likes of which exists nowhere else in the world today. Most remarkable is the sheer durability of what is now Somaliland, Puntland, and the recently formed Federal Government of Somalia (FGS).2 How they came about and why they have endured for more than twenty years is a complex political puzzle that has engendered a significant body of literature. Yet behind the range of explanations and the more immediate news of Somali political struggles, al-Shabaab’s persistence, humanitarian crises and international involvements, there are compelling historical influences that are able to shed some light on present circumstances.3 Some of these influences can be observed in the deep-rooted path of Somalia’s political culture, or rather, the distinctive historical political culture paths of the “three Somalias.” Of these three independently administered regions, Somaliland and Puntland have been and still are relatively peaceful, consensual in character and economically viable, though in their own distinctive ways. In contrast, the south has remained the focal point of unremitting violent conflict based on the political power rivalries of different groups at different times. More recently, the south’s FGS has provided some reasons for optimism, though even with renewed international support, it still has a long road ahead of it. As an oft-cited example of a failed state, the south still experiences the year-in, year-out cycle of attempted reconciliations and conflict management punctuated with violent armed conflict. This so contrasts with the very different circumstances in the two northern regions, which have manifested as persistent political

1

E

YEMEN Gulf of Aden

DJIBOUTI Djibouti

‡

B o s s a s o Cape Guarddafui Bender J e d id (Bender Kassin) ( Bur nt I s la n d ) Khor

‡

Z eila

‡ ‡

‡

Ros B e n d e r Ber ber a G alwei n Zi a d a Bult a r Bo or am a Ha r g e is a Qa r d h o Ha r a r Bu r a o J ijig a Bohot le h

‡ ‡ ‡

‡ ‡

‡

‡

‡ ETHIOPIA

‡

Garowe

‡ Hoordea ‡R a s H a fu n

‡ Mossyllum

‡G alk ay o

‡

ver a Ri

‡ ‡

Sarinle y Barder a

Jubb

K E N Y A

Lung

‡

lle be he r S ive R

Ba id o a

Mogadishu

‡ M er c a M ar k a) ‡Ba r a a(we

S O M A L I A ‡ Ob b i a (Hobayo)

Indian Ocean YEMEN

( Br a v a )

‡Kis m a a y o

DJIBOUTI

SOMALILAND

Somalia Today

ETHIOPIA

Z D

K E N Y A

SOMALIA (FGS)

Disputed Territory

PUNTLAND

A Fragmented State

3

stability rarely seen in newly independent states not only in Africa, but globally as well. Perhaps most notable among the three is democratically-inclined Somaliland in the northwest, which since 1991 has been unrecognized internationally and is far from ideal, but has successfully created and held on to its home-grown de facto sovereignty. Autonomous Puntland in the northeast has experienced several successive attempts at centralised, ad hoc administration in an effort to run its day-to-day affairs largely through consensus and election, though the appeal of profits from piracy did interfere with these efforts at one point. In regard to southern Somalia, for years its unrelenting bad news has eclipsed the good news of the north, and was responsible for the violent images that would first come to mind when the word “Somalia” was mentioned at all. It is extraordinary that on a continent which has been so saturated with violent conflict and immeasurable suffering that peaceful progress of any kind emerging from this sisyphean Somali dilemma has taken place, the circumstances of Somaliland and Puntland serving as surprising deviations from what had come to be expected as a discouraging norm for Somalia on the whole. The case of Somalia is an anomaly in the midst of more than a few states on the African continent itself, which has seen more than its fair share of authoritarian rule and violent conflict in the post-colonial era. These unique circumstances stand out even when viewed from a global perspective, where there is a roster of other contemporary quasi states or stateless states, from Palestine and Kurdistan to Taiwan and Transnistria, and it is additionally distinctive from them in two quite notable ways. First, and most obviously, it has not only remained consistently divided, but has been so divided as primarily three distinct entities rather than the usual two in other divided states and entities. The second distinction concerns how the division has taken place amongst a purportedly homogenous people and their shared ethnicity and shared culture, particularly their agnatic, segmentary clan system.4 This is a significant departure from many other divided states since the conflict divisions here are not specifically nor primarily characterised by or based on marked ethnic or religious differences, though some extremist religious element presently does exist within southern Somalia. However, that religious element only serves to further divide the south itself, and has had very limited impact on the two northern entities. Curiously, although a range of arguments have been forwarded to explain the extended and extensive demise of southern Somalia, ranging from innate clan structure to land distribution inequities to poorly conceived external interventions,5 no equivalent contrasting arguments have been proposed to explain the north.6 This is in spite of numerous

4

The Roots of Somali Political Culture

and excellent descriptive works examining the north, but yet not accounting for why the outcome in the north might have been able to come to pass in the first place. In addition, the significant historical differences between the three regions do not appear to have been comparatively explored or assessed.7 For example, it is well known and acknowledged that there was a colonizing Italian presence in southern Somalia for several decades, as well as British administration in the northwest during roughly the same period, yet the influence of those differences and their subtleties, as well as their more apparent similarities and the legacies which were created have not received the attention they well warrant.8 Of particular importance is the precolonial era, which has only been lightly touched on within discrete topics, and also not comparatively explored. As such, this era merits inclusion in the larger story, adding more historical depth to the overall picture. It is the very nature of these differences throughout time among the three Somalias that is so compelling and reveals how the ways in which they each have cooperated and conflicted have varied in substance consistently through the precolonial, colonial, and post-colonial eras. This long-term view involves a stepping back in order to take that longer view, using a different lens for different views. Within the historical record, in between the history of governments and leaders, there is a further story to tell, one that identifies, compares and contrasts meaningful political patterns among the Somali populations as they pass from one decade to the next, and then one generation to another. There were, after all, some events and some treatment that the Somalis experienced as a whole, crossing clan and social boundaries, sharing experiences at a broad level. This approach coexists with other lines of explanations and historical approaches and does not supersede or negate them, aiming only to examine political culture patterns over time.9 An Overview of Somali Culture

Before scanning the wider sweep of Somali history, a brief outline of the centuries-old clan system and particularly its traditional self-governing component is valuable. As a distinctly identifiable people who for centuries had no centralized rule, how well the Somalis established a functioning political order among themselves was no small feat. The Somali clan system and its accompanying culture is intricate and vast, its complexities having been well documented and intensively discussed for decades. Understanding clan and kinship alliances and their built-in paradoxes, the genealogical tree itself, the significance of Somali oral history and poetry, the differences and similarities between pastoralists,

A Fragmented State

5

agro-pastoralists, and sedentary farmers as well as urban versus rural dwellers, and much more are all elements of a complex integrated web which is perpetually changing in sometimes subtle and sometimes overt ways. Here, only an overview of what is more immediately relevant as background for the larger discussion is covered, particularly in view of the overriding focus on clan despite the fact that clan division is by no means the only social division.10 In view of this, the intricacies of clan mapping, ever-shifting clan relations and speculation on the contemporary significance of the agnatic clan system are not examined.11 The Somali people can be traced back about two thousand years. They are part of a wide group of peoples of the Horn of Africa called Eastern Cushites, and then from an early sub-group referred to as the Proto–Sam. The branch that settled in southern Somalia as agropastoralists after the first century CE came to be known as the Samaale. Prior to this, and reaching back to the time of Alexander the Great, there are references to trade in aromatic spices between early ancient Egypt and people from a region known as the “land of Punt”. Somalis today trace their ancestry agnatically back to a foundational bifurcation which categorizes them as either Samaale or Sab, the former primarily pastoral and located mainly in the north, and the latter sedentary-pastoral (according to season and circumstances), and located primarily in the south. The names Samaale and Sab both refer to mythical individuals from whom the six major clan-families are said to descend, the Samaale widely believed to have been founded by Muslims from the Arabian Peninsula. The four main Sammale clans are the Darod, Dir, Hawiye and Isaaq. The primary clan in the south, the Rahanweyn, is considered to be of Sab extraction, and divides into two sub-clans, the Digil and the Mirifle, the latter sometimes used interchangeably with Rahanweyn. These six primary clan groups further divide into decreasingly smaller familial units. The Samaale eventually populated the entire Horn by approximately 1000 CE. The clan-family system seems to have necessarily developed as a survival and organizing strategy, and has endured because it proved to be such a successful strategy. It is generally accepted that clan system foundations can most likely be found around 1000 CE, from its agnatic focus to consensus-based decision making, from set rules and fines for settling disputes to the role of marriage in forming alliances and more. In lieu of overarching political rule, it served the lifestyle of the Samaales well and proved to be a stabilizing influence. By the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, Islam added to this and became an additional stabilizing influence. Although Islam had been slowly gaining ground since the seventh century, increased travel due to increased trade

6

The Roots of Somali Political Culture

accelerated its widespread acceptance. Pairing the clan system with Islam resulted in a potent and resilient social structure that was to last for centuries. Over time the six main clan families expanded and broke down into smaller units as sub-clans with more immediate common ancestors. The most politically and socially relevant clan-family unit became the diyapaying unit, also known as the mag unit. Besides sharing a common ancestor, diya-paying units also held a shared collective responsibility for and entitlement to compensation in cases of offences committed by or to them, and this included homicide. Over time, Somalis thus had at once a sense of a distant ancestor shared by almost all of them and yet the more immediate day-to-day belonging to their diya-paying group. To quote Laitin and Samatar, who articulate the consequences so clearly: A curious feature of Somali segmentation is that it is both centripetal and centrifugal, at once drawing the Somalis into a powerful social fabric of kinship affinity and cultural solidarity while setting them against one another in a complicated maze of antagonistic clan interests. A person, for example, gives political allegiance first to his/her immediate family, then to his immediate lineage, then to the clan of his lineage, then to a clan-family that embraces several clans, including his own, and ultimately to the nation that itself consists of a confederacy of clan-families...The result is a society so integrated that its members regard one another as siblings, cousins, and kin, but also so riven with clannish fission and factionalism that political instability is the society’s normative characteristic.12

It is important to note here that the political instability Laitin and Samatar refer to was never, throughout the centuries, so great that it resulted in the demise of the Somali people, however. The “clannish fission and factionalism” does not necessarily doom Somalis to be caught on an endless loop of inevitable internal fighting, as their self-governance includes the existence of a legal system referred to as xeer or heer. 13 Xeer is a precedent-based social code which served and serves today as a necessary restraint and moderating role in disagreements and feuds between groups and individuals. It might be maintained that the moderating influences of xeer and Islam together historically controlled society as a whole, keeping it from even more frequent and more intensive conflict. Xeer not only determined relations within clans but between them as well, with conflicts largely resolved by groups of elders who determined damages and penalties for undesirable behaviour. More than fifty years ago, the founder of Somali studies, I. M. Lewis, noted, “the cohesion of Somali pastoral groups, which is

A Fragmented State

7

exceptionally strong, thus does not depend either upon territorial attachments or upon allegiance to a political office. Its basis lies rather in community of descent in the male line (tol) and in a kind of socialpolitical contract (xeer, also heer).”14 Xeer is also described by Ahmed I. Samatar as being one of the two elements which comprise kinship ideology, the other element being blood-ties or genealogical descent.15 These and other practices within the clan system had been a way of life for hundreds of years, and had brought the Somalis forward into the modern era successfully; it was a system that functioned well enough for the Somalis to have experienced significant autonomy for centuries.16 Decisions were deliberated by the shir, somewhat equivalent to an ad hoc village council and at which all males were ostensibly permitted to voice their opinions. A high council of consensually agreed-upon elders, known as gurti, also took part in shir deliberations and ensured that contracts were kept. The degree to which decisions were determined by adult males or the gurti depended on local or regional practice, although it is notable that freedom for non-gurti males to speak is known to be more prevalent with the northern clans. The gurti were particularly relied on for matters relating to conflict and the resolution of conflict.17 There were of course some other regional and clan differences in practice, but the fundamental system was shared. It was with such significant skills for self-rule acquired partly through the practice of xeer that the Somalis entered the nineteenth century, encountering an unending procession of European visitors and intruders who shared an increasing interest in the Horn of Africa. To varying extents their indigenous mode of ordering and governing themselves was interfered with and interrupted as European colonial ambitions intensified. The fact that the Somalis had been well able to manage and endure disputes among themselves for centuries is their starting point on the eve of the nineteenth century. Past and Present

In looking at the Somali people as far back as the twelfth century and as late as 1800, both within the Horn and beyond,18 generally being only nominally governed also suggests ever-changing styles of rule, boundaries, and jurisdictional areas, and yet the Somali people did not just adapt but often flourished. Moreover, to be so organised socially and politically within their agnatic clan system, generally ruling themselves more by consensus than conflict contributed greatly towards making them particularly independent and self-reliant. Throughout time, descriptions of Somalis have reflected these qualities. One particular

8

The Roots of Somali Political Culture

Somali sub-clan, for example, was famously characterized as “a fierce and turbulent race of republicans”19, and Somalis in general were referred to as having “considerable independence of spirit”20 and being “politically acephalous.”21 Interestingly, these descriptions are from 1856, 1924, and 1987 respectively, and are among dozens of similar historical and contemporary descriptions, and point to some continuity of character over time, a continuity which can be observed today. From the early Middle Ages both the Gulf of Aden and the Indian Ocean coastal areas became well established as trading centers. Mogadishu especially earned prominence early on,22 and even as the fortunes of Mogadishu and other coastal towns rose and fell over the centuries, trade never stopped, though Portuguese involvement from the fifteenth through to the eighteenth century did disrupt Somali-Arab trade for a time.23 However, once the Portuguese disengaged from the region, by the late eighteenth century trade quickly surged again, and there were Arab, Indian, Chinese, Europeans and Americans engaged in commerce with the Somalis. With the nineteenth century came a steadily growing foreign presence along the Somali coastlines and eventually the interior as well. This presence was partly due to the Horn being situated along an abbreviated route to India and the Far East in general, a route which would allow ships to avoid sailing around the Cape of Good Hope and thus cut shipping time by weeks. Although there was still a short but difficult overland route from the Mediterranean Sea to the Red Sea, a distance of more than 100 miles/160 kilometers, the completion of the Suez Canal in 1869 addressed this. The canal not only brought about an even further increase in European presence, but also represented substantial European investment in the region.24 Along the Indian Ocean coastline, there had long been a steady flow of trade to and from Zanzibar just to the south, and then the gulf region just north and east of the Horn. This was also a period of increasing anti-slavery activity, particularly on the part of the British, who interfered substantially with Indian Ocean slave trading. Significantly, the slave trade does not appear to have been as intense in the north as in the south, and so trade in the north along the Gulf of Aden was not quite as deeply affected. This is expanded on in the following chapters. The dividing up of Africa among the European powers was inevitable. Famously, this “Scramble for Africa” took place at a formal level through the 1885 Berlin Conference (see page 9 for a map of Somalia at this time); within a few short years after the Berlin Agreement was signed, a large part of northern Somalia, comprising contemporary Somaliland and part of Puntland, came to be completely under British

Somalia, 1885 (Boundaries are approximate due to fluctuating cirmcumstances)

9

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The Roots of Somali Political Culture

administration. The majority of the south and most of what is now contemporary Puntland came to fall under Italian rule, though the inconvenient distance of the northeast tip from Mogadishu in the south limited the extent and duration of Italy’s hold on it. Italy lost Italian Somaliland to Great Britain at the beginning of World War II, and at the end of the war the Four Powers Commission agreed that north and south were to be prepared for independence, with a target date set for 1960. Surprisingly, it was also agreed that from 1950-1960 the south was to be under Italian trusteeship in preparation for statehood. The same preparations for statehood in the north remained in the hands of the British. Statehood finally did come to the Somalis in 1960, though not particularly smoothly.25 Hesse notably points out “the immediate postindependence era was marked less by national unity and more by heightened clan rivalry.”26 From 1960-1969, the Somali Republic encompassed all three areas of Somalia, with the capital Mogadishu located at the southern end of the country. Notably, the capital was thus rather remote from the two northern areas. Even more importantly, this was the first time in the Somali people’s entire history that there was an ostensibly unified, centrally-run Somali state. In 1969, and thus within nine years of its birth, and perhaps predictably, the construct of their democratic state fell to a military coup led by Major General Mahammad Siad Barre, just immediately following what was to be the last civilian election to be held for the coming decades. For just over twenty years, from 1969-1991, Barre ruled exclusively over the Somali people; there were limited overt challenges to his authority, though in time northern opposition increased. What initial gains he made for the Somalis – such as dramatically improving literacy – were offset by his attempt to reject clan culture through “scientific socialism” and increasingly severe authoritarian rule.27 Eventually, after several significant attacks on his own people, challenges to Barre’s rule even appeared in the south. It was his particularly brutal bombing raids in the north, however, on Hargeisa, Burao and Berbera in August 1988, that sealed Barre’s fate. By January 1991 a coalition of opposition forces reduced Somalia’s “Victorious Father of the Nation” to fleeing the capital.28 After 1991 the country almost reflexively reverted back into its three primary regions. Since then, and perhaps not surprisingly, each has exhibited its own distinctive political character, with Somaliland demonstrating the most democratic inclinations, though not without its shortcomings, Puntland remaining internally quiet though struggling with political problems and other matters, and southern Somalia

A Fragmented State

11

experiencing attempts to rebuild a government amidst continuous violent conflict.29 Somaliland

Somaliland, now populated by close to four million people and being 53,100 square miles or a little larger than Greece, announced its independence on 14 May 1991, just a few short months after Siad Barre’s swift departure. Independence was agreed upon by consensus through an ongoing series of conferences which took place in Burao from April-June 1991. Significantly, it occurred in conjunction with revoking the 1960 Act of Union, a document which had joined it to southern Somalia and thus created at that time the Somali Republic.30 Its new name was in fact not that new at all, but reflected the name by which it had been known throughout the colonial era. Although the announcement and revocation was made in May 1991, in actual fact Somaliland experienced what could be called a long labor, and was birthed into existence as a result of several remarkable, linked, multiclan conferences, the most conclusive of which was the final conference in Borama in 1993.31 At that time, Somaliland had established itself as an independent state with elections and freedom of participation for all adults, including women, which was also a significant step forward.32 The Borama conference itself was indeed a significant event, held from late January to May 1993. Beforehand, for the few weeks following Barre’s downfall, Somaliland was ruled by the combined efforts of the Somali National Movement and selected elders from the northern clans, that is the Isaaq, Dir and Haarti.33 Although so much of great and lasting consequence was decided at Borama – from reconciliation codified into their Peace Charter to the formation of an interim government through their National Charter – it is easy to overlook the fact that Borama was actually the great culmination of almost two years of previous efforts, conferences and meetings, and upon which Borama was based. All of these conferences and meetings were diplomatically sensitive, and organized with great consideration, especially by taking into account the interplay of several clans and various sensitivities among themselves and each other. What is additionally notable here is that talks between one clan and the Somali National Movement were organized within weeks of Barre’s departure, to take place in February 1991, and it was a meeting to which all northern clans were to be invited.34 This inclusive, conciliatory approach was to carry through to 1992 and several internal disputes, the 1993 Borama conference, and continues to exist to the present. Anything

12

The Roots of Somali Political Culture

could have collapsed or gone wrong at any time, especially during the formative stages, but it is notable nothing happened to the point of complete derailment.35 The outcome of the Borama conference included, but was not limited to, the election of a President and Vice-President and the creation of a transitional National Charter, which was essentially Somaliland’s temporary constitution and as well provided the political and institutional framework for the next three years. It was to suffice until a permanent constitution could be created. The constitution beginning as the National Charter in 1993 slowly evolved in the following years, culminating in being approved (97 percent) by referendum in May 2001. Other gains were made due to Borama too, but most importantly, the events leading up to Borama and the achievement of Borama itself revealed an enduring and deeply entrenched disposition for decision-making by consensus, an inclination for inclusiveness, and a political sensitivity without which very little would have been accomplished. The years immediately following the Borama conference were also checkered with some internal problems and accompanying conflict, but without the foundations established in Burao and Borama, the outcome was likely to have been less successful.36 In subsequent years Somaliland struggled unsuccessfully for state recognition, and in the meantime developed its own currency, built schools, held elections, developed a busy economy, and tackled undemocratic challenges – whether they generated from the inside or outside – and did so quite successfully. Writing ten years after the Borama conference, authors Bradbury, Abokor and Yusuf commented on the accomplishments of Somaliland: The relative stability sustained over the past decade has made it possible to restore much of Somaliland’s urban infrastructure, municipal services and systems of education and health that were destroyed during the war. International aid organisations, who have been active in Somaliland since 1991, have done much to help restore essential services and infrastructure, clear land mines, reintegrate displaced populations, promote indigenous welfare organizations, and more recently to strengthen government bodies. Somaliland no longer generates refugees. Instead most of those who took refuge in neighbouring countries during the war have returned to Somaliland. Commercial activity has revived and there has been a progressive development of civil society organisations, including the media, community development, and social welfare organisations and human rights groups. As a result of the better security, human development indicators in Somaliland are generally better than in other regions of Somalia.37

A Fragmented State

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They continue on to point out that due to non-recognition as a state, Somaliland alone has not been eligible for assistance from the more significant donors, and that “reconstruction has largely been achieved from the resources and resourcefulness of the Somalilanders themselves.”38 This is not to say no development aid ever reaches Somaliland, but that aid is still allocated to all of what was once the Somali Democratic Republic, and that aid for Somaliland competes with aid for southern Somalia and Puntland. Nevertheless, part of Somaliland’s success can also be attributed to the people’s developed skills for commerce and trade, which is only encouraged by the government’s policy of limited interference in entrepreneurial affairs. From small shops and market vendors to money transfer companies,39 a lively export trade, its own airline, and even a wildly successful annual book fair, the Somalis in the north have engaged themselves fully in wholesale and retail as well as providing services.40 There has also been some notable and indeed game-changing commercial and industrial interest in Somaliland from China, with a joint agreement on the building of twenty factories. However, with limited infrastructure and uncertain access to such basic necessities as potable water, it may take some time for such projects to materialize.41 In regard to the lack of recognition, there is no doubt this has been one of Somaliland’s greatest frustrations, though it also might be one of its blessings. Without international recognition, those in positions of political power have had to rely directly on their constituencies for continued legitimacy. This speaks to the need for maintaining credibility at and support from the popular level, and serves as a kind of internal check on abuse of power, which can only go so far before a backlash occurs. Without the advantage of foresight, however, and not knowing how successful their internal legitimacy was to be, within Somaliland’s first ten years of independence, great efforts were made to send representatives out internationally to present their case to several countries, including establishing consular offices in several major international cities. However, the big push for recognition was repeatedly dismissed or put aside. Even though Somaliland has clearly fulfilled the Montevideo Convention’s qualifications for what constitutes a state, and also having been both explicitly and implicitly recognised by other states, Somaliland’s de jure statehood can be perceived as having received both declaratory and constitutive recognition, though the penultimate recognition of and membership in the United Nations is still out of reach.42 Beginning with former UN Secretary-General Boutros Boutros-Ghali’s firm stand against “micro nationalism” in the mid-1990s, the road to UN recognition has changed

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The Roots of Somali Political Culture

little. His successor, Kofi Annan, took a more conciliatory approach, conceding that a separate state solution was an option, but only after it would be clearly expressed by the people that federation was definitely ruled out.43 The position at one point was that the African Union would need to recognise Somaliland first before the US would follow suit.44 Of course, the African Union recognizing a new state born from fragmentation of a once-larger state would quickly open a Pandora’s box on the continent. Although legal and political arguments have been made, international legitimacy in the form of state recognition still eludes Somaliland.45 Well-known interest from Israel and increasingly close relations with China has not brought Somaliland closer to the goal of recognition, nor are other major actors bringing about any possibilities for recognition either.46 Importantly, it needs to be pointed out that even though this lack of recognition was directly linked to being ineligible for its own specific development aid, it did not prevent the Somali diaspora from their own form of investment. Even by the late 1990s, aid did not totally escape them, and the United Nations, for example, invested in renovating the port of Berbera, which in fact took some of the market away from the port of Bosasso in neighbouring Puntland. At that time the EC and the Danish government were jointly undertaking road repairs, and USAID and UNICEF were rehabilitating Hargeisa’s water system; these are only three of dozens of examples from that time.47 The United Kingdom has more recently financed a significant number of buildings, including a military hospital and the renovation of a lookout station, provided a range of police and armed forces training programs, and contributed heavily to communication and information technology.48 And so in spite of lack of international recognition, by the very late 1990s Somaliland had managed to shine even more, prompting the appearance of several quite positive articles in the International New York Times, which went so far as to call it an “oasis of peace.” Besides reporting on developments in the budding armed forces and the president’s former wife’s efforts to singlehandedly organize the building of a maternity hospital for poor women, the articles also presented a particularly positive image of Somaliland as a whole.49 By 2012, the army numbered 13,200 individuals, though it was reported that half to two-thirds of them were “not fit to serve” and there was an intention to reduce the count to 8,000.50 Notably, the recruitment of an additional 1500 soldiers “on a non-clan basis” was approved for 2011-2012.51 The coast guard is a combination marine police and minor navy, and numbers just over 600, patrolling the Gulf of Aden coastline looking for pirates, illegal fishing and illegal trafficking in general.52 Remarkably,

A Fragmented State

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they have been effective in spite of being woefully under resourced and making the best of Soviet-era weapons and equipment.53 Both are also looked on favorably by society, the army considered a “respected and effective organization” and coast guard “viewed as necessary and formed part of the community.”54 Problems began to surface. From about 2005 to 2010 all was not well in regard to a border dispute between Somaliland and Puntland regarding the Sool, Sanaag, and Cayn regions. The problem reached a peak in 2007 when Somaliland was quick to militarily take over the main city of Las Anad, and it has remained there ever since. As of this writing the situation is still unresolved, with Somaliland still present in Las Anad and the formation of autonomous Khatumo State – encompassing parts of Sool, Sanaag and Cayn – claiming some degree of autonomy.55 The added factor of the discovery of oil and the pursuit of oil exploration from foreign interests has not helped matters here, and if not handled properly, has the potential to escalate out of control.56 There were other shortcomings which began to come to the fore in Somaliland at the turn of the century, “oasis of peace” as it might well have been. Perhaps among the keenest observers of contemporary Somaliland are Michael Walls and Steve Kibble, who have been well able to identify the positives and negatives on Somaliland’s path. They note, for example, that it “remains weak and poorly funded, but has paradoxically enjoyed a degree of legitimacy exceeding that of many other governments, African and otherwise.”57 They refer to its “deepening democratic deficit” as well as how “parliament and specifically the House of Representatives do not consider themselves guarantors of civil liberties.”58 and are particularly concerned with the rather secondary role women have had, their voices being “barely heard in the formal political system.”59 Although woman are not in general as fully participating as many would hope, there have been calls for women to now actively pursue political participation through running for office.60 There have also been intermittent freedom of the press issues and as mentioned, the boundary problems with Puntland, a minimum of external aid as well as lack of sufficient formal support for de jure statehood. In spite of the various challenges, what is worth noting is more how they have handled various challenges rather than whether or not they had any challenges at all. It is Somaliland’s disinclination to avoid resorting to armed conflict or allow circumstances to deteriorate to the levels of southern Somalia, as well as their rather ingrained intolerance for conflict that is significant. Since 1991, no anti-democratic or autocratic efforts have managed to achieve more than a temporary toehold in Somaliland: the necessary critical mass for support of such

16

The Roots of Somali Political Culture

groups just does not seem to exist. Although, for example, during the Barre era they were well able to launch a collective resistance against Barre, this is very different from courting or encouraging anticonsensual or anti-democratic elements from among themselves or externally. With these concerns and several others there is then little doubt Somaliland still has a long way to go in order to be considered a fully functioning democracy. However, considering its recent and distant path, the fact that there are any positive developments at all is appreciably striking. There is little doubt “Somali traditions of discourse and negotiation have enabled genuine progress,”61 and it is a progress built on a “home-grown process of ‘bottom–up’ reconciliation and statebuilding” and further fortified by “an overwhelming public desire to avoid a return to conflict and by an accompanying urge to win international recognition.”62 In spite of this tradition-based progress, there is an irony in the observation “clans as bodies of collective decision making on matters of national politics now have somewhat diminished significance.”63 Over time and including the present, Somaliland has certainly experienced fluctuations, but seems to always have been able to weather the various storms intact, although there are yet plenty of storms ahead. From 75 percent unemployment among youth and mass emigration of educated Somalis,64 to secessionist problems65 and complaints of current President Silanyo being accused of corruption, autocratic methods and interference in public freedoms,66 the future is unlikely to be smooth sailing. However, if the past is to provide any reliable indications of what is likely to come, Somaliland is likely to continue on the course it has been on for many years. Puntland

If Somaliland can be viewed as the most politically evolved and stable of the three polities, and thus located at one end of a spectrum, and southern Somalia can be located at the other end of that spectrum, then Puntland67 stands between the two, both politically and geographically. Most important politically is that Puntland has not declared itself an independent state and is not seeking state recognition. Beginning east of Somaliland along the Gulf of Aden coast and then rounding the tip of the Horn and going south along the Indian Ocean coast for about 450 miles/700km, the southernmost Puntland border is still about 500 miles/800km from the reach of Mogadishu68 and the problems of the south in general. Primarily comprising Bari Region and its port of

A Fragmented State

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Bossaso, as well as Nugaal and Mudug regions and the contested Sool and Sanaag provinces mentioned above, it covers an area of 82,000 square miles,69 and has an estimated population of 3.9 million people.70 Southern Somalia and Puntland are separated by the fledgling and struggling autonomous region, Galmudug, which, having declared its independence in August 2006, sees itself as autonomous within the Federal Government of Somalia (FGS) to the south. Puntland might best be understood as a work in progress. As the base of the first significant coup attempt in 1978 and then as the first armed challenge to Barre in 1981, this northeastern region was openly defiant to Barre’s increasingly autocratic rule.71 After the departure of Barre, trying out different systems of governance followed, including a type of rule which was predisposed to several years of supporting piracy and the corruption that came with it. Puntland nevertheless managed to steadily progress economically and yet avoid prolonged violent internal conflict. The Somali Salvation Democratic Front (SSDF), often in the foreground, originally began as a Darod clan-based guerrilla group opposed to Barre and then became more pointedly political after Barre’s fall. Puntland has experienced a succession of administrations, sometimes attempting improvement from the last administration and other times misusing power. After several years of some locales notoriously serving as a base for Somali piracy and involving the wider population in supporting it too, former President Abdirahman Farole demonstrated a concerted and committed effort at eradicating piracy from Puntland territory. Previous to the current political administration of the inter-regional entity now called Puntland, there were several attempts to administer the regions individually, though these were invariably short-lived. One of the attempts to administer Bari Region and its important port of Bossaso, for example, took place under the name Bari Region Administrative Council (BRAC), and was active in the early 1990s. Run by an eight-member governing committee and a fifty-seat parliament, none of these seat-holders were traditional clan elders. Instead, the seats were filled by civic representatives of constituencies which moved beyond clan delineations, though the region was dominated by the clanbased militia, the SSDF. Similar to other examples of regional government, BRAC was not without problems but still was one of several admirable attempts. Unlike Somaliland, BRAC made no rush to claim political independence and statehood, but rather represented an attempt at order amidst potential chaos, seeking peaceful and organized autonomy, and some among them entertaining hope of cooperative reunification in the future.

18

The Roots of Somali Political Culture

During BRAC’s administration, the harbour town Bosasso became a magnet for Africans from throughout the continent seeking work.72 The port turned into a bustling pan-African hotspot, a place where as long as a person was willing to work, it did not matter from which clan nor even from which part of Africa he hailed. Bosasso flourished due to economic vitality in the 1990s, something which could not have existed without requisite political and social stability. It also temporarily became Somalia’s primary port due to inter-clan militia fighting in Mogadishu. Although the SSDF predominated and controlled the port area at that time, by 1995 the export business and small businesses were booming, and visitors to the area reported it as a hive of activity, busy twenty-four hours a day. During that same year, for example, ten million sheep and goats were reported to have been exported to Saudi Arabia alone, a number far exceeding exports during the 1970s for the entire country. For a number of reasons those quantities have since dropped, the region has remained relatively quiet and the EU set aside several million euros to modernise port facilities in hope of encouraging more business and creating more employment.73 Apart from BRAC, central administration of the different regions was attempted several times, often with varying degrees of effort to distribute responsibility for the various departments or ministries among the different Somali clans. Although of course some of these areas of responsibility involved more prestige and power than others and some bias in who was appointed to certain ministries was not surprising, it is the overall presence of some attempt to power share within the administrations that is significant here. In other words, despite its imperfections, the administrations never deteriorated to the blatant, ongoing armed violence of the south, or individual dictatorship. There was on one hand a quite observable trend to avoid the open conflict of the south, though on the other hand the idea of completely separate statehood never took hold. Perhaps in hope of the fruition of the widespread dream of a newly reunified Somalia, the term government has not been used to refer to any of the self-governing attempts in past years. It appears to have been a deliberate effort to fulfil a practical need for order, but not a desire to secede. This lack of intention to actually secede might also be linked to the presence of its Majeerteen clan’s kin far south of Mogadishu as much as any principled sense of loyalty to the former unified state. Such terms as directorate, committee, council and administration have been used instead of terms leaning towards independence or imagined sovereignty. What has been remarkable in spite of the political changes is the persistence of relative stability as well as representative

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administration. One example worth mentioning here is a series of congresses which took place in 1995 in the inland town of Qardho, to consider constructing the civil administration which became BRAC, a move which engendered a “free and open political climate.”74 Subsequent meetings were held at a hotel in Bosasso, the Kaah Bari, a well-frequented location, and the meetings sponsored by all twenty-eight regional clans. Financial contributions were made public and listed in a weekly publication also called the Kaah Bari. And notably, in this Majeerten clan-dominated area, an elder from a non-Majeerteen clan, Ugas Yassin, was selected to appoint council members to the various regional departments or ministries which had been created. In doing so, Yassin considered clan representations as well as other types of representation, such as ideological leanings, in his selections. In spite of good intentions this administration did not last long, although it paved the way for continued similar approaches in the future, and is representative of a somewhat tenacious prevailing trend. There was little overlap between those involved in BRAC and those behind the birth of Puntland, yet the fact remains that there has been a continuity and perhaps progression in type of arrangement, often attempting to move beyond simple clan politics and failing to last long when it did not. It represents at least an intention of a more inclusive or integrated approach in avoiding violent conflict, establishing representative government by consensus, and encouraging autonomous efforts in developing a functioning economy. Increasingly independent from the south since Barre’s demise, although the various administrations of current Puntland have never sought sovereignty, they have proved themselves to be quite skilled in maintaining their autonomy. Throughout the highs and lows of their repeated attempts, including complications, intrigues and more, and ultimately culminating in the inter-regional Puntland, a rather persistent and remarkable pattern of avoiding violence and achieving consensus is readily observable.75 Following on from the mid-1990s’ lively economic atmosphere and disinclination to be consumed by open conflict, it was clear that individual regional arrangements were insufficient and inter-regional government was required. The impetus to move towards the latter came in a number of ways, and in 1998, for example, a UAE sheikh with ancestral ties to the area promised a donation of $16 million to the region, but only providing certain political conditions were met, in particular the establishment of a consensually acquired administration.76 This seems to have been answered when the autonomous Puntland State of Somalia was formed in the summer of 1998, with an accompanying Charter proclaiming to uphold such principles as “full participation of

20

The Roots of Somali Political Culture

the civil society”, a bottom up approach to reconciliation and negotiation, and no tolerance for “hostile military actions” or “atrocities against the nation.”77 The Charter was not without its problems, however, particularly so in terms of what has been referred to as “presidential excesses.”78 The birth of Puntland was in fact a rejection of the idea that government should be top-down, and began based on the idea “it would be prudent to let smaller autonomous Somali states emerge first, and after that, begin a process of putting Somalia back together again.”79 Puntland’s internal quarrels and conflicts have been limited in scope and duration, with no instances of the same level of violence and destruction seen in the south. However, partly due to the excesses of the flawed Charter, there were well-founded reports of endemic corruption for Puntland’s first seven or eight years, creating conditions which are known to have fostered the conditions for piracy.80 The enticement of piracy was substantial, Menkhaus reporting that in 2009, for example, “the funds accrued by pirates equal the annual budget of the unrecognised secessionist state of Somaliland”, those funds estimated at $20-$40 million.81 He added that because the money was reaching into and affecting all levels in society, it created “a serious disincentive” even for those in authority to tackle the problem.82 Piracy has since decreased significantly, partly due to a concerted international response as well as deterrence efforts from within Puntland itself. One report reveals that the number of ships approached and/or attacked went from a high of 193 in 2009 to only 12 in 2013, with the numbers of ships actually pirated being 45 and 0 respectively.83 However prominent piracy, corruption and other problems might have been, they were not to be particularly long lived, and when the newly-elected President Abdirahman Farole took office in January 2009, he promptly replaced the problematic Charter with a new and more comprehensive Constitution. By June 2009, Puntland had ratified all of its 141 articles, and the presidential excesses were now under control and restraint. The Constitution also allowed for the integration of traditional leaders into the judicial branch, though only as a neutral body and whose rulings only applied as a last resort. It also remained vague in terms of Puntland’s ultimate status, but that is likely a reflection of the varying expressed opinions among the people themselves.84 Puntland exists in a gray zone in terms of status; neither sovereign state nor fully engaged with southern Somalia’s FGS, it nevertheless remains an active autonomous entity which has managed to hold itself together and even progress. It seems to have weathered the difficult birth pangs so common in newly emerging states, and is slowly but decisively

A Fragmented State

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moving beyond it. Although the border problem of Sool and Sanaag is not resolved, and there are other attempts at autonomy within Puntland, the fact that these and other challenges are being managed rather than accelerating out of control is a positive sign. After all, the test of a governing administration is not so much the absence of problems, but how problems are met and dealt with when they appear. In this light, Puntland, similar to Somaliland, seems to be passing the test of time, although how they handle the discovery of oil on their border area mentioned earlier might be an ultimate test. Southern Somalia

With its capital Mogadishu now estimated to be well over two million,85 southern Somalia largely comprises the area from the struggling autonomous region of Galmudug86 in the north to the Kenyan border in the south, with Ethiopia on its west side and the Indian Ocean on the east, a total of 93,200 square miles. Perceived for years as the poster child for failed states and the scene of continuous “unconscionable violence” since 1991, it is estimated that at least 500,000 people have been killed due to the conflict, which represents about 15 percent of its present estimated population.87 It has also experienced more than fifteen attempts at formation of a viable government, none of which have proved particularly effective or lasting, and some of which have had only fleeting dalliances with positive performance. After Siad Barre was last seen fleeing Mogadishu in a tank in January 199188 and was no longer a key actor, the very clan divisions he ostensibly was so intent on ending came to the fore more aggressively than ever, though they had been brewing significantly in the years leading up to Barre’s demise. Armed and violent intra and inter-clan conflict broke out and then relentlessly continued, all of it fighting over resources and territory, and ultimately control and power. This resulted in humanitarian crises which brought on three major international interventions in a three year period, the UN operations UNOSOM I and UNOSOM II, and the US-led UNITAF in between them.89 Although there is no doubt that they certainly did provide some relief, the scale of the problem was so great and the causes and consequences so complex that their effect was bound to be limited, though some might even say unsuccessful. Despite the numerous attempts at conflict negotiation and democratic governance, there has been limited substantive and lasting change. Emigration has been proceeding steadily, and reports of chronic fighting, kidnappings, looting and shooting of civilians continued, and

22

The Roots of Somali Political Culture

seemingly without end. Eight years after the fall of Barre, for example, some statements from a 1999 UN report on Somalia summed up the deteriorated conditions quite clearly: [L]ittle or no development has taken place in Somalia for ten years. Indeed, the country’s development process has gone into reverse. Most children receive no health care or education; two generations have had no access to formal education. Life expectancy at birth is surely lower than the sub-Saharan average of 51 years. On almost all developmental indicators, Somalia ranks among the poorest and most deprived countries in the world. Virtually all the infrastructure of government – from buildings and communication facilities to furniture and office equipment – has been looted. All government archives and records, libraries, files and museums have been totally destroyed. In most of the country, there are no police or civil service. Communications, apart from private satellite and cellular telephones and radio links, are nonexistent. Electricity is not available on a public basis, but only to those who can afford generators. There is no postal service. The economy is in dire straits…the value of the Somali shilling fell from about 7.5 shillings to the dollar to over 10,000 shillings to the dollar. There are now four different Somali shillings in circulation in Somalia…the functions that states perform, such as the provision of social services, including health and education, the regulation, for example, of the movement of goods and persons, control of the environment, airspace and coasts, and so on, as well as the representation of the Somali people in intergovernmental and international fora, are absent90.

And in spite of good intentions, there was limited substantive positive change after 1999 as well. For example, eight years after the above report, a 2007 effort at forming the government was described as “a government of national unity which neither governed nor was unified.”91 This is not to say there was no change at all. With the environs of Mogadishu in particular and southern Somalia in general divided primarily as territories of clan-based militias and their respective rival leaders, the instability from their infighting and the lawlessness it engendered prompted a need among civilians for some level of authoritative stability. This stability began to be fulfilled by Islamic courts, practicing, of course, Sharia law. By 2000, as the courts gained credibility and respect among the populace, they eventually created the Islamic Courts Union (ICU), and became involved in more than just settling disputes and meting out justice, but also began to provide services in education and health as well as increasing some level of security for civilians. Affiliated with some armed militias and opposed by others, by the end of 2006 they were in control of a significant

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majority of southern Somalia, including Mogadishu. There was great concern internationally of the ICU’s purported affiliation with Al Qaeda. Approximately the same time that the ICU was growing in strength, attempts were made to form the Transitional Federal Government (TFG), an idea which was supported by the UN, the US and the African Union. Its purpose was to restore the various national institutions and serve as a counterweight to the ICU. With significant support from Ethiopia as well as clan militias opposing the ICU, the TFG successfully took back Mogadishu from the ICU in December 2006, and the ICU retreated. However, by 2009 the increasingly unpopular TFG formed a coalition government with the ICU and other groups in order to maintain support, though by then the ICU had begun to splinter. One group resulting from that splintering was the militant al-Shabaab, suspected to have links to Al Qaeda and at various times having significant control of southern Somalia. It was not until August 2011 that Mogadishu was recaptured from their control by the TFG and the African Union Mission in Somalia (AMISOM) troops, though as of this writing there is still sporadic fighting taking place in southern areas. In spite of making great efforts to appear as formidable and in control as possible, however, the TFG was unable to escape some quite harsh criticism from international observers.92 By the middle of 2013 the Mogadishu area was considered to be reasonably safe and well under the control of yet another much needed and new administration, the Federal Government of Somalia. AlShabaab’s continued existence perhaps being more a symptom of a broader trend than a singular response to opportunity, their efforts to control the region have not been successful.93 In the midst of this, incidents of piracy were taking place. The general disorder and lack of consistent leadership which took place in Puntland during the first several years of the twenty-first century and created conditions for piracy to develop and flourish also took place in southern Somalia. It should be stressed that the piracy occurred at a level far above and beyond the only occasional but related acts some Somalis have been engaged in for centuries. Although contemporary piracy in the south might have begun as a reaction to foreign ships fishing Somali waters or in response to toxic dumping, it quickly escalated into blatant profiteering, making ransom demands in the millions. In spite of some reduction in piracy which began towards the end of 2011, there was a turn towards land-based kidnappings and attacks with ransom demands as well, though this latter development has not yet proved to be as predatory or extensive as piracy had been.94 After Barre’s fall, southern Somalia and especially the Mogadishu area fell into a whirlpool of inter-clan conflict, seen by some as “purely

24

The Roots of Somali Political Culture

an economic war,”95 and the violence in the south was often and erroneously assumed and accepted as the norm for all Somali people and their territories. The truth of the matter is that the extremes of the conflict in the south in fact have been an unprecedented deviation from the entire historical past of the Somali people. Abdi I. Samatar has importantly pointed out, “at no time in the recorded history of Somalia has nearly one-third to one-half of the population died or been in danger of perishing due to famine caused by civil war. This calamity surpasses all previous ones and has most appropriately been called “Dad Cunkii,” an era of cannibalism.96 It was an unparalleled violence; it was a level of violence unmatched in scope. The details of the serial failed attempts to resolve the ongoing violence are confoundingly complex, each one as equally discouraging as the next, with a long line of interested third parties – from the United Nations to the United States and even Muammar Gaddafi – each trying their hand at finding a resolution or at least a path towards resolution.97 Simply put, southern Somalia’s “spectacular state failure” seemed to have been taking on a rather long term or at least deeply entrenched character.98 Without the support provided to the TFG – and lessons learned from it – and then its replacement with the FGS, it could have been predicted that southern Somalia was well on its way to having birthed and fostered a new and rather distorted political culture, and one which did not at all bode well for the future. In the midst of the continuously deteriorating conditions, some small bright lights have appeared. One has come specifically from the business sector, rarely an ally of violent conflict and instability, even if only for reasons of self-preservation. It arrived in the form of the growing money transfer system, which particularly filled a gap left by the collapse of the formal banking system in Somalia.99 Money sent back home – whether for personal or business reasons – is now recognised internationally as being globally significant, particularly since it is known to be a multi-billion dollar business. Money transfers take place throughout the three Somalias, and in places like the conflicttorn south, they represent creative initiative and adaptability in a difficult conflict environment. Moreover, several of the money transfer firms in Somalia also appear to be concerned with some degree of social responsibility, charging discounted fees in disaster areas and also contributing to development and relief projects. This is a welcome development since some members of the business community have been profiting because of the conflict and not in spite of it. What is important to note here is that there does exist in Somalia a population of businessmen who have a vested interest in and make efforts to preserve

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some degree of stability in all parts of Somalia, including the south. In spite of stemming from different clans, they tend to cooperate with each other and stand in sharp contrast to the past warring factions of the south.100 Another bright light of cooperation appeared in the form of a civic-based movement in 2005 which was opposed to the leadership of the TFG as well as the militia and Islamist agendas in general. Menkhaus described it as, “the best hope in 15 years for a grass-roots mobilization against the entire class of failed political leaders in Somalia.” Ultimately the movement lost momentum, but it was an effort involving the cooperation of different groups to work towards increased security and stability in the region. Menkhaus adds, “Had it succeeded, Somalia’s political trajectory might have been very different.”101 Indeed, and despite its lack of apparent or immediate success, the fact that this mobilization took place at all is a kind of success in and of itself. Almost ten years on, the continued presence and activities of alShabaab in the face of the FGS’s determined efforts – as well as the international community’s efforts - to reinvent itself stand in contrast with the achievements in the north. The nearly cyclical nature of events in southern Somalia gave rise to a deluge of literature attempting to either forward solutions to the problem or to understand and explain the factors behind these circumstances, all in an effort to answer the question why? This was likely to continue had it not been for the insightful and carefully outlined initiatives in the September 2013 document The Somali Compact,102 which appeared to be filling several gaps, including programs for civic education, community participation, and support for grassroots development, among many others, all of them crucial to a healthy political culture. A shift in a more positive direction has been noted by others, but with some caveats to consider as well, such as how “it is impossible to overstate how difficult it will be to dismantle the architecture of corruption”103 and repeated recommendations on the key role of the business class.104 How long it will take, and how rough a road it will be for a more democratic or consensual political culture to take hold is uncertain, though the path in that direction is unmistakable. “Habits of the Heart”

Clearly the political cultures that have developed and been fostered over time in the three Somalias merit a closer look, and this includes a review of the concept itself. Just what is and is not meant by political culture requires some clarification, and particularly since it has at times served as an indefinite catch-all. The concept has been linked with “fuzzy

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The Roots of Somali Political Culture

thinking and sloppy explanations”105 as well as “improvised theorizing” 106 and other weaknesses. To offer some background, then, the idea of political culture was perhaps most notably brought forward in the nineteenth century by Alexis de Tocqueville in Democracy in America. This far-reaching study of the fledgling America’s perceived success with the great democratic experiment credited its preliminary gains to its broader political culture, which had over time “developed the mental habits that sustain liberty.”107 At its core, political culture or “habits of the heart”108 referred to “the sum of the moral and intellectual dispositions of men in society . . . [and] the sum of ideas that shape mental habits.”109 Although it can appear that the concept was, from the beginning, off to a somewhat imprecise start, Tocqueville was interested in moving a step beyond simply reporting observable behaviour to instead identifying and understanding those behaviours and attitudes which had direct and indirect political implications. According to him, this behaviour had its roots in the past. Likening countries to individuals, he claimed, “people always bear some marks of their origins. Circumstances of birth and growth affect all the rest of their careers.”110 Tocqueville’s idea that the roots of contemporary political life can be traced back and reliably observed over a long period of time was to endure, and was applied in a range of twentieth century studies.111 More than a century and a half later, this showed up most notably in Robert Putnam’s Making Democracy Work. Though not without its critics, the work caused a sensation in the early 1990s when Putnam accounted for contemporary widespread civic capacities in northern Italy by its medieval “unprecedented form of self-government.”112 Although Putnam was faulted for not thoroughly and convincingly tracing that thread of civic-mindedness through such a long stretch of time,113 a subsequent work by Larry Diamond, Political Culture and Democracy in Developing Countries, made a more tangible conceptual contribution. Diamond forwarded a practical working definition of political culture, stated as, “a people’s predominant beliefs, attitudes, values, ideals, sentiments, and evaluations about the political system of its country, and the role of the self in that system.” 114 He also provided an analogy, explaining that “political culture is better conceived not purely as the legacy of the communal past but as a geological structure with sedimentary deposits from many historical ages and events” where “in each new historical period, new value orientations have partially displaced but not completely erased pre-existing ones.”115 It is here that political culture becomes a discernible thread over time, no longer a static condition, but more of a living, continuous process. Diamond’s work also dovetails quite well with Lucien Pye’s observation regarding

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(political) culture’s long term tenacious and pervasive nature, and its “coherent patterns which fit together and are mutually reinforcing.”116 Pye also explained that an abrupt change in political culture “involves true trauma,” such as a cataclysmic event or a revolution. Thus, a background of trauma and disruption versus consistency and stability is also to be considered within the discussion on Somalia.117 With relevance for the Somali people, then, Diamond suggests that previous political cultures do not always simply vanish or become erased and then replaced by successive ones, but often can be relegated to a subsidiary or subordinate position which might indeed move to the fore at another time or under certain conditions. The political culture of the past can sometimes be the forerunner or ancestor of subsequent political cultures. This furthers the idea that political culture is an ongoing process, and so, like geological layers, does not necessarily have an abrupt beginning and end point, but has linking layers which are made up of elements from previous and subsequent layers.118 It does not remain static, though it can experience variations and shifts which are not usually to be understood as a break in the overall process itself. This has been touched on in the literature on Somalia but never expanded, although it fits quite well into Diamond’s idea of sedimentary layers. Prunier inadvertently provides an example: [T]he diya-paying groups of Somali society were not kept intact and untouched by British intervention, but neither were they destroyed; they survived by becoming something else. The pre-Protectorate clan leadership used to manage kinship relations and pastoral resources; under the British it entered the domain of broader legal action and the management of political and economic entitlements. But it did not do so entirely in the spirit of the old self.119

With this understanding, the path of a people’s political culture is generally one characterized by subtle, gradual shifts and changes, and only rarely sharply punctuated steps. Part of the past moves forward with time and can change form. Such subtle shifts and changes seem to be suggested in what Ahmed Samatar, in writing about Somalia, also later referred to as the important role of “discrete factors.”120 The importance of subtleties is also shared by Pye, who pointed out that “culture is helpful in mapping different routes of political development because it treats seriously the nuances in behaviour patterns which may seem only trivial but which actually are critical in distinguishing between successes and failures.”121

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The Roots of Somali Political Culture

But the very nature of both Samatar’s discrete factors and Pye’s nuances also imply the likelihood that they could be easily overlooked or dismissed in preference for larger, more obvious contributing factors or explanations. Other contributors to the political culture discussion were aware of this as well, including Ron Inglehart, who noted, “cultural factors have been deemphasized to an unrealistic degree.” 122 This was perhaps partly due to the general criticism of the concept’s weakness for being vague and difficult to define. In order to systematically observe political culture over time, then, specific attributes or indicators of it would need to be identified and then traced within a selected time period. Tracing political culture needs to be undertaken cautiously. In order to avoid broad claims based on vague observations, the literature does provide some direction. Even looking back as far as Tocqueville, specific political culture themes have persisted in the literature over time, most commonly those of liberty and equality. These two themes became more systematically identified and observed in a 1965 study by Lucien Pye and Sydney Verba, which came in the form of four recurring pairs of themes (or values) on ten case studies.123 Two of those pairs correspond with previous and subsequent literature, and were expressed as liberty/coercion124 and equality/hierarchy. In regard to observing them over time among the Somalis, they would need to be observed in broad strokes, and not sought, as might be possible in other cases, in indigenous literature or records from the period, and this is due to an overall dearth of the written word.125 Liberty can be simply understood as physical freedom of movement and degrees of autonomy in political, economic, and/or social matters; liberty is still rather broad for the purposes herein, and autonomy seems to apply more directly to the Somalia cases. Equality would denote a lack or minimum of clearly defined social strata as well as similar treatment of all individuals within political, economic and social matters. It is the deliberate tracing of the autonomy/coercion and equality/hierarchy attributes over time that distinguishes this study from historical observation. 126 Contemporary observation of Somaliland provides clues which call up these paired themes when referring to “socio-political norms that emphasize the importance of negotiation and compromise”127 and “Somali traditions of discourse and negotiation (which) have enabled genuine progress.”128 These observations allude to a cooperative and consensual political culture, one which would have been unlikely to come about in an environment dominated by the themes of coercion and hierarchy respectively.129 These themes as indicators might at first glance seem too broad or even imprecise; however, they serve as useful

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starting points in this preliminary extending of the political culture concept. As such they are useful when researching back in time, as more narrowly delineated indicators might prevent historical tracing. Observing political culture over time is not to simply be a reiteration of historical events, but a particular path of investigation taking place within those historical events. Herein, the historical tracing of political culture among the Somalis begins in the early nineteenth century since the nature and number of sources, as well as their availability and variety, began to increase at this time, largely due to a rise in European exploration. These factors designate the beginning of an important juncture in Somali history – the advent of increased European involvement and attempted colonization – as a practical starting point. Although there is historical evidence from earlier periods, the early nineteenth century also marks the beginning of a consistent stream of information hailing from comparable sources. It allows for pre-colonial, colonial, and post-colonial observations to be compared and contrasted, with each era roughly similar in length of time. This is not as ambitious as, for example, Putnam’s work, but the advantage is that proceeding with a more moderate approach in terms of time also contributes to reliability. Practices and behaviors reported on in earlier times might appear to ebb and flow in subsequent periods, and yet never fade so completely that they did not resurface time and again, including the present. In taking on this first focused comparative pass at two hundred years of history, trends in political culture must be sought more in the mainstream historical narrative than in discrete microscopic investigations; it is the larger, overarching trends considered here. Mention must be made of the choice to not include Somali oral sources in reviewing the historical record. This was decided in the interest of maintaining some level of source consistency as well as accuracy regarding dates, names, locales, statistical information and more. Somali perceptions as found through oral sources are indeed valuable in providing a window to a Somali perspective on knowledge of and experiences in the past, and certainly can shed light on social complexities. However, these sources tend to be contextual and anecdotal, and while this type of source and the disciplines which employ them are not at all to be underestimated, they clearly constitute another type of source and with it a different type of exploration. Specifically, oral accounts are more phenomenologically or hermeneutically relevant, which is not the direction of this work. Although it is unclear just how wide or narrow the gap between hermeneutics and this approach might be, they are not close enough to combine in this preliminary round of historical tracing.130 Scott Reese took a similar

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view in his notable work on the colonial era Benadir, commenting, “Somali oral traditions tend to be episodic with no epic narratives that might provide lengtheir accounts for analysis.”131 The sources relied on are mainly primary and secondary sources, though with consideration taken into account for likely contemporary subjectivity. With this in mind as well as a specified theoretical direction, the path is then opened for a different line of inquiry to be explored. Changing the Question

For a little more than the past twenty years, the main political questions about the former Somali Democratic Republic have been primarily concerned with the south, specifically the causes and management of the violence, the lack of political progress, and solutions for both. And in spite of the extensive body of literature on explanations for the south, there has been very limited speculation about the possible reasons behind the relatively good news of the north.132 Certainly there has been ample reporting and description of the latter, but few efforts to explain or analyze why it was able to come about in the first place and how it has managed to persist. Even though systematic comparative discussions on the three polities are lacking, this is curiously so in spite of the simple fact that the circumstances are quite ideal for comparison. They beg the question of why there are such striking differences in their subsequent political outcomes despite their commonalities.133 Neither can the clan system nor Islam, for example, be too pointedly blamed or credited for differences in conflict or cooperation, as both clan and religion are deeply entrenched among all Somalis, though there is some variation. Of course, the extent to which the preservation or erosion of clan culture in different areas has had a contributing role in matters of peace and conflict could be an important factor. However, clan culture’s everchanging patchwork status is a study in and of itself, and a political culture approach would tend to indirectly subsume some aspects of this anyway. Since cooperation in the north has resulted in lasting political solutions, perhaps rather than asking the almost customary question of “why protracted violence in the south?” it might be more meaningful to ask “why protracted politics in the north?” To put a political culture spin on these questions, it can be asked “why protracted coercion in the south?” and “why protracted autonomy in the north?” Although a political culture perspective cannot account for everything, it may well fill in a gap which informs and coincides with other explanations. Of course, neither the north nor the south can be said to have been entirely

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cooperative or entirely violent, but what can be said is that the prevailing trend tends to be predominantly cooperative or predominantly conflictual, and there must be some factor or set of factors to account for these prevailing trends. Somaliland’s laudable accomplishment of just over twenty years, and Puntland’s consistent return to some consensual form of autonomy point towards a very deeply imbedded inclination, aptitude and preference for the political, for order, for governance, for rules and structure. Put another way, then, it seems clear that Somaliland, and to a similar degree, Puntland, might have some widespread shared experience which had an impact on the political, some related but subtle understanding of self-reliance and self-rule, some comparable intrinsic grasp of cooperation and consensus which simply has been completely overshadowed in the south. There has been limited acknowledgement that the south’s past has had its influence on the present, particularly in regard to “the destruction of Somali humanitarian and republican values under the colonial regimes that had preceded it.”134 This was soon enough followed by the Barre regime and “two decades of brutal governance, (when) a whole new generation of urban Somalis was born who had no benefit of the humanism, egalitarianism, and republicanism of the culture of their forefathers.”135 However, the experience and impact solely from the Barre era still does not sufficiently explain such fundamentally wide disparities in the post-Barre outcomes, particularly when such disparities also can be observed further back in time. When taking that step back from the Barre era to the brief postindependence years of 1960-1969, it is clear that this period was not sufficient to have spawned such a rift, and not only because it was only nine years in duration, but also because it was nine relatively uneventful years. In other words, nothing sufficiently traumatic happened during those years which could explain or help to explain the disparities between north and south. Any north-south differences which might have existed at that time were not exposed to any conditions in which they might overtly manifest. However, it is within the 1961 referendum on the first national constitution that some intriguing inconsistencies are notable: only half of the voting population in the north supported the new constitution, although in the south, the numbers reported to be supporting it exceeded the entire population of that region. Prior to independence, similar voting irregularities were also reported in the south, along with the report of a 1958 UN mission to Somalia stating that southern Somalia would not be ready for independence by 1960.136 This and other problems during the pre-independence trusteeship era (1950-1960)

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The Roots of Somali Political Culture

certainly signalled that the north and south were not experiencing much political parity. What is clear here is that north-south differences were well observable not only prior to Barre, but prior to independence. Stepping back further to the period 1941-1949, when Italy was no longer present in southern Somalia as a colonial power, and all of Somalia was under British rule, we see a time when political organizing among the Somalis was taking place. It is even here that some differences between north and south are apparent, particularly regarding an incident in the south in 1948, when dozens of Italians and Somalis were killed and just over 175 Italian homes looted.137 This in turn only leads to looking back even further, during the height of the colonial era, where there was a vast difference in the way Great Britain and Italy perceived and dealt with the respective Somali populations. It is during the heart of the colonial era that differences between north and south seem most apparent, with Puntland placed somewhat between the two, being technically under Italian rule but geographically distant from the epicenter of the Italian power base and Italian authority in general. With two very different administrative styles and colonial goals, it is worth considering that the disparate conditions of the colonial era are the distant foundational roots of the three Somalias’ political strengths and weaknesses today. Fifty years of very different governing styles and indeed the presence of administrative versus colonial rule would no doubt have a different impact on any people. But might there already have been some notable differences prior to this? The decades leading up to the British and Italian presence are rich with differing circumstances which also need to be considered. Perhaps in identifying and exploring those differences and the role of political culture, comparably observing its nature and its development over time would contribute to a broader understanding of what has led to the current circumstances. By wearing a political culture lens and focusing on the paired themes and an eye for the seeds of the present, it may well be worth considering the Somali people’s past, reviewing those two hundred years of sedimentary layers and whatever they are willing to reveal. Those layers are divided up as the historical chapters which follow, beginning with the bustling and sometimes turbulent precolonial period, which then leads to the complexities and struggles of the colonial era, with the British and Italian experiences covered separately. The subsequent chapter examines the long road towards unifying north and south and briefly outlines early attempts at unified statehood. Each chapter concludes with a political culture discussion, and the final chapter wraps up with an overview and the results of this tracing of political culture in the three Somalias over time.

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Notes 1

Menkhaus, “Calm Between the Storms?,” p. 558; in this 2014 article, the author reminds us of the the important work addressed by Alexander George and Andrew Bennett ten years ago in Case Studies and Theory Development in the Social Sciences (London: MIT Press, 2005). 2 The Federal Government of Somalia follows from the eight-year term of the Transitional Federal Government, the latter concluding in August 2012. In this work, “Somalia” and “Somali Republic” both refer to the territory comprising the forner Somali Democratic Republic, which lasted from 19691991. “Southern Somalia” or “the south” refers to the general area where conflict has persisted since 1991, with Mogadishu as its primary city. “Northern Somalia” or “the north” refers to both regions comprising contemporary Somaliland and Puntland. Other entities with Somali populations, such as Djibouti, Ethiopia and Kenya, are not part of this discussion. Smaller Somali entities which have been attempting autonomous government in very recent years are also not considered to be part of the twenty-year phenomenon. 3 Al-Shabaab is the Islamist military wing of the Islamic Courts Union. Formally called Harakat al-Shabaab al-Mujahideen/Mujahideen Youth Movement, its reported links to al-Qaeda are tenuous or at least unclear. 4 Importantly, the argument has been made that their observed ethnic homogeneity has been over-emphasized in contrast to the countering influence of clan identity. Lewis has pointed out that “solidarity at the level of the ethnic group (the nation) is less binding than that within the clan structure” and that “clanship remains a more comprehensively powerful focus of identity.” Lewis, “Visible and Invisible,” p. 511. There is also a minority population of nonethnic Somali, Bantu–based clans, many of them the descendants of slaves; see for example Besteman, “Translating Race.” 5 The list is extensive, but see, for example Besteman, “Primordialist Blinders,” pp. 109-120; Lewis, Blood and Bone, Besteman and Cassanelli, The Struggle for Land in Southern Somalia, Dehérez, “The Scarcity of Land in Somalia”; Menkhaus, “International Peacebuilding,” pp.42-67; Prendergast, “When the Troops Go Home,” pp. 268-273. 6 Brian J. Hesse offers some excellent comparative discussion on Somaliland and Puntland in his 2010 article “Lessons in Successful Somali Governance.” 7 One example of this is Lee Cassanelli’s The Shaping of Somali Society: Reconstructing the History of a Pastoral People, 1600-1900, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982). This exhaustively researched work is limited only to southern Somalia. 8 Prunier, for example, contributed a brief chapter discussing the differences between British administration and Italian colonialism and their possible impact on contemporary circumstances; Prunier (2010) . 9 For a critique of the problems of political culture with historical inevitability and other related issues among political scientists and historians, see Formisano, fn. 1. 10 Cassanelli stresses this in Besteman and Cassanelli, The Struggle for Land, p. 14.

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The Roots of Somali Political Culture

11 The literature on these topics is abundant and easily available, and there is no need to replicate such discussions. One recent and particularly thorough work on contemporary Somalia is Getting Somalia Wrong: Faith, War and Hope in a Shattered State by BBC journalist Mary Harper, and referred to by I. M. Lewis as “the most accessible and accurate account available of the contemporary Somali world – pirates and all”; (London: Zed Books, 2012). Aside from the classical works of I. M. Lewis, for examples of recent scholarship on the intricacies of clan and lineage, some of which challenge long held assumptions, see: Barnes, “U dhashay, Ku-dashay”; Besteman, “Primordialist Blinders”; Hesse, “Lessons in Successful”; Hesse, “Introduction: The Myth”; Lewis, “Visible and Invisible”; Makinda, “Politics and Clan Rivalry. ”Clan distinctions between the three regions, such as the predominance of the Isaaq in Somaliland, and the diversity of clan in the south, are not at all denied here, but are simply not the focus of discussion. 12 Laitin and S. Samatar, Somalia: Nation in Search, pp. 30-31. 13 See Michael van Notten’s interesting approach to xeer as customary law in The Law of the Somalis, pp. 3-81; see also Abdile, “Customary Dispute Resolution in Somalia”, pp. 87-110. 14 Lewis, “Historical Aspects,” p. 37. 15 A.Samatar, “Under Sieg,” p. 9. 16 See the writings of Ibn Batuta, which provide an informative glance at early Somalis: Ibn Batuta in Black Africa: Selections; also by the same author, Travels, CE 1325-1354. 17 Michael Walls offers a lucid discussion on contemporary gurti (also guurti) in his A Somali Nation-State, .pp. 46-48. 18 Some Somalis also have been a seafaring trading people throughout history, having had their own districts far from home, such as in Mocha, India, Madagascar and having traveled as far as China in the early Middle Ages. 19 Burton, p.174; this quote has erroneously long been attributed to Somalis in general. However, Burton very specifically only applies this to the “Eesa” clan (most likely Issa, a subclan of the Dir, located in northwest Somaliland and Djibouti), which comprised approximately “100,000 shields”. In referring to Eesa submission to their clan chief, Burton added, “He is obeyed only when his orders suit the taste of King Demos”, a reference to the strong independent egalitarian character of the “Eesa”; p. 175. Former Republic of Somalia President Igal also gave an interesting speech on the role of “tribalism” versus nationalism about one year before he was ousted from power; see Egal, “Nomadic Individualism.” 20 United Kingdom, Precis, p. 14. 21 Laitin and Samatar, p. 30. 22 Ibn Battuta provides a detailed fourteenth century account of a bustling Mogadishu from his travels; see Battuta, pp. 110-112; also see Jama, “The Origins and Development,” p. 37. 23 Mukhtar, “Arabic Sources,” p. 145. 24 When initially built, the Suez Canal cost approximately $100 million, and was 102 miles/164 kilometers long. It has since been expanded. 25 UN General Assembly Resolution 1514, also known as the Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples.

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26 This was due to clan-segregated distribution of political positions: Hesse, Introduction: “The Myth,” p. 251. 27 Lewis comments on this brief but difficult period: “Somalia was now a prison presided over directly by the tireless tyrant Siyaad, who had immense energy and by preference worked through the night”; “Visible and Invisible,” p. 502. 28 Ibid, p. 501. 29 Though the boundaries of each of the three areas has shifted somewhat over the centuries, the reality of there actually being three regions with their own specific characteristics has been consistent over time. 30 For an excellent discussion of the process written approximately ten years on, see Bradbury, Abokor, and Yusuf, “Somaliland: Choosing Politics…”. 31 For a detailed account of the entire process, see Walls, “Emergence of a Somali State,” pp 371-389. 32 Hesse provides a comprehensive account of Somaliland’s political system and politics; see Hesse, “Where Somalia....”, pp. 352-354. 33 In fact it was subclans of the Dir and Haarti which participated. 34 Walls, “Emergence,” p. 378. 35 For a thorough account of this period, see Walls, A Somali Nation-State, pp. 161-178. 36 One author has been critical of the apparent “peaceful and democratic” image of Somaliland’s development, and reveals the sometimes questionable political strategies employed by Egal in Somaliland’s formative years and the crucial role they played in Somaliland’s success; see Balthasar, “Somaliland’s Best Kept.” 37 Bradbury, et al, pp. 457-458 38 Ibid, p. 458. 39 See Hesse, “Where Somalia,” esp. pp. 355, 357-358; Feldman, “Fund Transfers.” 40 Several authors have commented on the role of the business community here as a cornerstone for peace and as a possible model or springboard for southern Somalia. See, for example, Hammond, “Somalia Rising”; Hesse, “Lessons”; Feldman, “Amidst the Chaos,” esp. p. 302 and throughout; Feldman, “Somalia: Amidst the Rubble”; Lindley, “Between Dirty Money.” In regard to Somaliland’s inspiring book fairs, see: www.economist.com, August 2013. 41 http://somalilandpress.com, “Somali and Chinese Investors Sign a Major Industrialization Deal with the Government.” In June 2013, there were some health and safety problems reported concerning a Chinese tannery not far from Hargeisa: www.theguardian.com, July 2013. The government’s failure to act on this does not bode well. 42 Montevideo Convention Article 1 requires that “a state as a person of international law” should have a permanent population, defined territory, a government, and the capacity to enter into relations with other states. 43 Response to the author, Uppsala University, 11 August 1997; the Secretary-General also added the rather surprising opinion that those who advocated state break-up were “more fanatical” and that the international community could only “help” but “not impose”. 44 David Shinn, then Director of East African Affairs at the US State Department, reiterated this on Radio Hargeisa in May 1996.

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45 On the complexities and realities of recognition, see for example “Government Recognition in Somalia” by Anonymous, Journal of Modern African Studies, 40, 2 (2002), pp. 247-272. See also Alexis Arieff, “De Facto Statehood?,” pp. 60-79. Although there are several articles on the topic, few have appeared in leading journals of international law. 46 Marc Lanteigne discusses China-Somalia-Somaliland relations in his 2013 article”Fire Over Water: China’s Strategic Engagement of Somalia and the Gulf of Aden Crisis”, Pacific Review 26 (3). 47 Horn of Africa Bulletin, selected issues 1998 and 1999. Menkhaus reports that a consortium of Somali businessman took over management and maintenance of several UNICEF water systems, and confirmed Hargeisa was among them, another example of Somali entrepreneurial spirit; Menkhaus, “Reassessing,” pp. 26-27 and private correspondence. The recent upgrade of Hargeisa’s water system does not reflect the consortium’s management skills: http://www.unhabitat.org/content.asp?cid=12179&catid=233&typeid=6 48 Adam Smith International, Somaliland Security Sector Assessment, (2012), pp. 69, 85, 46-8, 79. 49 The International New York Times articles were all authored by Ian Fisher: “An Oasis of Peace in Somalia Seeks Freedom”, November 26, 1999, Sec. A, pp. 1 and 12; “A Woman of Firsts and Her Latest Feat: A Hospital”, November 29, 1999, Sec. A, p. 4; “Somalia Militias Now Undergoing Rehumanization,” December 4, 1999, Sec. A, p. 4. 50 Adam Smith International, p. 64. 51 Ibid, p. 65. 52 Ibid, p. 78. 53 Ibid, pp. 58-74, 76-84. 54 Ibid, pp. 69, 80. 55 In August 2014, representatives of Khatumo State declared Las Anod as its capital in spite of the fact that Somaliland armed forces still control and administer the town and region. 56 For example: www.somalilanders.net/somaliland-vs-puntland-oilconflict/; www.nextoilrush.com; http://allafrica.com; www.bbc.co.uk. 57 Walls and Kibble, “Beyond Polarity,” p. 32. 58 Ibid, pp. 46, 44. 59 Ibid p. 50. As an example of uneven development of civil liberties, in spite of private press and private television in Somaliland, private radio stations are not permitted, apparently due to reasons of security; see Stremlau, “Hostages of Peace.” 60 See: www.somaliaonline.com. 61 Walls and Kibble, p. 40. 62 Ibid, p.32. 63 Leonard, “What does the Somali,” p. 570. 64 www.theguardian.com 65 http://somalilandpress.com.somalilandfear-in-khatumo-ahead-ofpuntland-polls-47152 66 http://somalilandpress.com 67 The name recalls the Land of Punt, to which the Egyptians referred regarding trade as far back as four thousand years ago.

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68 Mogadishu is about 500 miles due south; however, the roads are not direct and driving from southernmost Puntland to Mogadishu would be significantly longer, by at least 100 miles/160km. 69 A resolution to the ongoing border dispute with Somaliland could change this significantly. 70 No official census has been taken in Somalia since 1986, and population figures can only be approximate. In 2003 Puntland was reported to have 2.4 million people, increasing to 3.9 million in 2006. Puntland authorities continue to report a population of 3.9 million, the dramatic increase apparently due to immigration from southern Somalia and other regional countries. 71 Lewis, “Visible and Invisible,” p. 503. 72 Bernhard Helander, “Bosasso, Somalia – Emerging Democracy?” 73 “The EU will modernise Bosasso port”, Economist Intelligence Unit Country Report for Somalia, 3rd Quarter, 1996, p.35. Subsequent inquiries to the EU and related documents only reveal that €10 million were set aside for “physical infrastructure”. Also see “Financing Conditions Provided by the Commission of the European Communities to the People of Somalia,” Agreement N5632/ SO, March 1996, Budget Details, Annex 1. 74 Helander, “Bosasso,” 1997. 75 From a draft report on why the separate regional administrations were not successful and the considerations behind an inter-regional Puntland: Bernhard Helander, The Puntland State of Somalia: Strategem or a Step towards Good Governance?, for submission to the United Nations Development Office for Somalia, Local Administrative Structures Unit, Uppsala and Nairobi, December 1998. 76 Helander, “Bosasso.” 77 “Principles and Position of the Puntland State of Somalia,” Puntland State of Somalia, 12 March 1998. 78 Hesse, “Lessons in Successful Somali Governance,” p.77. Hesse’s article offers a detailed and careful analysis of Puntland politics. Among his observations, he points out that the Charter seems to have been forwarded instead of the called-for Constitution, and gave inordinate power to the president, which essentially led to a range of abuses. 79 Ibid, p. 77. 80 See Pham, “Putting Somali Piracy.” See also, for example “Continued U.S. Navy Operations Against Pirates off Somalia,” American Journal of International Law, Vol. 102. No.1 (Jan., 2008), pp. 169-170 and “United States Joins International Response to Somali Pirates,” American Journal of International Law, Vol. 103, No. 1 (Jan., 2009), pp.146-148. 81 Menkhaus, “Dangerous Waters,” pp. 23-24. 82 Ibid, p. 24. 83 www.shipping.nato.int/Pages/Piracystatistics.aspx 84 Hesse, “Lessons,” pp. 80-81. 85 Due to ongoing conflict with al-Shabaab, Mogadishu’s population has at least doubled since 2011; www.upi.com/Top_News/Special/2012/07/17/Mogadi shu-population-soars/UPI-17861342548858/ 86 Galmudug consists of about 1.8 million people, and was known for harboring pirates. In fact, it accepted assistance from Puntland troops in 2012 to contain the pirate presence. Al-Shabaab has attempted to gain ground there as well.

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87

Walls and Kibble, p.372. www.nytimes.com/1991/01/28/world/insurgents-claiming-victory-insomalia.html 89 UNOSOM I and UNITAF were short-lived, taking place from April to December 1992 and December 1992-May 1993 respectively. UNOSOM II, however, lasted for two years, from March 1993-March 1995. More recently there was also the African Union Mission in Somalia (AMISOM), authorized by the UN, which began in 2007 and continues to the present. 90 “Report of the Secretary-General on the situation in Somalia,” UN Doc S/1999/882, Iss.body: S/Sess:54 (New York), 16 August 1999, pp. 14-15. 91 Menkhaus, “The Crisis in Somalia,” p.360. 92 See for example: www.crisisgroup.org/enregions/africahorn-ofafrica/somalia/170-somalia-the-transitional-government-on-life-support.aspx. 93 Indeed, as of this writing one of al-Shabaab’s top commanders was killed in an airstrike just south of Mogadishu; see: http://www.aljazeera.com/news/ 2015/02/somalia-drone-strike-killed-top-al-shabab-figure 150206111810686.html. 94 See J. Ashley Roach, “Countering Piracy off Somalia: International Law and International Institutions”, The American Journal of International Law, Vol. 104, No. 3 (July 2010), pp. 397-416; Martin N. Murphy, Somalia: the new Barbary? Piracy and Islam in the Horn of Africa, (New York; Columbia University Press, 2011), 277 pp.; Jay Bahadur, Deadly Waters: Inside the Hidden World of Somalia’s Pirates, (London; Profile Books, 2011), 302 pp.; for land based kidnappings see: www.theguardian.com. 95 “No end in sight to banana war”, The Horn of Africa Bulletin, Vol. 8, No. 3, May-June 1996, p.17; a quote from Somalia’s former ambassador to Kenya. The banana trade was quite lucrative, so much so that, in an attempt to maintain some control of it for himself, one militia leader, Ali Mahdi, built his own port just north of Mogadishu. 96 Abdi Ismail Samatar, “Destruction of State,” p. 625. 97 In 1998, amidst high praise from Aideed, Libya’s leader Gaddafi involved himself in settling the Somali problem, including paying for the administration and protection of Mogadishu, its airport and harbour, and equipping a police force of 6000; http://www.arabicnews.com. 98 Pham, p. 326. 99 See Lindley, “Dirty Money,” pp. 519-539; and Medani, “Financing Terrorism or Survival? Informal Finance and State Collapse in Somalia,” p. 2-9. 100 See Feldman, “Amidst the Chaos.” 101 Menkhaus, pp. 365-67. 102 In September 2013, representatives from United Nations, the European Union and Federal Government of Somalia met in Mogadishu to discuss and agree on renewed efforts and assistance for the south, resulting in the document The Somali Compact. This was the end result of a process which began in December 2012. It includes a range of short and mid-term initiatives, the implementation of which are to support the building of a more positive and lasting social and political culture. The Integrated Strategic Framework for Somalia is a document which clarifies the UN’s role and priorites and poses a time frame; it was signed in October 2014; for the entire document see: http://unsom.unmissions.org. 103 Hammond, “Somalia Rising,” p. 191. 88

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104 Webersik, “Mogadishu: Economy,” p. 1478; in this 2006 article, the author refers back to analysts stressing the crucial role of the business class even in 2003. 105 Pye, Asian Power, p. 20. 106 Eckstein, “A Culturalist Theory,” pp. 789-790. 107 Ceaser, “Alexis de Tocqueville,” pp. 656-657. 108 This term was first used by Tocqueville in his pioneering work from the early nineteenth century, Democracy in America; G. Lawrence, transl., (New York: Anchor Books, 1968), p. 287. See also Ceaser, “Alexis de Tocqueville,” pp. 656-672. 109 Tocqueville, pp. 305, fn.8; 287. 110 Tocqueville, p. 31. 111 Four phases of the study of political culture have been identified, beginning with a “culture and personality school” in the early twentieth century, a rigorous quantitative and scientific approach from about 1950-1970, a period of discrediting political culture in the 1970s and 1980s, and a resurgent response to the poverty of previous approaches; from Gabriel A. Almond, “Foreward: A Return to Political Culture,” in Larry Diamond, ed., Political Culture and Democracy, pp. ix-xii. Among early works on political culture are: Political Culture and Political Development, Lucien W. Pye and Sidney Verba, eds. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965); Becoming Modern; Individual Change in Six Developing Nations, by Alex Inkeles and David Smith (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1974); Robert Putnam, The Beliefs of Politicians (New Haven; Yale University Press, 1973. 112 Putnam, Making Democracy Work, p. 124. 113 Tarrow, “Making Social Science Work,” pp.389-397. Selection of time period is crucial: too short a period does does not allow the necessary perspective for observing shifts in behavior patterns and too long a period presents the challenge of maintaining a viable thread over time. 114 Diamond, Political Culture and Democracy, p. 7. 115 Ibid, p. 230. 116 Pye and Verba, Political Culture, p.7. 117 Pye, Asian Power, p. 20. 118 The idea of political culture as process was first forwarded by Welch, Concept of Political Culture, p. 164. 119 Prunier, “Benign Neglect,” pp. 39-40. 120 The full quote is “Rather, visible elements of a particular reality may signal that other, more discrete factors could be at work.” A. Samatar, The Somali Challenge, p. 99. 121 Pye, Asian Power, p. 21. 122 Inglehart, “The Renaissance of Political Culture”, p. 1207. For commentary and critique, see for example Inglehart and Welzel, “Political Culture and Democracy, pp. 61-79; Seligson, "The Renaissance of Political Culture”, pp. 273-292; Jackman and Miller, “The Poverty of Political Culture”, pp. 697-716; Jackman and Miller, “A Renaissance of Political Culture?”, pp. 632-659; Chilton, “Defining Political Culture”, pp. 419-445; Sharkansky, “The Utility of Elazar’s Political Culture”, pp. 66-83. 123 Pye and Verba, pp. 21-23. The other two pairs were trust/distrust and particular/general identification. Harry Eckstein also further developed the concept; see Eckstein, pp. 790-791.

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The Roots of Somali Political Culture

124 Ceaser points out that Tocqueville believed “the spreading social condition of equality” was one of the factors of a democratic political culture; see Ceaser, p. 657. 125 Historically Somali was unwritten and events were recorded orally. It was not until well after the coup of Siad Barre and his impressive literacy campaign in the early 1970s that Somali became a written language. Before then, educated Somalis expressed themselves through Arabic or a European language, or information was passed down through oral traditions. 126 This would also be considered rudimentary process tracing or what Alexander George referred to as following a “stream of behaviour through time.” It was first introduced as a research method in “Case Studies and Organizational Decision Making”, by Alexander L. George and T. J. McKeown in Lee S. Sproull and Patrick D. Larkey, eds., Advances in Information Processing in Organizations (Greenwich; JAI Press Inc., 1985), Vol. 2, pp. 2158. Wider applications have since been developed, beginning with Alexander George, “The Role of Congruence Method for Case Study Research”, paper presented at MacArthur Workshop for Case Study Methods, Harvard University, Oct. 17-19, 1997. 127 Walls and Kibble, “Beyond Polarity,” p. 32. 128 Ibid, p. 40. 129 Although there is some temptation to include Putnam’s work on social capital within the above discussion and to assess Somalia’s social capital as an additional indicator of political culture, the problem is that social capital is still an indeterminate concept which might be even more difficult to apply to a case like Somalia, and so requires a separate discussion. Similar to political culture, it is afflicted with a number of scholarly definitions, and it might be wise to keep this preliminary venture into tracing political culture as simple as possible. See, for example, Tristan Claridge’s excellent coverage of the problem of this concept at www.socialcapitalresearch.com, where the author provides thorough discussions on several aspects of the topic 130 Claims have been made that there is overlap between the two, though actual examples are rare. For a fuller discussion of the tension between these two major divisions in social science research, see M. Q. Patton, Qualitative Evaluation and Research Methods (London; Sage Publications, 1990), second edition, especially his discussion pp. 36-48; see also M. B. Miles and A. M. Huberman, Qualitative Data Analysis: An Expanded Sourcebook (London: Sage Publications, 1994), second edition. A case might be made for a historical archaeology approach as well, and with similar reasoning to not take that approach; see Peter R. Schmidt and Jonathan R. Walz, “Re-Representing African Pasts through Historical Archaeology”, American Antiquity, Vol. 72, No. 1 (Jan., 2007), pp. 53-70. 131 Reese, Renewers, p. 33. 132 Indeed, of the many forwarded explanations for the ongoing conflict in the south, few to none of them, when reversed and applied to the two northern areas, do little to explain Somaliland’s notable efforts, nor Puntland’s stubbornly repeated attempts towards representative political organization. 133 The Digil and Mirifle sub-clans from the far south speak a dialect quite distinct from the rest of the Somalis and are often referred to as “Mayspeaking.” 134 Abdullahi, Culture and Customs, p. 141.

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Ibid. Hess, Italian Colonialism, p. 194 137 Sylvia E. Pankhurst, Ex-Italian Somaliland, pp. 225-226. 136

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[Berbera was] a remarkable centre for the exchange of European, Asian, and African products…one of the most remarkable of its kind.1 [Mogadishu was] not very considerable … and had but little trade.2

The two quotes above highlight the different starting points of the north versus the south in the early nineteenth century. From the turn of the eighteenth century into the nineteenth, the people of northern Somalia experienced the gradually increasing encroachment of British and other European visitors upon their coastline and beyond, drawn to the coastal markets in some cases through a spirit of adventure, trade or on official expedition. The southern Somalis were having a somewhat different experience along their Indian Ocean coast, partly due to being overseen from Zanzibar by the Omani Arabs. Both of these locations in turn were experiencing something quite different from the northeast corner of Somalia, in much of what is now called Puntland. There were little to no firmly defined borders between these areas, including the Ogaden,3 other than understood and often contested clan grazing-rights territories, sometimes demarcated by topography. Although all three areas engaged in trade both inland and on the coasts, the degree to which they did so and how and when it was done varied. Of course, the Somalis had been actively engaged in foreign trade for centuries, and very early accounts of their trade and commerce along both the Gulf of Aden and the Indian Ocean are plentiful. Indeed, the northern Somali coastline appears on maps of the ancient spice trade routes and silk routes, even pre-dating the rise of Rome.4 Frankincense, myrrh, cinnamon and other commodities were regularly transported from the central and northern Somali interior to now defunct northern Somali ports such as

43

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The Roots of Somali Political Culture

Mossyllum5 to be marketed, and this continued well into the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In the eyes of late eighteenth and early nineteenth century Europeans, Somalia was irresistable in terms of new exploration. This was certainly not the case from a Middle East perspective, as trade had been taking place between the Somalis and Arabs for centuries. Indeed, there is no shortage of early Arab sources on Somalia, particularly after the rise of Islam. Comprised of a number of mostly coastal city-states, the most notable among them was Mogadishu, which became, according to one thirteenth century Arab writer, “the city or centre of Islam”.6 About a century later, the well known and detailed work of Ibn Batuta’s own travels offered a further glimpse of “Zaila” and “Makdashu”, and so there is no doubt that Somalia – or at least coastal Somalia - was never as remote or isolated as some European nineteenth century explorers would have us believe.7 In fact, Arab writings about Somalia continued well into the seventeenth century, and only diminished as the increasing Portuguese maritime presence interfered with trade at the same time that regional Muslim leaders were becoming politically weak.8 Although the Portuguese had a presence in the Horn from the thirteenth century in the form of missionaries, and by the early sixteenth century they were a formidable military presence, by the eighteenth century they were no longer a force to be reckoned with. The case could be made that commerical activities in coastal Somali markets, north or south, were in fact strictly limited to the coasts and that further inland was shrouded in uncharted mystery and isolation. However, some consideration must be paid to the fact that the coastal trading relied on segmented caravan trade from the hinterland and beyond, much of it managed by the Somalis. It provided a link, albeit indirect, with an outside world which was at once distant and yet very real to the people who traded with the caravans or lived along the caravan routes.9 In addition to the early Portuguese presence in the Indian Ocean, European interest in the area slowly began to increase, and by the early nineteenth century reports from a number of European sources about Somalia began to appear.10 Of course, in the larger context of early nineteenth century trade and colonial ambitions, Somalia was a relatively unimportant speck on the ever-changing global map. Any importance or interest it did have for Europeans was due more to geographical circumstance than strategic colonizing. Even prior to the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, Somalia still had something to offer in regard to being along the way on the shorter route to India. Instead of sailing around the tip of the African continent, people, post and small items were able to be transported through Egypt, down the Nile, across

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land and then via the Red Sea into the Gulf of Aden. Such was the frequency of maritime activity that the port of Aden, one day’s journey across the Gulf of Aden, in Yemen, was established as a coaling station by the British in 1839.11 There was a European presence well before this, although their stepping ashore to collect information and trade at the great outdoor markets along the northern coastline was rarely notable, and so this corner of Africa gained limited attention in the greater course of events. In the first three decades of the nineteenth century, far more momentous developments were taking place among the Western powers, from the Napoleonic Wars to the British-American War, the lead up to the First Opium War in China, colonial rule in India, the rise of the new United States, and more. Particular to the Horn of Africa, however, was the comprehensive decline of the sprawling Ottoman Empire and the rising tide of the antislavery movement, the latter eventually greatly affecting trade along the entire eastern coast of Africa. Also, due to the West’s improved production techniques and increased consumption habits, the demand for raw materials and luxury products rose dramatically, and the relatively unexplored regions of the world in general became new sources for these new demands. It was only a few decades earlier Britain had firmly established its domination of India, and maritime traffic in the Indian Ocean had begun to increase accordingly. When mindful of contemporary perceptions, the accounts of Western travellers, adventurers, naval officers and others can often be quite fertile and revealing sources for observing these events and circumstances in nineteenth century Somalia. It was not just the coastline which inspired these accounts, as there was great curiosity about the inland regions as well, despite the reported dangers of such ventures. From the first to the third quarter of the century, forays into inland Somalia were mainly taken on by explorers, Sir Richard Burton and his 1856 publication among the most well known and celebrated.12 It is on Burton and others like him whom researchers must rely for some representation of that era, as well as implications derived from records and reports of the increasing British and Italian presence.13 Though some explorers were not sensitive to the long term implications of what they observed, at the very least they took an avid interest in their chosen areas of study as well as the novelty and accessibility of the autochthonomous people they dealt with. At times this led them to unwittingly note details which, upon closer examination, can help to provide some insight to observing links between past and present. Although traders and merchants, for example had little interest in understanding the clan system except for what was relevant to their

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business at hand, explorers and often naval officers provided at least a general image, which together with commercial information offers a perhaps more complete picture. Observing signs of a possible emergent political culture in the midst of these types of sources is not straightforward. Systematic or rigorous observations which could be directly related to the nature of a nascent political culture do not exist, and so this investigation must rely on inferences to be gleaned from the facts at hand. I.M. Lewis at one point took a dim view of research and reporting on Somalia, and claimed that from the time of Burton’s contribution, which was “hardly to be considered seriously as a work of scholarship,” and until a brief article appeared on Somali law and customs in 1943, there was nothing that came “near to making a contribution to knowledge of Somali social structure.”14 Lewis is in good company in this regard as some of Burton’s contemporaries did indeed take a dim view of Burton’s endeavours.15 However, Lewis focused quite specifically on Somali social structure and not in specifying indications of their political culture, though some political culture implications can of course be made from observing the social structure. In spite of Lewis’ criticisms and in the midst of travel accounts and reports, however, it is possible to compose a preliminary informed sketch or outline of a developing Somali political culture. The Northern Coastline

Here, the area referred to marks a time when European exploration was just beginning to take place regularly along the northern coastline. The European presence was ever-increasing through these decades, though 1839 marked a turning point with the establishment of a British coaling station and garrison across the Gulf of Aden in Aden, Yemen. Although there are several accounts of Europeans coming ashore the northern Somali coastline prior to 1800, their reports are not sufficiently numerous and continuous for comparative observation.16 By way of example, one report offered by a nineteenth century observer concerns an event which took place a century earlier: a French sea captain went ashore along this coastal area twice, the first time having helped himself to some stored fish, and the second time losing seven of his crew due to the local inhabitants’ reactions to his first visit!17 So it is not that the Somali coastline was not known to seafaring Europeans prior to 1800, but rather that their presence began to increase significantly after 1800. When maritime activity in the Gulf of Aden environs began to dramatically increase, it was a result of developments in mercantile trade in general as well as Britain’s active role in the region and ever-

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expanding commercial and colonial pursuits in India. After 1800, reports of encounters in Somalia increased as well, and though generally the reports occurred in isolation from each other, they more often than not tended to corroborate their respective experiences. In addition to Burton mentioned earlier, the coastlines and eventually interior of Somalia saw several early Western visitors, among them Henry Salt (1809, 1814), Viscount George Valentia (1811), Frederick Forbes (1833), John Studdy Leigh (1838), Charles Johnston (1844), Charles Gullain (1846, 1847), C.J. Cruttendon (1848), Sir Richard Burton (1854), John H Speke (1855). Interestingly, during these periods some of the explorers were known to each other, and this is reflected in their contemporary accounts. From the start, the British limited their degree of involvement in Somalia, and in fact never envisioned conventional colonization as a desirable or workable option. It must be stressed that the Somalia first observed by the British was not centralized or unified to any degree, but rather functioned somewhat anarchically and inconsistently, changing hands with changing circumstances, and more as city-states or port towns and their environs. Arab or Somali sultan-merchants ruled some towns but not others; some clans and sub-clans were more autonomous and more powerful than others; Egypt temporarily ruled over some port towns, but not others and not for long. The north was so void of any strong, consistent or organized governance that Sayyid Said, the then Sultan of Zanzibar, attempted in the 1840s to convince the British to take over the region, pointing out, “from Cape Guardafui to Berbera there is no controlling authority on the coast, nor protection for its inhabitants.”18 Although he may well have had his own gain in mind in reporting the north’s circumstances this way, there was nevertheless some truth to the statement. What is remarkable is that in the midst of no closely controlling authority, the Somalis in the north still managed to continuously engage in the business of markets both large and small, and in doing so demonstrated an acumen for the requisite skills. This only intensified as trade increased. Rather than finding themselves unable to cope with mushrooming demands, they in fact responded to it and excelled at it. How were they so very able to manage? Of course the convenient geographic location as well as some natural harbors were important logistical factors, but these alone cannot account for year after year and decade after decade of being more engaged in commerce than in conflict. After all, not all people with similar conditions managed so well at that time, particularly their kinsmen in the south. A partial explanation might be found in subtle differences in the structure and

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operation of the clan system, and this refers to political as well as social aspects of it. Leadership in the north was determined primarily by consensus, and a clan leader would have to maintain authority over wide tracts of land due to the pastoral nature of the northern clans. Pastoral life discouraged a more precise or centralised system from developing, making the intrinsic authority of the clan elders and clan chiefs not as crucial, and also further cultivating the Somalis’ already notable degree of autonomy. With perhaps the exception of some form of taxation, it appears the political elites left their people free to come and go, trade and travel, as they pleased, leaving them to further develop the habits and practices of autonomous living. Unrestrained by these circumstances, the British became involved in creating treaties with different clans in different areas throughout the nineteenth century, and in doing so initiated a steady trickle of administrators to these areas.19 This practice increased rapidly after the middle of the century and during the planning and building of the Suez Canal, and then again after the opening of the canal in 1869, which made the region even more accessible. At first, however, the intensification of trade and commerce was already well underway, though the port trade was not uniform from port to port, and the principal port being Berbera. Berbera and More

Since it is mainly through the medium of trade that Europeans first encountered the Somalis, it is thus via the observed extent and nature of Somali trade and commerce that the seeds of a budding political culture can be detected, and perhaps nowhere more evidently than in the extraordinary annual market at Berbera. More than 400 miles west of Somalia’s northeastern tip and only one day’s trip across the gulf from Aden,20 Berbera had been known for centuries as a major port for trade. Visiting in the 1840s, Charles Johnston commented it was “remarkable for having been a mart for the exchange of African and Asiatic products between the merchants of either continent, from the earliest antiquity.”21 In the early decades of the nineteenth century, most notable about Berbera was its annual six-month-long, dry season market, “a remarkable centre for the exchange of European, Asian, and African products…one of the most remarkable of its kind” and a topic of great interest to travellers from the early nineteenth century and well into the twentieth. 22 Among the earliest accounts are those from 1811 and 1814, which offer an image of the scope of the market through descriptions of staggering quantities of goods brought in on the first caravans of the

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season from the interior. They were reported to be carrying, for example, an excess of 200,000 kilos of gum, and 29,000 kilos of myrrh.23 Contrary to claims of the Somalis’ pastoral uniformity and economic simplicity, this rather impressive amount of early trade suggests at the very least a diversified, industrious and enterprising people, ranging from those who accumulated or produced and provided such goods to the caravan merchants who transported it, to the Somalis who served as middle-men in the market. Marcel Djama, for example, points this out in his critique of Lewis’ representation of the northern Somalis as an almost exclusively pastoral society, referring to the “multifunctional nature of the pastoralists’ activities, in particular the important and ancient role of trade circulation in shaping political structures” and how “mechanisms of political regulation in the pastoral sphere cannot be identified as the dominant and decisive political principles in all circumstances.”24 This is somewhat supported by an early observer, Henry Salt, who commented on the Somalis engaged in commerce, noting, “the superiority of the Somauli over all other African tribes on the coast.”25 In Valentia’s travels, which took place either with Salt or were very close in time to Salt,26 it was noted that the enterprising Somalis could also be found as far afield as Mocha, living in one of the “extensive villages outside the town walls” and trading largely in beef and mutton.27 Valentia also remarked on “the extent of their inland trade, their great fairs, and their large exports in their own vessels.”28 Salt’s text reveals that Aden was “the chief mart for the gums brought over by the Somauli traders from the northeastern districts of Africa.”29 Such observations turned out to be a portent of things to come, and as will be shown, within several decades Somali trade increased exponentially, and with it their skills in trade and commerce. In providing one of the first English-language accounts of Somalia and the Somali people, Salt exposes his readers to areas he explored in the east and northeast of Africa as far south as Mozambique and as far north as Egypt from 1809-1810. Commenting on the “uniformly uninteresting, sandy and barren”30 landscape of Somalia’s Indian Ocean coastline north of Mogadishu, he also offers an account about autonomy from the northeastern tip, which was relayed to him by a clansman of the “Mijertayne Somauli”: apparently the Imman of Muscat31 had an interest in building a small fort on a small peninsula of land known today as Ras Hafun. In order to gain permission from the local Majeerteen clan chief, Sultan Hussan, valuable gifts were sent to him along with the request to build the fort. Hussan, however, declined, and then returned the gifts.32 Here, it is not just the story itself which is notable, but the actual telling of the story, in seeing it worth relaying as

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The Roots of Somali Political Culture

a point of pride, which reflects on the value of autonomy, even at the risk of offending an influential imam. No doubt the story was also meant to serve as a cautionary note for any real or imagined designs Salt (or whomever Salt might have been suspected of representing) might have had on the Somali coast. Although Berbera was indeed where the bulk of market and trading activity was taking place, it was hardly restricted to Berbera alone. In the early nineteenth century there were reports of a daily bazaar in the port town of Zeila, also known as Seylac, about 125 miles further west along the coastline.33 Primarily the northern Somali port for lands west and south of it, particularly Ethiopia, trade was conducted largely through barter,34 and imports included rice and textiles from India. By the end of the century it was reported to have a population of about 15,000, with 50 stone houses and 600 huts.35 Although local Somalis were reported by one source to have a secondary role in port activities, and it was the Indian merchants who dominated, Pankhurst reminds us of “Hindu unwilligness to engage in the export of cattle” and he quotes the contemporary observer Harris, who implies the Indian merchants were averse to dealing in livestock of any kind.36 Somalis could not have suffered much from the presence of Indian merchants, and were even known to refer to the Indian merchants as their “milch cows.”37 The markets were stocked by large caravans, sometimes thousands of camels long, which travelled through inland Somali territory en route to the coast, and picking up the products of the Somali clans along the way.38 Admittedly much of the merchandise for the northwestern coastal markets and bazaars was brought in from areas farther afield than Somali areas, such as central Ethiopia and beyond, but it ultimately had to pass through Somali territory and Somalis were nevertheless still engaged in bringing large quantities of various commodities to the markets. Early reporting of exports at Zeila alone revealed relatively intensive efforts. One traveller reported that from March 1807 - March 1810, the Somali contribution to exports in Zeila included, but was not limited to, 6000 pots of ghee,39 4,358 kilos of ivory, 725 kilos of myrrh, 436 kilos of ostrich feathers, 5,160 measures of juwarry,40 4000 measures of wheat, and 900 male and female slaves.41 Boasting, at that time, the only town with “permanent trading facilities” it was for a time dominated by Banyans, though as Berbera grew in importance, Zeila declined. Its two month local fair in October and November was overshadowed by the Berbera market’s attractions, which also began in October but was not well underway until November. At that point, most Somalis would leave Zeila for Berbera, and so would almost half of

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Zeila’s permanent population.42 East of Berbera were several other much smaller towns or villages, though from very early in the century there was little to no systematic reporting on their commercial activities. However, considering the amount of information available in the following decades, it is difficult to imagine that commerce spontaneously appeared on the scene from the 1830s onwards; the evidence suggests it was based on earlier commercial efforts.43 The Majeerteen clans of the northeastern area were known to have exported an extensive amount of frankincense from Bender Kassim, though no precise amounts were reported. What is clear here is that within the first quarter of the nineteenth century, the Somali clans in the north, both along the coastline and those from the interior along caravan routes, were quite actively engaged in well-established trade and commerce, and, as will be seen, were also in the process of developing those skills which furthered that trade even more. Not too long into the first quarter of the nineteenth century, the British increased their interest in Somalia as a resource base, and their stops along the northern coastline began to become more frequent, though not always with positive consequences. One interesting confrontation took place in 1825, when it was claimed the British merchant ship Mary Ann attempted to trade in Berbera. Apparently some Arab sea captains were not receptive to the likelihood of competition and either assisted or convinced some Somali sheikhs to arrange for their people to release the ship so that it would be adrift in the night. The ship in fact drifted ashore and was quickly plundered and then burnt. It was, interestingly, the notable Somali Haji Shirmarke Ali Salih44 who rescued the survivors of the attack, though two members of the crew were killed. Determined not to allow this event to go without retribution, beginning in early 1827 a squadron of British ships was sent to Berbera annually to retaliate by blockading and attacking Berbera and demanding compensation. Shortly thereafter the three sheikhs involved in this episode were fined and had little choice but to sign the “Agreement of Friendship, Commerce, Etc.” Essentially the agreement was an assurance that any ships bearing the English flag with the intention of trading were free to do so at their pleasure and with “every protection and support” from the sheikhs. Within the treaty, this guarantee was also made in kind to any sheikhs belonging to the accused clan who wished to trade in British-run ports. The sheikhs were also required to help with the financial support of the families of the two murdered men; in the agreement, however, the space specifying the amount of payment was left blank, although the compensation for plundered goods was indicated (15,000 Marie Theresa dollars).45 This

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was the first of several similar agreements the British signed with various coastal leaders, though the next agreement was not to appear until more than ten years later. There are several points which are significant about this event with the Mary Ann. The first is that it is claimed to have been prompted by the Arab sea captains, though carried out by some Somalis. And then Haji Shirmarke Ali Salih seems to have been quick to counter this by saving the remaining crew, which might suggest a previous and positive association with British traders. And the agreement was subsequently signed and adhered to by the three Somali chiefs, even if it was adhered to based more on a wise acquiescence to the futility of standing up to the British empire at that time. This is a snapshot example of a capacity for and a willingness to choose some degree of capitulation and agreement over a more openly resistant and conflictual alternative. It represents agreeing to compromise, and a capacity to concede to and honor agreements, these qualities comprising not only the skills needed for the marketplace, but also long associated with autonomous rule. Trade accelerated as the century progressed, and there were two important factors behind this increase, both of them brought about by British initiatives: 1) the establishment in 1839 of a coaling station and official garrison at Aden; and 2) amplification of existing trade through the 1869 opening of the Suez Canal, 1300 sea miles from Aden. Aden was more or less taken by the British in 1839, a retaliatory move against its sultan’s repudiation of a previous agreement between himself and the British, and which included a plot to seize the document as well as the British representative with whom it was signed. Aden was successfully seized and another agreement signed within eighteen days of the British arrival.46 The town was fortified immediately and all Arab efforts to reclaim it were unsuccessful. But the garrison, so strategically vital along the route to British India, needed to be supplied as it grew in status and stature and as international commerce intensified in general. It is after 1839 that the amount of imports, exports, and travel to, from and within the Gulf of Aden region increased dramatically, with the Somalis accordingly relied on to respond to the increased demand and continue to supply Aden. At this time the image of the Somalis begins to shift, from that of a predominantly pastoral people who actively participated in trade to a people who were still pastoral, but who had also quite capably responded to new opportunities and thus further organized and increased their output while simultaneously acting as middlemen for the ever-burgeoning coastal markets. Cruttenden reports in 1849 that in the low ranges of hills between Berbera and Zeila, “…the number of sheep, goats, she-camels &c., found on these plains is

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perfectly incredible…for many of the elders of these tribes own each more than 1500 she-camels, and their sheep are innumerable.”47 Berbera and Zeila were the major, but certainly not the only, markets at this time, and though Zeila was linked almost exclusively with trade coming out of Ethiopia, it was still the enterprising Somalis all along the coast and inland routes who were so actively and abundantly engaged in the processes of the markets. Perhaps most of all, it was the October-to-April market at Berbera that prompted European visitors in the mid nineteenth century to marvel. Having grown even larger from the spectacle it was only a few decades earlier, and attracting merchants from Asia, Africa, Europe and North America, it seems there was nothing that was not available to buy, sell, or trade. Observers reported anywhere from forty to more than seventyfive cargo ships and smaller vessels taking part in the trade and providing merchandise for the market.48 The list of reported goods is astonishing. Pankhurst identifies slaves, cattle, sheep, myrrh, frankincense, aloes, coffee, gold, civet, ivory, gum, skins, incense, cardamom, butter and wax, hides and skins of lions, leopards, and panthers cotton cloth, copper, antimony and silver … ostrich feathers … rhinoceros horns … nets or fillets worn by married women, iron and steel in small bars, lead and zinc, beads of various kinds, especially white porcelain and speckled glass, dates and rice.49

Reports of the market population ranged from 20,000 to more than 50,000 people, and it was stocked by caravans consisting at times of three thousand camels and more.50 Four to five thousand temporary dwellings were thrown together seasonally for market visitors.51 Estimates of exports by quantity offered at that time tend to vary and are not systematically recorded, but some general consensus can be found among most reporting observers. Circa 1840, for example, Berbera alone was estimated to have been exporting 240,000 kilos of coffee, 17,000 hides and skins, 200,000 kilos of gum arabic, and 100,000 kilos of butter.52 Clearly, for any amount of trade to take place annually and with increasing success throughout the better part of a century in just Berbera alone would have required a corresponding level of organisation and administration, as well as an appreciable degree of cooperation and some level of alliance among clans. And to a large extent, this was the case: in the midst of the markets were Somalis from different clan families who were no longer only brokers or dillaal, but a large

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percentage of whom were also said to have employment as abaan, a traditional occupation which existed in both the southern and northern regions.53 Cruttenden described them as “a class of persons of known respectability who were supposed to protect their clients and generally prevent malpractices.”54 A combination of guard, guide and host, insider connection and trade merchant, and often influential and respected within their own clans, abaans were essential to the smooth flow of the caravan trade, since inland expeditions unavoidably passed through the territory of clans which were not always eager to welcome strangers, particularly when it would at times be easier to simply rob them. Besides serving the obvious need as guide, the presence of an abaan was a deterrent to such plunderings, since his influence could clearly be used to garner support for any perpetrator’s punishment according to clan norms. A trader’s attachment to a particular abaan was a signal of the endorsement of not only the individual abaan, but also his clan; this was especially so when the associated clan was also particularly powerful. An especially long trip might need to use two or more abaan along the way, since an abaan’s influence was limited to the territory and clans with which he was most associated. Pankhurst draws from Johnston and Harris that aspiring “Soumaulee Abbahns” were ubiquitous, surrounding new arrivees and badgering them for employment, and competing amongst themselves for clients by taking part in swimming races to the newly arrived ships anchored offshore.55 In regard to these swimming races, Johnston noted that these Somalis seemed confident that no violence or injury would be offered to them, they seized the ropes thrown over the sides of the vessel to assist them as they climbed up, and in high glee they passed along the deck and on to the poop, laughing, arranging their wet waist-cloths, and shaking hands as if they were among old friends.56

Notably, he also observed that at least two thirds of Berbera’s Somalis had assumed employment as abaan.57 As much as the market was important to the abaan, the abaan themselves were just as essential to the success of the caravans and markets; without them, the smooth running of the markets could not take place. During roughly the same time period, Zeila was also reported to have a lively daily market, its primary method of business being barter.58 Besides the expected export commodities of coffee, ivory, and gums, there were also livestock, animal products and slaves to be counted among the principal exports. Cruttenden reveals that in the middle of the century, the slave trade in Zeila, as the port city for the important inland

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city Harar, was its “most valuable branch of commerce”.59 As in Berbera, different Somali clans not only met and bartered with each other, but also with Abyssinians, Bedouins, Indians and Europeans.60 The extent to which they participated in trade does not appear to be specified, though there is evidence that high taxes at Zeila later resulted in trade moving to other ports.61 Overall, the northern coastline was a hive of activity, with trade also taking place at other much less significant coastal towns and villages, too. From hamlets of half a dozen huts to seasonal regional market fairs, the Somalis proved to be dauntless, tireless merchants, sometimes transporting their goods via the Gulf of Aden and up into the Red Sea in their own small vessels, often daring to sail when and where larger boats and ships did not; some of these villages were visited by merchant ships from other countries, some transported their goods to distant Berbera.62 Along the coastline, from west to east, dozens of small villages participated, among them Bender Kassim, present-day Bossaso, as well as other locations found in today’s Puntland, such as Cape Guarddafui, Khor Hoordea, Ras Hafun, and Bender Ziada.63 Estimates for laborintensive exports from Somalia into Jiddah alone from the entire northern Somali coast reflect the bustling business. In 1840, for example, more than 340,000 kilos of gum were imported, along with over 440,000 kilos of incense, and 53,000 kilos of butter; estimates for gum and butter almost doubled only seven years later.64 Considering Jiddah is only one port and approximately 700 miles/1100 kilometers from Berbera, this is somewhat remarkable, reflecting a startling Somali industriousness and successful enterprising spirit. Considering that it consisted of about 100 huts, had a permanent population of 500-600 that increased to only 1000 during trading season, its export record was impressive.65 To avoid painting too idyllic a picture of the northern Somali markets, some of the less positive aspects need to be pointed out as well. Clashes among clans, and between the Somalis and external parties, arose not infrequently during these annual spectacles. Buyers and sellers of all nationalities were “equally ready to resort to a bloody appeal upon the least cause of dispute, so that every day is marked by some fatal quarrel, and every night some robbery and violent death.”66 But in the midst of this chaos that alarmed British sensibilities, there still was – there still had to be - a high degree of order, for although there was no overarching government policing or legal system and disputes could violently escalate rather quickly, the rules of the marketplace did maintain some controls. Those who wanted to fight over a trade disagreement could only do so with “the combatants retiring to the

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beach at a short distance from the town in order that they may not disturb the trades.”67 More extensive fighting between clans did take place from time to time in the middle of the century, but they were infrequent. Cruttenden offers an example from 1848 of a conflict between two clans near Berbera which forced one of them to move slightly inland. While the men returned to the Berbera market to engage in trade, the remaining men, women and children were slaughtered en masse by the other clan. He then reported that more than 650 men from the offending clan were killed by the clansmen of the victims, and no further incident is reported.68 There are also reports of the Indian Navy blockading Berbera, the first incident taking place in 1851 until order was restored. This occurred again in 1855 when one of Sir Richard Burton’s crew was killed, the coastline blockaded yet again until the responsible clans signed a treaty agreeing to “deliver up” the killer, suppress the slave trade and generally improve their conduct.69 In spite of these occasional reports, however, the violence was never so great that it interfered with trade to the point of dissolving the markets or adversely affecting them, which, still run by the Somalis and increasingly promoted by the British due to self-interest, had quickly taken on a life of their own. And of course the added factor of growing maritime traffic due to the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 had an influential role to play as well. During the final twenty years leading up to the establishment of a comprehensive and formal British administration, circumstances began to become qualitatively different for the Somalis. Although, as will be shown, trade expanded in almost all ways, most northern Somali clans becoming increasingly subordinate to an increasingly centralized British presence. One of the best examples of this is through the various agreements which were signed with the British during this period, which offer some evidence of the nature and extent of their rule over the Somalis and their interest (or lack of it) in the northern areas. For many decades several of the northern ports changed rulers through what essentially boiled down to business deals among regional political elites; control of varying portions of the northern Somali coastline was indeed up for grabs, though this did not necessarily mean interfering with the structure of the clans or clan system, but rather who would also profit from the port trade. Egypt, for example, established garrisons throughout Somalia from 1875-1884, but this nine-year period was not long-lived enough to have made much of an impact on the Somali people. Beyond the coastal economic opportunities, there were few if any who showed great interest in taking control of northern Somalia.

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And so, with little substantive interference from the outside, the northern Somalis continued as they had been. For a brief period of time, from 1870-74, Egypt did hold about 160 kilometres of coastline, from Bulhar to Berbera, but by the time Egyptian-ruled and then Mahdist-ruled Sudan fell to the British in the 1890s, the Egyptians in the Somali coastal towns evacuated, leaving a space the British were only too happy and well able to fill. However, Britain’s taking of northern Somalia was gradual, and there is no singular date to determine commencement of widespread British administration. Upon Egyptian departures, some of the larger port towns were held by detachments from Aden, and more treaties were made and old ones renewed with various clans in regard to protection, the slave trade, exclusive trading rights, and other related matters. February 1885 marked the establishment of the Somali coast from Ghubbet Kharab to Ras Galwein as a British Protectorate, but territory east of this was largely that of the Majeerteen, whom the British had never really been able to bend to their will in spite of numerous treaties regarding safe passage and protection of shipwrecked people.70 Ultimately the Majeerteen were to agree to Italian “protection”. In spite of some infrequent clashes, trade activity still managed to increase dramatically. The northern Somali coast had evolved into and continued to be the main source of supplies for the burgeoning town of Aden, the needs of which were always growing. The Somalis were more than able to arrange to fulfil these needs, and suggests a livelihood significantly more diverse than the almost exclusive pastoralism they have been identified with. Berbera and Zeila were not the only significant ports, and their status fluctuated with local circumstances. Bulhar, for example, a smaller port with a permanent population of about 3000 was just over 60 miles/100 km to the west of Berbera.71 It also held an annual market, and in the late nineteenth century became quite notable and “was attended by all Somali tribes, some 15,000 people with 95,000 camels.”72 Although it is impossible to know what percentage of the exported goods were produced by Somalis rather than having been brought in on caravans, it would be inconsistent with past and subsequent Somali activity to suggest they had little to no hand in it at all, particularly in regard to perishable goods. Pankhurst offers compelling contemporary accounts of Aden’s dependence on Somali imports during this later period, including the import of 63,000 sheep during a one-year period in the mid-1870s. Another example, though ten years later, is the number of hides and skin exported to Aden from Berbera alone: by the year 1884 it had reached well over 100,000 pieces.73 Another comparative

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example can be found in the rise of exported gums: although its export had risen and fallen since the 1840 report of 340,000 kilos, by the late nineteenth century one observer reported an astounding quantity of more than 45 million kilos from Berbera alone.74 In the face of changes in climate and weather, such numbers could not be maintained with a strict annual consistency, but in the long run they demonstrated an overall increasing trend, one which the British encouraged and supported. The Somalis continued to handle commerce on their own, and continued the decades of market management which had become so second-nature to them. During this time period the people of northern Somalia need to be more fully represented as a people who were essentially not only pastoralists, but also a people increasingly aware of and well prepared to respond to the rising external demand for their livestock and other products. One might say that it was here, in the processes connected to trade, as well as in the markets themselves, where the Somali clans of the north actively and somewhat unwittingly practiced and indeed honed the skills and habits of the marketplace, which in turn have been long understood as the skills needed for effective autonomous rule. Indeed, the widespread practice of consensus and compromise, requisite inclusiveness and broad participation were all plain to see, and done so within an atmosphere of commerce among equals; the long term survival of the markets would not have been possible without this. Although clan structure and other favourable circumstances encouraged and provided a space for such skills, the added dimension of their practical and sustained exercise within the markets and any industrious enterprise linked to the markets encouraged these skills to only be further developed. 75 Northeast Changes

The area referred to here begins approximately from Bender Jedid or Burnt Island on the northern coastline, extending east around the point of the Horn of Africa and then south to approximately a half-way point between the Nugaal Rover and Hoboyo. This comprised the territories of the Harti clan confederation made up of the Majeerteen,76 Warsangali, Dulbahante and Mareehaun clans, though most of the coastline was largely controlled by the Majeerteen. It comprised approximately 33,590 square miles, approximately the size of the island of Ireland or the US state of Indiana. At the tip of the actual horn of the Horn of Africa, it consisted of about 279 square miles of Indian Ocean coastline, reaching about 124 miles inland, and about 155 miles of Gulf of Aden coastline.

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The point at which the northern and eastern coastlines meet is Cape Guardafui. In the early part of the century, besides subsistence pastoralism and some moderate agriculture as the basis of their subsistence, much of the coastal population also relied on a “shipwreck economy.” This refers to a phenomemon just south of Cape Guardafui, where there were predictable treacherous currents, so much so that passing ships could be counted on to flounder on the Somali coast and be profitably pillaged. In the early twentieth century, Baldacci explains: A little beyond Olok rises the majestic promontory of Guardafui, where these many years past a lighthouse has been projected, though up till now the only ascertainable result of these projects has consisted in words and promises. The inhabitants are violently opposed to the idea, seeing themselves about to be deprived of a very profitable source of income, and Sultan Osman himself, being the person principally interested, is the head and front of the opposition. Tradition states that on the summit of the headland lives a santon praying day and night for the shipwreck of the infidel on that iron-bound coast! 77

Durrill explains further: By 1800 the Majeerteen confidently expected two or three European ships to be wrecked on their shores each season. When that happened, nearby residents converged on the site, chased away the survivors, and looted the vessel. As early as 1800, booty provided the means by which local Majeerteen chiefs assured themselves of political power. They supervised the sale of loot in Arabia and distributed half of the proceeds to their kinsmen — now clients — thus creating obligations that could be exchanged later for rights in labor, water, and the use of pastures.78

Thus integrating the occasional looting of a ship into their economy and political life was not only unique among Somali clans in other areas, but also in Africa at large. Durrill adds, “The Majeerteen alone among Africans systematically scavenged among the shipwrecks that regularly littered their shores.”79 A resourceful people who learned to fluctuate their routines according to climate and other factors beyond their control, they historically had weathered drought and avoided famine for centuries. Although their economy was essentially a subsistence economy, it was one that worked, and worked well, based on a firm understanding of their scant resources as well as cooperation among and within the clans. Summed up succinctly by Durrill:

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[T]he Majeerteen recognized the limitations of their resources. They used their knowledge of the country and deployed the labor they controlled to take best advantage of what the region had to offer. In consequence, when the rains failed, no one died of starvation, and no general warfare ensued.80

Where and when agriculture was possible, the people relied on themselves to do the work rather than slaves, and as will be seen, were unlike those in the south in that regard. There also does not seem to be any mention of slaves for labor and very little in regard to trade in any historical sources. This of course makes perfect sense: the combination of subsistence living and scarce resources hardly afforded them the luxury of having slaves, and their location largely kept them out of the path of much slave trading anyway. Although both these points might be more an accident of geographic circumstance rather than any deliberate choice on the part of the clans at the Horn, what is relevant for this discussion is how there was limited exposure to slavery and the attitudes and practices associated with it. Problems of the northeast began in the 1840s, when trade along the northern coast dramatically increased, due primarily to the previously mentioned establishment of a coaling station and garrison by the British in Aden. Cruttenden’s observations that “the nation to the eastward had not been idle” was an understatement.81 As Aden itself mushroomed in population82 as well as a trading centre, so did the demand for livestock and other commodities. It was the demand for livestock, however, which took its toll on the Somalis in the northeast and their carefully managed subsistence economy. The change was rapid and substantial, and Durrill offers the example that “livestock exports rose from none at all in 1839 to fifteen thousand animals in 1844” and how, “by 1843, ‘Ismaan political leaders operated twelve vessels – all but one of which sailed exclusively to Aden and back – out of Majeerteen ports on the north coast.”83 Cruttenden further reports in 1843 just over 700 tons of gum being loaded on to several small ships, which reportedly was barely fifty percent of what previously had been shipped, though by 1856 it was observed to be between 1000-1500 tons.84 As part of these changes, and within a few short years, a new social class was established, that of prosperous traders and rentiers. The rather simple and well balanced subsistence living from the first forty years of the century was very suddenly replaced by an economic, political, agricultural, pastoral and social upheaval. This change also affected the inland Somalis, who were caught up in the demand for livestock and hides and the temporary wealth it brought

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them. As their herds markedly and exponentially increased, so did the need for pasture lands, and so did the fragile arrangement between livestock, water, and pasture begin to shift, and in the 1840s drought was beginning to appear.85 This was not apparent as soon as the trade with Aden began, but seems to have taken almost a decade before its effects were noticed. Cruttenden commented that during early 1848 the entire Somali coast was “suffering from the long-continued drought, which had occasioned much misery amongst them.”86 It began, inevitably, with intrusions on each other’s pasture lands and accompanying water sources. Among a people of whom it had earlier been said, “blood feuds are infrequent…and are carefully avoided if possible”, there was now regular and at times significant open fighting taking place.87 In the midst of it all, the delicate balance they had achieved in decades and centuries past between the environment, weather and survival was now heading for problems, as the balance was completely overturned. Even their rather resourceful dry season harvesting of gum arabic from acacia trees was caught up in the export demand, to the point where commonly held plots which had always been free to use now required rent for them, to be paid to the sultan, making them tenants and having to work harder to maintain a reasonable return for themselves.The gum-producing trees were no longer left to propogate on their own, but were now cultivated to meet the demand, and it was reported their yield increased seven times that of uncultivated trees.88 During the 1840s there were also some rather entrepreneurial attempts by these Somalis to establish new ports in order to sidestep the use of Indian and Arab merchant middlemen, who were well established at the other larger ports and dominant in trade in general.89 Wanting to sell directly to Aden, different groups became increasingly competitive with each other and this was also another reason for the occasional outbreak of significant fighting. Among some of the small villages mentioned to be managing to export their own local goods were Bender Kassim, Los Khorai, Ras Hafun, Khor Hoordea (Chor Hardieh) and Bender Hais. Khor Hoordea was specifically mentioned as holding its own fair.90 By the early 1850s, Bender Kassim (present-day Bossaso) was recognized as an “important Majeerteen village”, while at almost the same time the sultan was reported to have been subduing an inland revolt as well as collecting taxes.91 The effects of the social, political and economic shift were beginning to be felt, but had not yet peaked. The real consequences of this major shift were to be rather harshly felt about twenty years later, in 1868. In that year, two significant events took place: 1) a drought occurred which led to famine, and which in turn led to a cycle of famines until 1880; and 2) heretofore unseen levels of

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fighting between clans was cresting. As a sign of the times, this was also when some Majeerteen Somalis moved south to Kismayu in an eventually successful effort to take control of the area.92 Another movement took place again in the early 1880s when “large numbers” of Somalis from Cape Guardafui relocated to Lamu in an attempt to gain some footing in trade and commerce.93 In regard to the drought and famine – the latter of which had always been avoided by adaptation of subsistence strategies – it appears to have taken just over twenty-five years for the demise of the environmental balance to have found its limit. During the next twelve years, hundreds of Somalis and thousands of livestock were to fall victim to the ravages of their abused environment. And with this came more fighting, the Majeerteen amassing an army of 7000 men to the Warsangali’s 4000, a completely unprecedented and unheard of resort to arms. With approximately 800 Warsangali killed, the Majeerteen then turned to the Dulbahante, who lost 600 men and nearly their entire force.94 This eventually led to the calling of a peace conference, which, commendable as it might have seemed, only turned out to be a pretence to kill one of the clan leaders.95 Dire as these events might have appeared at the time, it was, as mentioned earlier, during this same period that Egypt had some interest in establishing a military colony in the region, though it was short-lived due to developments in Egyptian politics. Those Somalis living along the coast who were avidly engaged in trade, particularly with livestock, of course suffered from this string of events, but endured through adaptation of their entrepreneurial spirit, both in terms of goods for export and survival tactics. Looting from shipwrecks was still taking place, and this gave them an additional survival advantage which those inland simply did not have.96 By the eve of the colonial era and the Berlin Conference, those within the Harti clan confederation’s territory, both inland and coastal, were still reeling respectively from the effects of prolonged famine and locally depressed trade, and were living a life worlds away from the one they or their parents had known in the first forty years of the century. Not as fortunate as the Somalis to the west of them, their leadership had over-responded to the demands of commerce and trade, and had done so at their own people’s expense. And yet in the midst of it the people survived, doing so through their own unique way of adapting and at times even flourishing in a difficult environment and difficult times.

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The Disparate South

Nineteenth century southern Somalia differed rather markedly from the relative autonomy, bustling entrepreneurship, and overall resourcefulness of the north, but more in terms of the extent of these characteristics rather than existence. It can also be understood as having two periods or trends, with the 1840-45 serving as an approximate dividing line. Notwithstanding several apparently important and fundamental similarities between the Somalis in the south and the northern clans in terms of social structure, at second glance these similarities existed primarily on the surface; more subtle differences were to have a deeper impact. The clan system and Islam were well established within Somali culture, though there were bound to be some regional variations. For example, it appears that Islam’s role in the south was more intensive, with Reese on one hand observing that all aspects of life in the Benaadir region were “viewed through a Muslim lens.”97 In contrast, at least one nineteenth century observer in the north noted that “scarcely one half” of the Somalis in Berbera “profess the Islam faith”.98 This latter observation is plausible given that the mainly pastoral landscape of the north is not compatible with the more settled farming life of Islamic settlements or tariiqas, which were more plentiful in the agro-pastoral south. Although this difference was not intentional and can be explained as yet another simple accident of geography, its affect is apparent. Likewise, the caravan trade was also predominant throughout much of the Horn of Africa coastline, including the use of abaan and dilaal, though in terms of quantity, goods offered, use of slaves, governance and structure they were notably dissimilar. The south’s main coastal port was Mogadishu, though Baraawe and Merka just south of Mogadishu were actively engaged in trading as well. The region along the coast running about 125 miles and parallel to the Shabelle River, referred to as the Benaadir, had historically been quite active in trade and commerce, perhaps reaching its height in the fourteenth century. However, by the eighteenth century, the Benaadir in general and Mogadishu in particular it had lost its former glory, and by the nineteenth century had become, as Alpers puts it, “a shadow of its former self.”99 By 1811 Mogadishu was described as consisting of “150200 houses” and as quoted at the start of this chapter, had “but little trade.”100 Notably and in contrast to the north, no comparably dismal observations can be found regarding Berbera, although Berbera never had any pretensions to a glorious historical past to begin with. In the early decades of the nineteenth century, the port trading centers in the south were generally functioning similarly to autonomous

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city-states, though all of them were formally subordinate to Zanzibar, which was approximately 620 miles to the south, and at that time a nominally interested suzerain. Coastal trade in southern Somalia was then observed to be “regular if modest”, and slowly increased as Mogadishu and the Benaadir in general became more caught up in Zanzibar’s commercial orbit, which had been slowly growing since the late eighteenth century rise of the Bu Sa’idi dynasty from Oman.101 The Benaadir’s traders and merchants were most specifically tied in to Zanzibar's commerce and other Arab as well as Indian markets, and were subject to Zanzibar’s trade regulations. This applied no matter if the merchants were Arab, Indian, or Somali. Throughout most of the century, a segmented caravan trade system prevailed, bringing a range of commodities – most famously ivory and slaves – from inland or “upcountry” Somalia, and as the century progressed, other goods were also brought in from well beyond the immediate coastal area.102 Although it was largely the Somalis themselves who managed the caravan routes, for the most part this involvement seemed to stop short not far from the coastline, where “the inland traders typically handed over their goods to local brokers or to coastal merchants who might venture inland as far as the lower Shabeelle.”103 Reese comments, “While pastoral entrepreneurs controlled the means of production in the interior, they lacked both the facilities and commerical contacts to export their goods to a larger market.”104 There seems, in fact, to have been an imprecise dividing line between the inland Somalis attached to the caravan trade, and the coastal, mostly non-Somali merchants, since two European explorers “could obtain from their coastal informants consistent reports of people and trading centres upcountry.”105 At least in the earlier decades of the nineteenth century, the non-Somali coastal merchants did not tread too far inland, and the inland Somalis avoided the coast; this remained the case even when commercial networks eventually did expand further into the hinterland.106 Increased trade did not change these dynamics. This contrasts with the quite direct Somali coastal market involvement in the north; in southern Somalia it was primarily the Omani Arabs and Indians who dominated most maritime trade which took place.107 Though one can find mention of Somali traders along the south’s coast, they were few and far between. Reese points out there were indeed urban Somali Benaadir middlemen who handled goods from pastoral communities and traded with Arab and Indian coastal merchants for imported goods, but it was not a widely accepted arrangement and did eventually become challenged by the powerful sultan of Geledi.108 Notably, the historical record offers no mention of

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intense or widespread direct Somali activity in coastal trade and commerce which would be comparable or similar to the activities in the north. The Benaadir was Zanzibar's most northern trading area, although there is no question that commerce had been active well before the nineteenth century, the Somalis themselves making great journeys inland where they returned with slaves, ivory, aromatic woods and other goods. It was the ivory and especially the slaves which were most important, the latter discussed separately in this chapter. Although in the early nineteenth century inland markets did exist among the Somalis along the caravan routes towards the coast, there is no mention of anything similar to the hustle and bustle of activity taking place at Berbera and other northern locations.109 It was indeed at this time that a stark contrast can be observed between the dynamic, Somali-run international markets on the northern coast and the rather nondescript and sometimes dismal accounts of early Mogadishu and the Benaadir. Present-day Kismayu and Barrawe, also located on the coast south of Mogadishu respectively, were two other significant towns upon which travellers also remarked. One British officer, W. Christopher, commented on the “filth and poverty”110 of Mogadishu, and in the middle of the century another observer predicted its “total collapse” if Mogadishu continued the course it had been on.111 What also made the Benaadir uninviting was the frequent hostility to both intentional and unintentional visitors. Although there were some rare accounts of Somalis along the northeast coast also known for being hostile to visitors, their reported encounters were intermittent and episodic.112 One such account in the south took place in mid-December 1804, at the mouth of the Juba River, near Kismayu. The pursuit, attack and killing of several British seamen who came ashore for fresh water was followed by further attacks on the men who attempted to rescue them, the British finally retreating. Several days later, the Somalis attempted unsuccessfully to convince some Arab traders with whom the same British were doing business to attack the British with them. The Arabs refused. More than two months later the British received word of captive Englishmen at Juba, and the two men turned out to be two of the crewmen who had been assumed dead from the attack on the ship. The Somalis, in fact, had kept the two men for eventual sale as slaves, although in the long run they were used as ransom when the British returned for them.113 In another incident several years later and in the Mogadishu area, an Omani ship ran aground and its crew taken to Mogadishu to be sold as slaves.114 Although they were rescued a year later, these sorts of incidents only prompted retaliatory actions by the

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leadership in Zanzibar. In turn, this appears to have set the stage for future relations with Zanzibar. The first of Zanzibar’s retaliatory actions was the 1823 kidnapping of two local Somali leaders, who were brought to Zanzibar and had a price put on their heads, though British pressure eventually brought about their release.115 W.F.W. Owen, a British officer assigned to the region at that time, also offers an example of the Benaadir’s general environment of hostility or suspicion in his description of a kind of house arrest his officers had to endure when coming ashore, his people confined to the house to which they had been escorted.116 Such incidents and treatment of Arab as well as other visitors created a mutual antagonism which resulted in Zanzibar's attack and sacking of Mogadishu in 1828. 117 Although this attack led to a degree of Somali acquiescence, it no doubt also led to some Somali resentment as well. Little time had elapsed between this event and the twin miseries of plague and drought, which were then followed closely by a famine taking place seven years later, in 1835. It was in fact only one in a continuous series of several destabilizing factors which were to embrace southern Somalia at large for decades to come. On the heels of the plague and drought crisis, another calamity arose, one of a quite different nature and which had been brewing for some time. A radical and aggressive form of Islam was growing, based in the inland settlement of Bardera (Baardheere), about 280 miles from Kismayu and up the Juba River, and once having had extensive links with the coastal towns. However, beginning from 1819, the movement increased markedly in strength, influence and devotees into the 1840s. Cassanelli reports, “the movement probably counted twenty thousand supporters” by around 1840.118 Well before then, however, they engaged in what came to be known as the Bardera jihad, and imposed their reforms on those Somalis around them, banning the lucrative sale of ivory since they believed the elephant to be an "unclean" animal, and thus prohibited the handling of its tusks.119 The important inland trading centre of Luuq was attacked by them in the late 1830s and then coastal Baraawe was pillaged and their reformist rule imposed on the inhabitants in 1840. Until these developments, the caravan trade had begun to increase, and so much so that Sheriff comments, "it had apparently begun to undermine the pre-existing social formation."120 Whether it was Sheriff’s suggestion that it was this societal shift which provoked the Bardera jihad, or simply religious zealotry, or perhaps both is not certain.121 However, for the present purposes what matters is that any noteworthy momentum or flow of trade which had begun to develop

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experienced interference from Bardera, and this continued for seven years, from 1836 until the middle of 1843. It was in 1843 that the Sultan of Geledi, Yusuf Muhammad, took issue with the jihadists. His territory was located approximately 400 miles north of Bardera, but along the Shabeelle River, and he is known to have been responsible for ending this jihad with the help of allies.122 Eventually referred to as “the classic hero-king of his people,”123 Yusuf Muhammad is said to have quite successfully laid siege to the reformists’ centre at Bardera with an army of forty thousand Somali men, “from virtually every clan along its route.”124 An important link in the chain of inland trading centres to the coast had been broken by the jihad, and no doubt impacted on the lives and livelihoods of many local Somalis.125 What is important here is that this jihad was an internal or indigenous one; that is, it was not imported from an outside source, and almost exclusively involved Somalis against other Somalis, specifically those who were actively engaged in inland trade versus zealous Muslim reformers. As such, it marks an important and sizable fissure. Although at a later point in time the northern Somalis were to also experience their own internal division, and one that would last longer, in the end neither would be successful in their objectives. For the southern Somalis, the Bardera jihad was to be one of a chain of politically and socially damaging events with injuries they had to endure within a very short period of time. Beginning early in the century with perceived incursions from outsiders, the southern Somalis had to subsequently endure an almost monotonous and certainly relentless series of challenges to any efforts towards continuity in their lives. This ranged from "insulting incidents" between the Somalis and the Omani-Zanzibar Arabs to the sacking of Mogadishu, years of plague and drought, and a range of any internal hostilities and conflicts. Cumulatively, these can be understood to have altered the course of any trickling currents of stability or horizontal collaboration which may have tried to take root. To add to the above, during this same period Mogadishu itself was experiencing its own internal dilemma, a state of affairs which at first glance curiously appears to be a precursor of more recent circumstances. The first observation of nineteenth century Mogadishu as a moiety was made in the early 1830s by the previously mentioned British officer, Owen, who describes Mogadishu as “divided into two distinct towns", known as Shingaani and Xamarweyn, each inhabited by rival groups reported to be closely related.126 Although it is known to have been divided since 1700,127 in the nineteenth century little exchange between the two sections took place, and the inhabitants did not attend each other's mosques.128 A divided town was not altogether unusual at that

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time, and two other large trading centres, Lamu and Mombassa, were both known to be divided also. However, at one point Mogadishu’s division became particularly problematic. Apparently the rivalry in Mogadishu peaked in 1842, when the death of a ruling imam provoked an escalation in the tensions and rivalry, which in turn interfered with the flow of trade. The same sultan of Geledi involved in the Bardera jihad mentioned above, Yusuf Muhammad, intervened here as well. The tensions had so affected him and others that in early 1843 he rode hundreds of miles down river to the gates of the city, bringing 8000 armed men with him in order to demand a solution to the strife be found lest he release his men on them. Eventually a solution was reached, and without the sultan resorting to force.129 By comparison, although some similar level of internal antagonism and rivalry was not unknown in the north, there is no report of it ever having reached proportions such as what took place in the south. It is not so much whether there were or were not problems in the north and south that matters, but the extent to which they existed, how they were addressed and how they might have impacted on the future. It was also during the 1840s that the sultan of Zanzibar, Sayyid Said, attempted to assume more control over the Benaadir, perhaps due to the British observation that Said had "no form of government at the different places on the coast. In fact, the Imam’s affairs are in a miserable state."130 In 1840 Said sent representatives to the region in order to establish tariffs in Mogadishu, Baraawe, and Merca. Almost, it seems, in retaliation, one of the three ports was attacked by Somalis in 1841, which included killing some of the Zanzibarian merchants and absconding with their money. Undeterred, in 1843 Said appointed a Somali named Cali Maxamed as governor and customs officer, most likely in an attempt to prevent further incidents. However, this strategy did not prove to be successful, since shortly thereafter the man abandoned his position and was reported to have disappeared inland.131 After Yusuf Muhammad’s defeat of the Bardera reformers in 1843, there was one clan which had been supportive of the Sheikh of Bardera, the rival Bimaal clan. Based far from Bardera, south of Mogadishu on the coast in Merka, they made it their business to badger the Geledi by constantly provoking conflict with a Geledi-allied clan in their area. This persisted for four years, and led to Yusuf Muhammad attacking Merka in 1847, resulting in its capitulation. However, the majority of the Bimaal lived in Merka’s environs, and did not accept the defeat. Just over a year later, Yusuf Muhammad led an attack on them; his forces were badly defeated, and Muhammad himself and his brother were killed. Thirty more years of fighting continued with his two sons and

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nephew, until the brothers themselves were killed in battle as well in 1878. From here Geledi power and influence visibly and rapidly declined, but the impact of what had become a habit of decades of regular and almost constant conflict, “social upheaval”132 and the instability it brought is clear. Despite such turmoil in the Benaadir in the first half of the century, and in Mogadishu where travellers took care to bear arms,133 trade still managed to increase after the Bardera jihad was quelled. In 1847 Guillain reported more than three million kilos of millet exported to Zanzibar and southern Arabia, as well as about 30,000 kilos of sesame seed, reflecting significant agricultural activity. Although Guillain does not provide the monetary value of these particular products, this nevertheless represents a substantial enough jump in volume that it was seen worth reporting.134 Currency amounts reported several years later also reflect an increase, but in the end do not at all rival northern developments. Although, for example, Kirk visited the area in the early 1870s and reported a "roaring business", the figures reported at that time and even later do not compare in volume or diversity to the north.135 With millet and sesame seed the two largest exported items, and more than three million kilos of millet reported in 1847, it eventually reached almost six million kilos in 1896/97, fifty years later. Sesame seed was a labor-intensive crop, and a quantity of about 30,000 kilos was reported to have been exported in 1847; more than ten times that amount, 368,000 kilos, was reported for 1896/97. However, in terms of comparative export values with the north, and applying the same currency of Marie Theresa dollars, it was reported that the Benaadir region exported a total of MT$12,551,225 in millet in 1896/97 and MT$ 2,257,675 in sesame seed.136 Although millet and sesame were not products of the north, Berbera alone was reporting exports in comparable and greater values (MT$ 12,803,530) more than fifty years earlier.137 To compare again, the port of Zeila in the north, which was smaller than Berbera, exported more than MT$1,000,000 in just coffee in 1891-92. This represents an estimated 600,000 kilos of coffee; ten years later Zeila was exporting well over one million kilos of coffee.138 All in all, the first forty to fifty years or so of the nineteenth century along the Benaadir coast consisted of a series of misfortunes of one kind or another, the aggregate effect creating a foundation of instability that was to persist for decades to come. With this in mind, Guillain's prediction of Mogadishu's "total collapse" does not seem so extreme, though circumstances were to intervene and manage to mitigate that prediction to some degree. But even with mild improvments in southern Somalia’s fortunes, however, what is clear is that the Somalis

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themselves did not appear to be directly or predominantly heading up or significantly engaging in or part of the export trade, large markets, or negotiated relationships which did exist. Any potential there may have been which was analogous to the circumstances of the Somalis in the north was not taken up or was simply not possible. For the most part, southern Somalia's trade appeared constrained compared to the north, and was bound to continue as such, despite the good fortune of the fertile Benaadir inter-riverine area and increasing international demands. Their greatest concern, however, was to become more political in nature than economic, with an Italian colonial master waiting in the wings to change their lives and affect their stability even more so. It was not until the late 1870s and early 1880s that Italy began to show any serious interest in Somalia; previous to that, attention was focused on Italian unification.139 Italian exploration took place in both the north and south, particularly in the south by Antonio Cecchi, who was anxious for his country to avail itself of the region’s potential. An Italian colony in the resource-rich inter-riverine area of the south seemed a preferable alternative to the wave of emigration which was taking place at home. Cecchi’s impression and promotion of southern Somalia’s “rich commercial resources” may have been a bit optimistic, however. Cassanelli states that claims of Somali products accounting for a maximum of one-third of Zanzibar's trade in the 1880s could be “somewhat exaggerated” and that single caravans generally consisted of a maximum of twenty camels.140 He also comments that no Somali ever gained “the reputation or wealth” of the other known merchants, and this trend continued well into the twentieth century.141 As mentioned earlier, trade was initially monopolized by Omani Arabs and was thereafter controlled periodically by them, and later in the century was dominated by astute and ambitious Indian merchants.142 In regard to the direction of its developing political culture, throughout the nineteenth century there were two very important interlinking factors in the south that contrasted markedly with the north, and which held and hold significant implications: much of the south comprised fertile agricultural land which encouraged a more sedentary, land-holding or land-owning lifestyle; as agricultural trade increased, the agricultural economy became entirely dependent on slave labor. Although both regions had experience with what was euphemistically called “black ivory” or the slave trade, it manifested quite differently in both areas, and this was partly due simply to topography: the labor intensive, large-scale agriculture that was limited to the lush inter-riverine area of the south required slaves, and the largely pastoral based economy of the north did not. Moreover, while

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the north’s experience with slaves was almost exclusively limited to market trade, the south not only traded extensively in slaves, but subsequently integrated the use of slaves quite intensively into their agricultural production, and so became economically and totally dependent on them. The Slavery Factor

The role that slavery must have played on immediate and long term attitudes and values had to have influenced any nascent political culture. It is commonly assumed that slavery was a universal and uniform institution throughout Africa, and would be certain to share a common history and development throughout and between the Somali people as well. Luling reminds us that slavery was “at the foundation of the social order.”143 The historical evidence points to Islam and geography as important determining factors. The Somalis have long been almost exclusively Muslim, and Islamic law certainly permitted the use of slaves, though with certain rules and restrictions combined with regional custom. Although both the north and south were well familiar with slavery and the slave trade, the difference in the nature of their engagement is notable. After all, the widespread use and dependence on institutionalized slavery within the south’s agricultural landscape brought its daily presence and widespread acceptance – and all the accompanying attitudes and values – to a form which simply was never to exist in the north. Although slavery in the wider region was certainly practiced before the immediate pre-colonial and colonial eras, for the Somalis and other African Muslims, Islam provided clear guidelines for the keeping of slaves, and in doing so, afforded its institution with a seal of approval. There was no question of legitimacy in the buying, selling, and use of slaves; and according to Muslim law, even the details for granting a slave freedom were provided.144 In the midst of all the provisions Islam laid out for slaves, however, there was one particular tenet which undoubtedly impacted on the nature and extent of slavery among the northern and southern Somalis, and that tenet specified just who was and was not permitted to be enslaved. Importantly, according to doctrine, other Muslims were not permitted to be enslaved, and so the Arabs trading up and down the Indian Ocean coast had no justification in taking Somalis as slaves, nor could the Muslim Somalis, north or south, enslave each other.145 Further restrictions on who was permitted to be enslaved also excluded Jews and Christians from consideratioin, identified in the Hadith as "people of The Book".146 Although there were

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regional exceptions to this, the fundamental rule seemed to remain intact when it came to actual slave raiding. For the northern Somalis, this meant that even if they wanted to actively institutionalize slavery, their nearest neighbours were the predominantly Christian and militarily superior Ethiopians, making them generally off-limits for religious as well as practical reasons. There were some exceptions to the religious restrictions found here, and this is covered subsequently. For the southern Somalis, those considered believers of "pagan" religions were well within the bounds of permissible enslavement, and this not only included native Africans from other regions with animist beliefs, but also the non-Muslim Habash people in the southernmost parts of Somalia.147 The effect this had on the Somalis in the pastoral north is that although in the early part of the century there was slave trading at the ports, the institutionlization of it among the Somlis themselves never developed, and indeed could not have developed. Its impact both obvious and subtle was accordingly minimized. Although it could be argued those in the north might have supported the use of slaves, in actual practice slaves were simply not as affordable, logistically available nor as economically necessary as they were in the agricultural south. Certainly, slaves were brought in on caravans from the interior to the great northern markets and the northern Somalis served as abaan and dilaal for the slave trade in those markets, but with the combined influence of the early nineteenth century British crusade against slavery internationally, the anti-slavery treaties the British had imposed upon various northern Somali clans, and the ever-increasing constant and widespread British presence in the north in general, the slave trade was brought to a trickle and eventually to a halt by the mid to late nineteenth century.148 It is not that slaves in northern Somalia never existed, but rather that its fully-developed and widespread institutionalization and practice was not evident, and what little there might have been seemed to have slowly and almost completely vanished, and does not appear to be mentioned in contemporary accounts. A 1907 official report on Somaliland appears to support this: Northern tribes do not recognise slavery and expel the negroid tribes which bar their southern expansion – but the Hawiya and Rahanwein beyond the Shebeli have not only enslaved these tribes but also apparently treated them with great severity.149

Women as concubines were one of the exceptions to the rule on taking “people of the Book”, and indeed John Studdy Leigh reported how in

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Berbera in 1839 he saw “between thirty and forty Abyssinian150 and other slave girls of different ages” who “did not appear to bemoan their fate very severely, as there was many a laughing countenance among them.”151 Cruttenden, writing in 1849, also reported on the importance of the slave trade, with Zeila considered to be the port town for inland Harrar, and slaves from the Zeila market being sent on to the great market in Berbera.152 Overall then, the slave trade in the north was substantially hindered from about 1845, with increasing restraints and deterrents applied as the century wore on.153 There was no time for a widespread culture of slavery to have developed, and by and large, the northern Somalis are only mentioned to have acted as middlemen for trade in general in the nineteenth century. Slaves had to be brought in to the markets from afar, and because they did not have the immediate geographical access to people acceptable for enslavement, there also are not, in contrast to the south, any reports of northern Somalis embarking on, for example, slave-hunting expeditions. Although there is some mention in the literature about the use of slaves by pastoralists in the south, there has been no focused research or discussion to date of the presence or use of slaves in the pastoral or coastal north.154 During the nineteenth century the south was completely different, preceded by a good deal of a slave culture and slave trading even before then. From the second decade of the nineteenth century, the widespread use of slaves in agricultural production increased significantly, and then to the point where slaves were being imported to Somalia rather than being exported from it. With the Somalis in the south having immediate geographical access to non-Muslim people, it in fact would have been surprising if slavery and slave-trading had not developed. After all, the use and presence of slaves was well integrated into southern social and political culture and had been for several centuries. Of course, the areas to which the Somalis had access to slaves most likely had already been visited by traders from previous centuries, and a slave trade would already have been underway, though specific information on the extent of it, as Besteman points out, “is particularly scant.”155 The presence of trade in “black ivory” was noted by travellers to the region even in the very early part of the nineteenth century, when Somali traders made great journeys inland where they returned with slaves and ivory, aromatic woods and other typical African products. The black and white ivory were the most profitable, and Coupland notes, “By 1811 Lugh [Luuq] … was sending immense quantities of slaves and ivory to Brava [Baraawe].”156 At that point agriculture had not yet begun to surge, and so slaves were primarily exported, though some were used for domestic and agricultural labor. Besteman notes, “Somalis acquired slaves for a

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variety of purposes during different historical periods” and includes among them “slaves in the Benaadir textile industry for hundreds of years.”157 It was only a few decades later, in the 1840s, that observers like Guillain and Christopher were disparaging Mogadishu and its environs, and yet did not fail to notice that the Benaadir had become the "grain coast for the supply of Southern Arabia" and there were large quantities of several agricultural products for export along the coast. However, none of this would have been possible without an extensive slave-based system of agricultural production, particularly since the Somalis in the cultivated areas considered such physical labor to be “demeaning, inferior and demanding” and so were not willing to undertake the work themselves.158 This did not just apply to agricultural work: Luling comments that women did not collect firewood, carry water or cook, and instead depended on their domestic slaves for such chores.159 Dependence on slaves was to become so great that by the turn of the century, one influential Biimaal elder was to demand that the Italians ensure escaped slaves would be returned to their owners, that they could “do nothing without our slaves” and that without them “the land will fall into ruin.”160 Slave trading in the Indian Ocean was increasingly monitored and checked as anti-slavery efforts expanded and slavery thus slowly began to decrease as an export, and yet the agricultural exports expanded markedly and so the need for the importation of slaves by land grew accordingly. Ending the slave trade first by sea was a gradual process led by the British, with three main documents slowly squeezing slavery into a narrower and narrower arena. The first of these was the Moresby Treaty of 1822, followed by the Hamerton Treaty of 1845, both named after the British officers who represented Britain within the documents. The third treaty was the Anglo-Zanzibar Treaty of 1873, which closed the Zanzibar slave market reportedly at its height.161 To many, these treaties simply represented more interruptions to the flow of commerce in addition to confrontations with Zanzibar, plague, drought, famine, the Bardera jihad and other internal conflicts. Once these calamities passed, one at a time, it appears that the south did not need much time to get back on its feet and onto the path they had been following earlier. And from the middle of the century until about 1885, agricultural exports continued to steadily grow, and with them the use of slaves, and all under the occasionally watchful eye of the sultans of Zanzibar. In terms of numbers, as the century wore on and anti-slavery efforts became more widespread, precise numbers of slaves anywhere in Africa became increasingly difficult to verify. Coquery-Vidrovitch rightly points out

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that, “owing to the clandestine nature of the trade, it is difficult to obtain precise figures for the years after 1830”, and Somalia was no exception here.162 Observers made reference to “thousands” working in the fields, and Alpers provides substantial evidence that “the most critical aspect of economic activity in the Benaadir was the remarkable growth of agricultural exports produced by a system of plantation slavery.”163 By the 1870s, the steadily growing numbers of slaves from contemporary Kenya had reached an estimated 10,000 annually crossing the Juba in the Kismayu area.164 Despite the slave trade becoming increasingly restricted by sea, the southern Somalis found a range of ways in which to continue to acquire slaves. One strategy was to instigate conflict with the Oromos and the related Borana,165 who lived in parts of southern Somalia, northern Kenya and southeastern Ethiopia, and then use the defeated captives as slaves.166 As decades wore on, the need for slaves was increasing to the point where a new overland caravan route from Lamu in Kenya was established around September 1871, and within two years became the main means of transport for slaves to the Benaadir.167 During this time it was reported that the Somalis in the south were importing as many as 4000 slaves annually from the Lamu area,168 and in one year alone, October 1873 - October 1874, approximately two thousand were believed to have crossed just the Ozi River and continued into southern Somalia.169 Apparently those who raided in search of slaves and those who traded in them were distinct from each other, Ylvisaker pointing out they were from differing tribes.170 The reputation of Somalis as ruthless slave raiders was such that the rumour of their approach was threatening enough to make entire villages run for cover or attempt to negotiate a solution with Somali elders, the gates to at least one town deliberately reinforced due specifically to the threat of Somali raids. There were also reports of Somalis trading in slaves who were stolen or kidnapped, and several accounts of Somalis attacking whole settlements or villages in order to acquire more slaves.171 Although these increasing numbers suggest the inter-riverine region was thick with slaves, and that they had well become an important and constant facet of everyday life, they tended not to be owned in great numbers by one person. Cassanelli claims there was no great accumulation of slaves by individuals, as took place in the Old South in the United States. Rather, slaves and the results of their labors were redistributed within kinship networks, a subsequent estimate being approximately ten or fifteen slaves per landholder.172 There are no records available to reliably estimate the number of slaves in use during a particular period or offering an average over a span of time. Later

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estimates do exist for Mogadishu itself, which only had a total population of about 7000, just over 30 percent of whom were slaves.173 Luling suggests 50,000 slaves were imported to southern Somalia between 1800 and 1890, yet this averages out to only 555 slaves per year.174 Révoil, who was visiting southern Somalia in the early 1880s, points out the rather contrasting information that slaves comprised the majority of Mogadishu’s population.175 However, with the riverine and inter-riverine areas comprising at least 23,100 square miles of cultivated land,176 the estimates forwarded are curiously low. For example, 35,000 agricultural slaves at any one time averages out to one slave per 0.88 square miles of cultivated land, though this could markedly change according to sowing and harvest seasons, individual crops, and weather. Even if only half the cultivated land was in use, then this averages out to 0.44 square miles of cultivated land per slave. Considering that every square kilometer holds about 247 acres/100 hectares, and many of the chosen crops were labor-intensive, these numbers are difficult to comprehend. With only 11,500 square miles under cultivation, one slave per 0.44 square miles amounts to one slave per about 280 acres/113 hectares.177 This does not seem logistically possible, and estimates should be much higher, or the amount of cultivated land significantly lower. So although the approximate size of the slave population is unclear, there is no doubt agricultural slavery – as well as domestic and trade slavery - had become ubiquitous in the south for most of the nineteenth century, making the dearth of realistic estimates remarkable.178 As Alpers succinctly puts it, “slavery was both extensive and intensive.”179 It was not, however, only slavery itself which was extensive and intensive, but the very attitudes, practices, and values that inexorably came with it. A Pre-Political Culture

In looking back over Somalia’s immediate precolonial past, several observations can be made which uniquely characterize each of the three regions in terms of a developing political culture. As such, they also offer some sense of Diamond’s geological layers which were laid down at this time. In a search for tangible signs of autonomy and equality or their opposites there is some result which highlights the different paths the three regions were already on, perhaps primarily due to the peculiarities of their respective geographical locations. One very general and immediate reflection is that the Somalis of the northern coastline, although at various times living under Arab or Somali sultans or Egyptian rule, or later having signed agreements of “friendship and

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commerce” with the British, nevertheless experienced relative continuous freedom and rather moderate, limited and relaxed rule from whoever their administrators might be. With little exception, there is scant significant evidence of imposed restrictions causing long term undue hardship, whether politically, economically or socially. The limited interest of any ruling power in actually invading, conquering, or otherwise dominating them did not interfere with the ongoing development of trade along the northern coastline, a rather lively and constant trade which was largely managed by the Somalis themselves. Thus unencumbered, those who engaged in trade and commerce were also availing themselves of the opportunity to proceed even further with the advancement of their relative autonomy as they carried out first-hand and in an uninterrupted flow the continued spectacle of their extraordinary flourishing markets. Clearly, as the demands of the markets increased, so did the skills associated with the smooth running of them continue to expand and improve; if not, the markets would have not enjoyed the continued success for which they were well known. In the great markets over several decades, Somalis as abaan or dillaal learned new skills and honed established ones which were to serve them well in the long run: the art of negotiation and consensus; the ability to organize and implement rules of behaviour or a code of conduct; the art of communication between themselves and even those from distant lands; adaptation to changing contexts; and the ability to listen to what people wanted and anticipate future needs. It was here they also perceived the advantages of some degree of accountability, establishing a secure market environment, and maintaining a relative peace among themselves, for without these as well, no great markets could have survived for any length of time. But such was not only the experience of the dillaal and abaan; even those who were not directly involved in market activities at the coast were thus engaged, providing various products for export and ensuring their passage to markets, and in the process acquiring skills of the marketplace too. Moreover, since statesponsored trade monopolies did not dominate in this environment, and the demand for products and services was so constant and their export volume so relatively large, trade was bound to have required the participation of a large segment of the general population. This is particularly so since there was no broadly established institution of slavery in the north to perform such work, and thus no other source but the Somalis themselves who could provide the markets with Somali and African export products. Of course, caravans bringing goods from

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further afar than Somali territory might have been linked to slave labor, but this is not significant for this discussion. In this way, Somalis in the northwest, and to some extent the northeast as well, clearly experienced more of a rather broad and informal autonomy in their environment than they did coercion. And they experienced it unflaggingly so for more than eighty consecutive and hardly interrupted years. Although there is no claim here to suggest that this experience translated immediately into changing their own internal political structure, this does not negate the collective experience itself and consequences of their relative autonomy. At that time, a more centralized political framework did not exist in which to express it, and so it was expressed in other ways. Considering that when the century began, the slave trade was still widely practiced, that the Somalis were militarily inferior to the powers around them, their language was as yet unwritten and relied only on oral dissemination or the few who were literate in Arabic, and that there was no unified Somali state nor any ambitions for one (and thus a vessel within which to formally exercise their autonomy), then it is exceptional that such a durable pattern of such autonomy continued uninterrupted for so long. In the north in general but particularly the northwest, a comparably durable pattern of equality also survived uninterrupted. It is the sporadic – rather than continual – reports of sustained inter-clan violence and accompanying victor/loser perceptions against the practice of cooperation in trade which points away from any sharp sense of hierarchy. Put another way, the markets in many ways promoted or fostered among those trading as well as the abaan and dilaal, a gathering of equals, a space where anyone could buy or barter from anyone else, and where no one was king. This also extended along the coastline, from Bossaso to Berbera and more, where no mention is made of attempts to overstep one’s boundaries and take over other ports. There were of course inevitable internal conflicts, but these were generally short-term and contained. This took place with the northern exports exceeding the southern exports in volume, value, and variety, and in spite of no established slave industry to provide such goods. Although the north did not comprise a fertile agricultural region like the south, many of the export goods were nevertheless labor-intensive. And although the northern coastline was no Eden, it clearly contrasted with the southern experience. From the south’s rather uncertain beginnings in the early nineteenth century as a shadow of its former glory to Zanzibar’s tentative attempted suzerainty, and from its internal and external conflicts to the abuses linked with slave trading and slave labor, in the precolonial era the

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Somalis of the south were strangers to the relative autonomy and level playing field enjoyed along the northern coast and its hinterland, their circumstances almost opposite. One broad observation which must first be made is that from 1800 until 1884/5, the south experienced little if any consistency or stability of circumstances, whether politically, commercially or environmentally. Any patterns of behaviour, or beginnings of continuity that might have been linked with developing a sense of autonomy in any way always seem to have been interrupted, whether by human interference or natural causes. The early part of the nineteenth century was a series of fits and starts for the southern Somalis, the century beginning, for example, with reports of an active slave trade amidst the regular attack and kidnapping of foreigners coming ashore, the twin miseries of plague and drought, then followed by famine, the Bardera jihad, the Geledi struggles to maintain power, and other conflicts among themselves as well as tensions with Zanzibar which constantly interrupted trade. Alpers refers to this period as causing “considerable trauma for the community as a whole,” and in doing so inadvertently recalls Pye’s reference to how such change “involves true trauma.”180 It is a trauma which should not be underestimated, and in terms of its impact on a developing political culture, the Somalis in the south were certainly not off to a promising start. Much of this was due to unavoidable circumstances: while in the north there was only a nominally interested suzerain at different times and an almost equally disinterested colonial power at others, the south was increasingly subject and subjected to the efforts of Zanzibar in its repeated attempts to exert more control over the Benaadir. This might partly explain why was so few Somalis themselves were able to engage in the Benaadir’s relatively lucrative port trade, which was largely monopolized by Arab and Indian merchant houses. The vast market spectacles of the north and all the complexities of successfully managing them simply did not exist in the south, and so the lessons learned and habits formed from running them did not have the same or a similar chance to be exercised and expressed. Of course, the inland trade routes of the south were indeed managed by the Somalis, but the opportunity to follow through all the way to the coast and engage in direct trade through negotiation and compromise with other peoples and other places in an international market setting simply did not exist. In general, the starting point for the Somalis in the south at the beginning of the nineteenth century was one typified by restrictions on their own liberty, a stunted sense of autonomy, and an inclination to resort first to one form or another of coercion. Some obstacles to their own autonomy

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were mirrored by the restrictions to liberty experienced by their large numbers of slaves. All in all, a largely coercive environment predominated through these early decades, both in terms of what Somalis created for other Somalis, for their slaves, and how they tended to be treated by Zanzibar. In other words, coercion in one form or another was all around them. The substantive difference between the slave trading which took place in the northern markets and the institutionalized, widespread and immediate use of slaves in the south was that the latter scenario projected daily the idea that autonomy or liberty was only something reserved for some and not all, and least of all an apparently kinless people. It prompted a signficant social shift. This is touched on by Besteman, who comments: The transition to a slave-based plantation economy represented a departure from the pattern of corporate relationships and responsibilities based on notions of kinship and clientship that had characterized the dynamic between Somali pastoralists and Shabelle valley cultivators. Slaves were the embodiment of kinless beings, divorced from the responsibilities that relations of kinship entail.181

The idea of being kinless and unattached no doubt played on traditional perceptions of equality within Somali culture, and allowed the widespread use of slaves to proceed with ease. It also undoubtedly had to have affected the way many Somalis saw themselves in relation to slaves, and contributed to a sense of hierarchy which had never really existed in such dimensions before the rapid advancement of an economy based on export agriculture. Within Somali culture and the clan system, there was of course some degree of a built-in hierarchy, from the differentiation of status between the sexes to the role of elders to the authority of sheikhs, but the daily presence of slaves only extended the scope of hierarchy even more, and did so to an extreme degree.182 It was in this setting, in the midst of European interpretations and perhaps misinterpretations of a perceived uncivilized society, that the Somalis of the northern coastline began to further develop patterns and practices of autonomy and equality, patterns which were already inherent in their social culture and would serve them politically when they surfaced and resurfaced at later points in time. At this point, however, it might be more reasonable to refer to what was evolving as being more pre-political culture patterns rather than expressly political. These patterns were in the process of becoming well entrenched, and had a longevity and durability which set up or conditioned the Somalis for the era to come.183 It was through sheer chance that it was a

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relatively benign British presence which appeared along their coastline in the early 1800s, some of the clans signing agreements of cooperation, some of them not, and in the midst of it all they only persisted in doing what they had already been doing—supplying and managing the markets. Thus, they maintained a somewhat tenacious continuity, a deep, dense, and protracted layer which served as a foundation for the coming decades under British administration and beyond. For the Somalis in the south, it was a century of turmoil and instability, of great change and enormous difficulties, a time when “certain economic circumstances….contributed not only to the growth of the region but to its troubles as well”.184 By the time the bulk of their troubles were behind them, the path on which they did end up finding themselves was also one of sheer chance, a result of the accident of their ties to Zanzibar, their lush arable inter-riverine area and the increasing need for agricultural exports, and the convenient availability of people to enslave and work the land for them. It was a path which encouraged further patterns of coercion and inequalities, a path comprising a deep layer of shifting sands, and one which was to have more of the same deposited during Italian colonial rule. Notes

1

R. Pankhurst, “The Trade,” p.45 Quote from Smee, found in Alpers, "Muqdisho in,” p. 444. 3 The Ogaden is a mostly Somali-populated large southeastern territory currently part of Ethiopia, with more than 77,000 square miles/200,000sq km under its administration, and having more than five million inhabitants. The Ogaden geographic region is reported to be more than 116,000 square miles/300,000 sq km and has more than eight million inhabitants. The Ogaden National Liberation Front is seeking autonomy and possibly sovereignty. 4 For works on the Horn of Africa in ancient and prehistoric times, see, for example Walter RC, Buffler RT, Bruggemann JH, et al. (May 2000). "Early human occupation of the Red Sea coast of Eritrea during the last interglacial", Nature 405 (6782): 65–9; Simson Najovits, Egypt, Trunk of the Tree, Volume 2, (Algora Publishing: 2004); Pankhurst, Richard K.P. Addis Tribune, "Let's Look Across the Red Sea I,” January 17, 2003; Morgan, W. T. W. (1969), East Africa: Its Peoples and Resources. 5 Mossyllum no longer exists but Pliny the Elder believed it to have been located at the mouth of the Sool River, about 150 km/ 93 miles from what is now Garoowe in Nugal Province. 6 Quoting Ibn Said’s (1213-1286) Kitab Bast al-Ard fi al-Tul wa-al- Ard from Mohamed Haji Mukhtar’s “Arabic Sources on Somalia,” History in Africa, 2

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p. 142. Mukhtar provides a thorough bibliography and discussion of Arab historical sources on Somalia. 7 He in fact describes Zeila as “a city of the Berbers…. Their country is a desert of two months’ extent. The first part is termed Zeila, the last Makdashu”; Batuta, p. 55. 8 See Mukhtar, “Arabic Source.” 9 Besteman, “Disputed,” p. 569. 10 The Portuguese were the first Europeans to engage themselves in the Horn of Africa, beginning in the early sixteenth century and partly as a search for the legendary Prester John. 11 For a detailed account of the development of Aden in the nineteenth century, see Gavin, Aden Under British Rule. 12 Burton, First Footsteps in East Africa. 13 There are no written historical records in Somali simply because there was no alphabet for the language until 1969. Although the Somalis have a rich oral tradition, it is difficult to be precise in regard to dates and time periods. Some scholars, such as Cassanelli, Besteman Reese and others have employed oral histories with corresponding written accounts in their research. 14 Lewis, “Sociology in Somaliland,” p. 4. For the 1943 article to which Lewis refers, see his fn2. 15 See, for example Godsall, “Richard Burton’s Somali Expedition,” pp. 135-173. 16 For example, the reports that do exist vary in location, time, intent and reliability. 17 See The Itinerary of Jeronimo Lobo, ed. by M.G. da Costa, transl. by Donald M. Lockhart (London: Hakluyt Society, 1984), Ser. 2, No. 162, an English translation of the seventeenth century travel accounts of the Portuguese Jesuit missionary Father Jeronimo Lobo; also Johnson, A Voyage to Abyssinia; and Salt, A Voyage to Abyssinia and Travels . 18 “Instructions to Ali-bin-Nasir” from East Africa and Its Invaders”; Coupland, p.510, fn1. 19 Treaties, agreements, and supplementary agreements took place throughout the nineteenth century. All of them were similar in text and purpose, and dealt with issues of commerce, “friendship”, safe passage and restriction of the slave trade. There appears to be about twenty such agreements in all, though this number is somewhat dependent on how the geographic entity “Somalia” is understood. The entire series of friendship and other commercial agreements can be found in: Sir Edward Hertslet, ed., Hertslet’s Commercial Treaties (London: Butterworth, 1893), Vols. VIII, XIII, XV, XVIII, XIX, XX, XXI. 20 This should be qualified as “a day’s trip when the north-east monsoon was blowing,” from Gerald Graham, Great Britain in the Indian Ocean (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967), p.286, fn2. The north-east monsoon blew from late December to March, and the actual distance was approximately 300 kilometers. 21 Johnston, p. 18. 22 R. Pankhurst, p. 45; this is one of a series of three related articles, providing a vivid account of trade in that century. 23 Valentia, Voyages and Travel, p. 155. The gum referred to here and throughout is gum arabic or acacia gum, which served a large number of purposes.

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Djama, pp.110, 111. Salt, p. 191. 26 In fact, Salt and Valentia traveled together a few years earlier in 1802, when Salt was employed as Valentia’s secretary and draftsman on a voyage to India. It was the first of several links between the two men. See Godsall, “Richard Burton’s Somali Expedition”, pp. 140-146. 27 Valentia, pp.350, 352; Mocha was located in southwest Yemen, approximately 186 miles/300km from Berbera. 28 Ibid, p. 376. 29 Salt, p. 106. 30 Ibid, p.93. 31 Muscat was and is the capital of Oman. 32 Salt, p.95. 33 The north African traveler Ibn Batuta noted the burgeoning trade taking place in Zeila even in the fourteenth century: “It is a big city and has a great market but it is the dirtiest, most desolate and smelliest town in the world.”; Ibn Batuta in Black Africa, p.15. 34 Isenberg & Krapf, p. 5. 35 United Kingdom War Office, Military Report on Somaliland, Vol. I, p. 29. 36 Pankhurst, “The Trade,” p. 48. 37 Burton, p. 442. 38 Ibid, pp. 441-442; Cruttenden mentions caravans exceeding 2000 camels, p. 54. 39 A type of cooked butter which can be stored for months. 40 Refers to sorghum or dura. 41 Salt, p. lxx. In Richard Pankhurst’s comprehensive article on trade in these ports, the author is careful to add on p. 42 that the “slaves came indeed mainly from the Ethiopian interior.” 42 Abir, pp. 15-16. 43 The Majeerteen clans in the northeast are an exception to this, their ruling sultan embarking on a deliberate campaign to engage in international trade around 1840. For a detailed account of this and its consequences, see Durrill, pp.287-306. 44 Shirmarke Ali Salih is an interesting and sometimes controversial Somali figure during this period, his name consistently cropping up in contemporary several accounts. Johnston comments that he was “the richest man along this coast” and an “African Rothschild”; Johnston, p. 25. He also noted that Shirmarke had “either seized or purchased” Zeila; p. 33. Both he and the Egyptians separately had designs on controlling Berbera and beyond, though both were deterred in different ways; see Abir, pp. 18-19. 45 The accused clan was the Habr Owul; the sheikh who signed the agreement was Ismail Gella, who also signed for Omar Kadim Hussin Ban and Ismail Goled; “Agreement of Friendship, Commerce &·c between Captain Bremer, R.N. of Her Majesty’s ship Tamar and the Sheik of the Habr Owul Tribe of Soomalees” from Hertslet’s Commerical Treaties, Vol. XIII, pp. 5-6. 1877. There is some uncertainty about the amount; see Bridges, “The Visit of Frederick Forbes,” p. 662. 46 Atypical in comparison to agreements signed with the Somalis, Aden was recognized as a British possession; more typical of other agreements was 25

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the insistence for protection and free trading in the hinterland; see Parliamentary Papers, 1839, No. 268. 47 Cruttenden, p. 54. 48 R. Pankhurst, “The Trade,” p.50. 49 Ibid, pp. 45, 47. 50 Ibid, pp. 45 and 50 respectively; this is a conservative number, as Pankhurst cites Cruttenden as having witnessed a caravan leaving the market one day, consisting of between 4000 and 5000 camels. Forbes reports similarly; also see Bridges, p. 690. 51 Johnston, p. 22. 52 A partial listing by Rochet d’Héricourt, from Pankhurst, p. 51. In pounds, the approximate amounts would be 529,000 pounds of coffee; 441,000 pounds of gum arabic; 220,000 pounds of butter. 53 Although at the time there was limited interest in or knowledge of differentiating one clan from another, among the clans listed by several visitors were the Issa, Gadabursi, Habr Awal, Habr Toljaala, Warsnagali, Dolbahanta, Galla and Danakil. 54 Cruttenden, p. 84. 55 R. Pankhurst, “The Trade,” p. 49. 56 Johnston, p. 19. 57 Ibid, p. 27. 58 d’Hericourt, Voyage sur le cote orientale); Isenberg and Krapf, p.5. 59 Cruttenden, pp. 52, 53. The slaves were reported to have come from Guragi (Gurage) and Habeska (Habesha), in Ethiopia though no estimated numbers are provided. 60 In fact, John Studdy Leigh at times complains about having to barter in his journals. See Kirkman, passim. 61 R. Pankhurst, “The Trade,” p. 38. 62 Ibid, pp. 59-63; Pankhurst provides a particularly thorough and detailed account of these ports. 63 For a list of additional trading locations, see Pankhurst, p. 61. 64 Ibid, p. 53. Pankhurst also offers extensive figures in currencies, such as rupees and Marie Theresa dollars, but in order to maintain consistency and avoid the confusion of currency fluctuations and historical exchange rates, only quantities are offered here. Moreover, considering barter was so prevalent, it is the quantity of goods produced and/or handled by the Somalis which is of more interest here than monetary values. In pounds, the approximate amounts would be 750,000 pound of gum; 970,000 pounds of incense; and 117,000 pounds of butter. 65 United Kingdom War Office, Military Report on Somaliland, Vol. I, pp. 39-40. 66 Ibid, p. 49, fn. 58; Johnston, pp. 26-27. 67 Ibid, p. 49, fn. 57; Cruttenden, pp. 286-287. Cruttenden was known to have been fluent in Arabic; see Johnston, p. 32. 68 Cruttenden, p. 51. 69 United Kingdom War Office, Military Report on Somaliland, pp. 120121; also “Agreement of Peace, Friendship, Slave Trade, &C. between the Political Resident of Aden and the Shieks of the Habr Owul Tribe of the Somalees”, November 7, 1856, from Hertslet, Volume 13, pp. 10-12. 70 Hamilton, p.46.

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United Kingdom War Office, Military Report on Somaliland, Vol. I; p.30. Paulitschke, from R. Pankhurst, “The Trade”, p.59. 73 Ibid, p.56. 74 Paulitschke, from Pankhurst, p.56. 75 Tocqueville noted, “Trade is the natural enemy of all violent passions. Trade loves moderation, delights in compromise, and is most careful to avoid anger….it leads them to want to manage their own affairs and teaches them how to succeed therein. Hence it makes them inclined to liberty but disinclined to revolution.” Tocqueville, p. 637. 76 The Majeerteen clan consisted of three sub-clans or lineages, the ‘Ismaan Mahamuud, the ‘Iise Mahamuud, and the ‘Umar Mahamuud; Durrill, p.290. Durrill’s work is particularly comprehensive, and stands alone in providing a wealth of well documented information. 77 Baldacci, p. 71; a santon is a saint or holy man. 78 Durrill, p. 289. 79 Ibid, p. 287. 80 Ibid, pp. 289-290. 81 Cruttenden, p. 50. 82 Gavin reports, for example, that from 1842, at least 25 percent of the Aden’s population consisted of British soldiers and camp followers; p. 59. 83 Durrill, p.296. 84 Ibid, pp. 297, 293, 299. 85 Cruttenden, pp. 69. 86 Ibid, p. 75. 87 Durrill, p. 290. 88 Cruttenden, p. 73. 89 Pankhurst, “Indian Trade,” passim. 90 Cruttenden, p. 75. 91 Durrill, p. 300. 92 Ylvisaker, pp. 120-121. 93 Ibid, pp. 124-25. 94 Durrill, p. 303. 95 Ibid, p. 303. 96 Ibid , p.289, fn. 2. 97 Reese, Renewers of the Age....p. 33. 98 Johnston, p. 26. 99 Alpers, p. 442. 100 Smee, “Report from 6 April 1811”, fl. 93. Alpers differentiates between houses of stone and straw-roofed huts; see pp. 444 and 448. 101 Alpers, p. 442. 102 The details of the caravan trade in southern Somalia during the nineteenth century are extensively described by Cassanelli in The Shaping; pp.147-182. 103 Ibid, p. 154. 104 Reese, “Urban Woes,” p. 174. 105 Ibid, p. 156. 106 Reese, Renewers, pp. 49-50. 107 Cassanelli, The Shaping, pp. 159-160. 108 Reese, Renewers, pp. 57-58. 72

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109 For a list of some of these inland trading towns or villages, see Cassanelli (1982), p.154. Luling comments that markets were only “occasional affairs” and that the “Beduin coming in from the bush” were not taxed; p. 104. 110 Christopher, pp. 383-409. 111 Guillain, from Alpers, p. 448. 112 One example of the value of taking a closer look at reported attacks in the north is plundering of the ship Mary Ann, mentioned earlier. Several otherwise excellent sources report the plundering of the ship and killing of "the crew", implying the death of many people. A deeper look at this incident reveals that in fact only two crew members were killed, and the British authorities in fact were appreciably more interested in reimbursement for the ship's goods than for recompense for the men who died. 113 For a more detailed account of this incident, see Coupland, pp. 165-170. 114 Alpers, p. 444. 115 Ibid. 116 Owen, p. 358. 117 These are only two examples of a general trend in the area. For further incidents and discussion see, for example, Coupland, passim , and especially pp. 165, 342-43. 118 Cassanelli. The Shaping, p. 137. 119 Sheriff, p. 165. 120 Ibid, p.165. 121 Ibid. 122 Alpers, 445. 123 Luling, p. 20. 124 Cassanelli, The Shaping, p. 136. In “Tradition to Text,” Cassanelli also provides a fascinating letter from a supporter of the movement warning – indeed threatening - the inhabitants of Baraawe to become part of the jihad; pp. 67-68. 125 Cassanelli argues that Guillain placed too much emphasis on the economic aspects of oppostion to the jihad and overlooked what appeared “to be significant differences over theology and religious leadership between the rivals”, possibly due to Guillain’s simonian affiliation; “Tradition to Text,” pp. 69, 59-60. However, precisely ascertaining how much emphasis to place on religion would be difficult, and the economic consequences are more readily observable. 126 Owen, pp. 357-8. 127 Reese, “Urban Woes,” p. 172. 128 Alpers, p. 442. 129 Yusuf Muhammad was well known as a powerful leader of the Geledi and for having command over inland trade routes; see Luling, pp. 22-24. Both Christopher and Guillain claimed he was capable of mustering a minimum of 20,000 fighting men should the need arise, though it is clear from the two accounts within this discussion that he used this potential prudently. See Coupland, p. 336. 130 Quote from Hamerton in Coupland, p. 337. 131 Alpers, p. 447. 132 Reese, Renewers, p. 51. 133 Alpers notes that in their reports, “Both Christopher and Guillain note the hostility between the two moieties and were careful to make their initial entries in Xamarweyn “well armed"; Alpers, p. 447.

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134 See Cassanelli’s in-depth article on Guillain’s travel narratives of Somalia and the his assessment of the oral and literary sources Guillan apparently used: “Tradition to Text,” pp. 57-71. 135 Alpers, p. 449. 136 Ibid, p. 449. 137 R. Pankhurst, “The Trade,” p. 51. 138 Ibid, p.4; to compare with British currency, Pankhurst suggests ten Maria Theresa dollars to every British pound, p. 38. 139 Tripodi, pp. 15-19. 140 Letter from Cecchi to Italian Foreign Minister; Hess, p. 16, fn.6. 141 Cassanelli. The Shaping, p. 160. 142 R. Pankhurst, “Indian Trade,” pp. 465-467. 143 Luling, p. ii. 144 Y. Hakan Erdem refers to Sultan Abdulmecid’s notable abolition of the lucrative and well-known slave market in Istanbul in 1846. Although the Sultan’s reported motive of sympathy for the cruel treatment of black slaves has been questioned, the end result was that the public buying and selling of slaves under official Ottoman auspices came to an end in the closing of one of the largest slave markets in the empire. See Erden, Slavery in the Ottoman Empire, pp. 95-98. Another comprehensive treatment of the topic can also be found in Willis’ Slaves and Slavery in Muslim Africa. 145 This is also supported through contemporary observation made by Colom, Slave Catching in the Indian Ocean, p. 23. For an excellent deeper discussion on slavery and Islam in Africa, see Willis, Slaves and Slavery in Muslim Africa. 146 “The Book” refers to the Old Testament, sacred to Islam, Judaism and Christianity. 147 Habash or habasha is a term which has been used to refer to both people and locations in east as well as west Africa over the centuries. For a brief but thorough discusion on this confusion, see Willis, pp. 36-37. 148 Most of the treaties signed between the Somalis and the British in the late 1800s included an article which stated “traffic in slaves … shall cease forever.” See Hertslet’s Commercial Treaties, especially Vol. XVIII. 149 United Kingdom War Office, Military Report, p. 110. 150 The word “Abyssinian” was used loosely in the nineteenth century, and can refer to Ethiopia as a whole or to groups living in the the northwestern and central highlands of Ethiopia. 151 Kirkman, p. 453. Charles Johnston also refers to the “laughing faces of alme, or slave girls” on board ships off of Berbera in the 1840s; see Johnston, p. 22. 152 Cruttenden, “Memoir on the Western or Edoor Tribes,” pp. 51, 52, 53, 55, 62. 153 The Hamerton Treaty of 1845 followed on from the 1822 Moresby Treaty and restricted all slave trading from Zanzibar by limiting its geographical limits; such trading by the Omani Arabs was only allowed between Lamu and Kilwa (1◦57 S and 9◦20 S). Although it did not immediately put an end to slave trading, it undoubtedly adversely affected it. 154 Besteman, Unraveling, p. 57 155 Ibid, p. 49; she includes slaves being used for overseeing livestock and as concubines.

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156

Coupland, p.178. Besteman, “Public History,” p. 569. 158 Besteman, Unraveling, p. 51. 159 Luling, p. 77. 160 Cassanelli, p. 224; letter from Haji Ali Isa, quoted in Cassanelli, p. 225. 161 Konczacki & Konczacki, p. 214. 162 Coquery-Vidrovitch, p. 187. 163 Alpers, p. 449. 164 Kirk, pp. 263-267. 165 The Oromo people are, like the Somali, a Cushitic people, and reside in parts of Ethiopia and northern Kenya. They are the largest and possibly the oldest ethnic group in the Horn, with a population of about thirty million. The Borana inhabit the same areas and are also known as the Borana-Oromo, numbering about seven million. 166 Besteman observes “Somalis dominated in warfare during the nineteenth century, conquering and enslaving Oroma and Boran”; see “Disputed,” p. 570. 167 Ylvisaker, p. 118. 168 Ibid, p. 118. 169 Ibid, p. 119. 170 Ibi , p. 124. 171 Ylvisaker provides an extensive account of the Somalis in Lamu; passim, but especially pp. 90, 146, 118-19, 161-166. 172 Cassanelli, The Shaping, p. 173. 173 Alpers, p. 452. 174 Luling, p.120. 175 Révoil, p. 39. 176 Low estimate derived from Cassanelli’s map of 1850 showing primary areas of cultivation; see Cassanelli, The Shaping, Map 5, p. 151. 177 For comparison, in the pre-Civil War era in the USA’s Old South, Ulrich B. Phillips wrote in 1918 that adult male slaves were known to be able to plant and cultivate about twice as much cotton as they could pick, and they were commonly assigned to about six acres of cotton and eight acres of corn. Even at these rates, estimates for slaves in southern Somalia seem low. See Phillips, American Negro Slavery, p. 207. Luling also observed that a man with 25 acres/10 hectares needed about five workers; p. 149. 178 Besteman discusses this in “Public History and Private Knowledge,” pp. 568-571. 179 Alpers, p. 450. 180 Ibid, p. 442; Pye, p. 20. 181 Besteman, Unraveling, p. 53. 182 Cassanelli points out there were communities of farming people in the nineteenth century who were “known by a variety of generic names, most connoting servile origins or status.” Among them were terms to distinguish between “hard hairs” – those of negroid ancestry – and “soft hairs” – those who were “true” Somalis. See Cassanelli, The Shaping, p. 163-64, esp. fn. 38. 183 There is a large body of literature on attitudinal persistence over time. A very recent example would be the work of Acharya, Blackwell and Sen, and their rigorous examination of how a history of slavery can continue to influence contemporary politics. See their submitted article “The Political Legacy of 157

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American Slavery”, November 2014, www.mattblackwell.org/files/papers/ slavery.pdf 184 Reese, Renewers, p. 49.

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3 British Administration in Somaliland

In their protectorates, the British have usually attempted to leave the indigenous political institutions intact and have sought to limit their own interference in local affairs to measures absolutely essential for the protection of British interests. Their policy in Somaliland was probably the closest approach to this “ideal.”1

From the 1880s, and due to the increasing influx of European involvement, the northern and northeastern coastlines and their hinterlands began to more thoroughly develop in their own unique directions, and this continued until 1941. In examining this period and seeking signs of a budding political culture, the differing natures of the more direct foreign involvements taking place and how they influenced nascent Somali political growth or change is important. Of course the totality and complexity of the wider world’s impact cannot be completely overlooked; indeed, the complex and fluctuating relationships between and among the British, Italians, French, Ottomans, Ethiopia, other Arab actors, and the religious leader Mohammed Abdullah Hassan2 certainly affected the lives of most Somalis, whether directly or indirectly. In a similar way, although Hassan is often presented as a central towering figure from the late nineteenth century and until 1920, in this chapter he is not treated as the defining influence of the era; there were other compelling developments taking place as well, though they might have been less blatant than Hassan’s campaigning.3

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Nominal British Presence

In regard to what directly affected the Somalis themselves, one observation to first consider is that although the British and Italian presence among the Somali people did indeed predominantly occur in the era commonly referred to as the colonial period, it would be incorrect to categorize the British presence in northern Somalia as typically colonial. Considering Great Britain was the largest colonial empire in the world at that time, it is often assumed that a British presence was equivalent to a British colonial presence and all of the myriad colonization projects, programs, funding and policies a colonial presence entailed. Moreover, the colonialism of the various powers at the time is often perceived as essentially quite similar, with limited attention paid to the wide variations of rule under the individual colonial powers. However, Great Britain’s policies towards Somalia were never the same as those of their actual colonies, since there was never the interest in developing Somalia in a way similar to what was being practiced elsewhere, such as India or Kenya. This does not need to be understood as a sign of British altruism. The argument repeatedly made is that northern Somalia was hardly considered for colonization due to its paucity of natural resources, and thus offered little to no material gain. As succinctly put by Gérard Prunier, the British mission was “fully compatible with a very limited level of imperial involvement and with a continuation of the most social, judicial and even political practices of Somali culture – as long as those did not interfere with the core diplomatic and strategic role attributed to the territory.”4 That may well be, but as such, northern Somalia was no match for Britain’s military superiority and could have eventually succumbed to a more ambitious British occupation, no matter how meager the natural resources, since it was still of strategic importance. This would be particularly the case after the completion of the Suez Canal in 1869. However, the fact remains that northern Somalia was not economically lifeless, and speculating on “real” British motivations are not useful; what matters is that conventional British colonial rule did not occur in one great leap, did not take place through overt or aggressive conquest, and never involved a presence of more than about fifty of its own administrative people at any one time before 1935.5 Britain mainly encouraged and fostered trade with the Somalis for its burgeoning Aden garrison, and made no significant attempt to dominate Somali trade, monopolize any of its commodities or resources, or closely regulate the Somalis who were engaged in it.6 At one point the protectorate’s economy was

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“completely tied to the export of meat products and skins.”7 This is not to say that the British presence was warmly welcomed by all; it was in fact bitterly and at times violently opposed by some, in particular Mohammed Abdullah Hassan, who is discussed later in this chapter. However, it is to say that the British presence in northwest Somalia was limited in ambition and scope, and had more of an interest in co-optation than confrontation. This crucial distinction between north and south cannot be stressed enough: that there was no formal or even de facto British colonization in the north, but there certainly was soon to be an ambitious and even aggressive Italian colonization plan for the south. The lack of a slavery factor in terms of it not being institutionalized in the north is also another significant distinction to be found within the British–Italian dichotomy, and thus the relative autonomy and more egalitarian environment of the north was to continue on a path leading into the twentieth century. The larger background to all of this involved the interests of Britain, Italy and France in the Horn, Ethiopia’s image as a Christian state with some historical and contemporary Islamic ties, and regularly shifting, complex alliances between all of them. The very different contexts of Somalia north and south during the colonial era seem to naturally divide into two periods, simply best seen as an early administration period from 1885-1905, and then as a protectorate or colony from approximately 1905-1941. In regard to the north, the first period marks the beginning of Britain’s formally agreedupon protectorate presence in the north through the vehicle of the Berlin Conference. The break-off point of 1905 is not to be understood as too precise a date, but as a period of time when changes took place which were to have more of an impact later on, and in the meantime there was a general lull before the more intense activities and ambitions commenced. With the exception of Italy gaining control of Nogal in the northeast and Mohammed Abdullah Hassan arranging to base himself there in 1905, it was momentarily quiet. For this reason, the next period is launched approximately from the end of 1905 and continues to 1941, which marks the Italian withdrawal from southern Somalia and the British assuming responsibility for Italian Somaliland. Within this second period there were some notable and important developments both north and south which also must be taken into account due to their influence on or reflection of the fast-developing political culture. For many, perhaps the most pressing development in the north would be Mohammed Abdullah Hassan’s campaigns, but there is a subtle back story worth telling from that period as well.

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Early Administration, 1885 – c.1905

During the run-up to a more comprehensive British administration – if indeed it could ever be said their administration was comprehensive – circumstances for the Somalis in the north hardly changed. Trade maintained the path it had been on and continued to expand and accelerate in almost all ways, and as will be seen, livestock and skins in particular gained predominance. Most of the clans were becoming increasingly aware of the consistent presence of the British and centralized administration. Among the best exponents of this are the various agreements which were signed with the British in the years immediately preceding 1885; these offer some notion of the nature and extent of the British relationship with the Somalis and their overall limited interest in the north.8 Of course, for several decades throughout the nineteenth century, all of the northern ports experienced multiple changes in who claimed local authority, and this was due to the changing nature of the larger political landscape. It is notable that change of political authority did not have much of an influence on the clans or clan system itself, and that both were largely left intact. Beyond having some share in the benefits of the coastal markets through taxation, there were few if any powers who demonstrated any great interest in taking direct control of the Somalis or Somali territory en masse. While the Ottoman Empire was waning in fits and starts during this century, several different Somali sultans, however, were at times simultaneously and also sporadically in control of about 99 miles of coastline from Bulhar to Berbera, in the form of quasi city-states. The Somali sultans and their people nevertheless continued to enjoy, on a day-to-day basis, significant autonomy from any overbearing foreign presence, and this persisted as the British presence increased as well. When Egyptian-ruled Sudan fell to a strong British presence in 1882, Egypt withdrew from northern Somalia and Eritrea, with the former to be soon taken over by the British, and the Italians taking over Eritrea with British assent. Most of those Egyptians who had been engaged in trade in the Somali coastal towns evacuated, leaving a vacuum which the British were prepared to fill. Britain's presence in northern Somalia thus far had been patchy, however, and there is no singular date to determine active commencement of British administration. Upon the Egyptian departure, some of the larger port towns were held by British detachments from Aden, and treaties were either made or renewed with various clans in regard to protection, the slave trade, exclusive trading rights, and other related matters. February 1885 marked the beginning of the formal establishment of the Somali coast,

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from Ghubbet Kharab to Ras Galwein, as a British protectorate, but territory east of this was largely that of the Majeerteen clans, with whom the British had never quite been able to establish more than a cursory relationship, and this in spite of numerous treaties regarding safe passage and protection of shipwrecked people.9 In the last decade or so of the nineteenth century, the British and Italians signed several treaties regarding their respective spheres of influence, with the Majeerteen sultans eventually agreeing to Italian “protection” in 1905.10 Following the terms of the General Act of the Berlin Conference, in July 1887 Britain formally notified the other European states of their claim to a protectorate along the Somali coast, from Djibouti in the west to Bender Ziadeh in the east.11 Although it was clear from the mid-nineteenth century onwards that Britain had been establishing itself along the northern coastline, it also had more ambitious colonial interests in present-day Kenya and Zanzibar. These included a 36,000 square mile area of northeastern Kenya, Jubaland, which eventually came to be included within Somalia’s formal borders. For now, however, Somalia was of minor importance. The immediate aftermath of the Berlin conference was relatively quiet, and in the nine-year period from 1886 to 1895, there were only four expeditions reported either against a Somali group or to bring order among conflicting groups. The number of soldiers or police involved was generally limited to less than 50 men, though one incident against the Isa in 1890 required 350 men. The four incidents, which were four years and then two years apart, were recorded as follows: 1886 : against the Isa, (number not reported) 1890 : against the Isa, 350 1893: against the Habr Gerhais, 50 (Camel Corps & Somali Police) 1895: against the Rer Hared west of Hargeisa, 20-30 (Camel Corps)12 In spite of these occasional tensions, trade activity organized and managed by coastal Somalis continued to be on the increase, the tensions having no enduring effect on the markets themselves nor the inland routes taken by the caravans to the northern markets. Aside from such exceptions as the four expeditions listed above, the Somalis along the coast continued to engage in trade and commerce and their lives in general as they had been, and the British continued to make little effort to control or take hold of it themselves. This was an unusual decision in comparison and quite counter to the British presence elsewhere, since the Somalis excelled in not only maintaining, but also rapidly expanding

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their lucrative port trade. It is through the extent of their trade and the limitations of Britain’s presence that the commercial autonomy of the Somalis from this period can be observed. By 1891, for example, only six years after Britain had claimed northern Somalia as a protectorate, the whole northern Somali coast was said to be supplying the British garrison at Aden annually with a minimum of 4,000 camels, 500,000 sheep and goats, and 6,000 horses and mules.13 They were able to do this since they had so far escaped the desolating scurge of rinderpest, which the southern clans were experiencing at that time. The virus was not to affect Somaliland until 1918.14 It is through such livestock numbers that some appreciable links between coastal and inland Somalis can be surmised, challenging any potential assumptions about a clear separation between the two. For example, half a million sheep and goats in one year averages out to just over 9500 sheep and goats per week. In practical terms, the logistics and skill required to be able to physically move such livestock numbers to the ports, hold them there and at the same time maintain them in saleable condition would be no simple task, and would require enormous skill, coordination and logistics in terms of their feeding, watering and timely and secure journey en route to the ports and at the ports. Although the point has been made that it is not known how this trade in livestock impacted on the inland pastoral Somalis, and that its effect was probably marginal and the quantities were relatively small,15 a second look presents an alternative view. This amount of livestock movement to the ports would not have been possible without finely-tuned and highly developed cooperative strategies between those inland pastoralists who supplied the livestock and those who tended to the business of them at the ports and coastal markets. To reach such export numbers for live animals required a level of management, organization, decision making and proficiency from pastoral landscape to boarding ships which should not go unnoticed.16 Over time, as the demand for livestock exports increased, a new category of work developed, that of the sawaaq, Somalis who cooperated with the abaan and the pastoralists, and were hired to herd livestock safely to market. They were expected to deliver healthy, saleable animals, and indeed payment depended on it. Some of them became sufficiently skilled to move 300-400 animals more than 100 miles/160km in one week, though their pay was deducted for animals enroute that were either slaughtered or somehow went missing.17 Life for many Somalis in the protectorate was proceeding as it had been for decades, and changes were soon to take place at a higher political level that were nevertheless to have limited impact on their

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daily lives, thus maintaining some level of continuity. Until 1898, the administration of British Somaliland had been in the hands of the British Government in India, but in that year it was transferred to the Foreign Office, possibly a reflection of the India government’s unease over possible political disturbances among the Somalis.18 Just after the Foreign Office handover, British Somaliland was reported in 1899 as comprising the Isa, Gadabursi, Habr Awal, Habr Gerhajis, Habr Toljaala, Dolbahanta, and Warsangali clans, collectively having a population of 246,000.19 Prior to 1905, however, there was scant administrative presence inland, and the only formal municipality was Berbera. Among all of Britain’s African protectorates, the Somalis had at this point managed to make their territory the only one which was at that time paying its own way, although this was to soon change.20 Clearly this was due to the absence of colonization efforts and the investment that came with it, and any references to “colonial” northern Somalia have to be more a reflection of the wider era than the actual circumstances of northwest Somalia itself. At this point in time, the boundaries of the territory roughly extended along the Gulf of Aden coast, from approximately 18 miles west of Zeila in the west to Bender Ziada in the east, and then extending inland approximately 74 miles on the west and increasing to approximately 199 miles on the eastern side. It is interesting to note that of all the large and small ports along the coastline, it was only Zeila, even decades later, which was reported to have ever developed a “city” culture different from Somali culture in general. However, it was not to last, and by the mid-twentieth century, Zeila was to have deteriorated to “little more than an empty shell, a desolate place of crumbling and ruined mosques and tombs … its distinctive culture … broken and dispersed.”21 With the exception of Zeila’s short-lived city culture, then, in general it appears that the northwestern Somalis of the early twentieth century more or less experienced limited changes within the previous hundred years. Thinking in terms of political culture markers, their society had not overtly become more ranked or hierarchical, they did not appear to have experienced less autonomy, and because they had been relatively left to their own devices, their own social and political orientations did not appear to have appreciably changed. Aside from the campaigns of Hassan, discussed subsequently, there was no interference from Islam, as it was the politically unambitious Qadiriyya Islam that was widespread at that time. In fact, it can be said to have supported the status quo, Haggai Erlich noting that “it failed to unite Somalis” and “endorsed clan politics and the locally enshrined cultural and social

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codes, beliefs and customs.”22 Simply put, the Somalis were proceeding as they had been, accumulating knowledge and acumen, and flourishing. To expand on just how successful and industrious the Somalis continued to be and how widespread this was, although there is limited direct commentary about it, the amount of trade that they were dealing with on a regular basis provides details that are revealing. The available statistics do not show an unremitting flow of wholly uninterrupted increases throughout the decades, since various interferences, whether natural or man-made, were inevitable. However, those statistics do reflect a rather strong and stubborn upward trend in terms of quantity as well as diversity of export commodities. In 1887-1988, for example, the port of Zeila singularly exported in round figures £105,000 worth of goods; by 1901-1902 this climbed to £325,000, although it did eventually average out to approximately £130,000 per year in the following twenty years. Although these amounts seem insignificant today, £130,000 in 1905 is equivalent to £11,500,000 today, or $18,990,000 using the retail price index.23 There was trade in a wide range of items, with coffee, skins and hides, ivory, butter, mother-ofpearl, and livestock among the most numerous commodities. Zeila also exported well over one million kilos of coffee in 1901-1902.24 For the same years, the twinned ports of Berbera and Bulhar25 exported goods worth £167,800 and £200,000 respectively, with their subsequent twenty-year average amounting to £260,000 per year. In the previous period, 1900-1901, they collectively exported well over a million skins and hides; Berbera exported over 5,000 kilos of mother-of-pearl, and Bulhar alone exported almost 230,000 kilos of coffee.26 Although these amounts are small when compared to other British colonies further afield, when considering the relatively small and dispersed population of northern Somalia of that period, the figures are extraordinary. It is more the actual quantities than the monetary values that concern us here, as the quantities are more immediately representative of active Somali engagement in commerce. Although the Somalis were known to be willing to withdraw from port trade if customs duties or import prices were too high, or even if good weather made trade less essential for them,27 when trade was deemed essential it continued in spite of decreased values, and quantities were often maintained. All of this trade activity took place in an atmosphere which continued to be multicultural and well beyond an exclusive presence of only African traders and British administrators. For instance, Pankhurst reports five different nationalities listed among the five principal trading merchants in Somaliland in 1904-1905 as Jewish, Arab, Greek, Indian, and German.28 Merchants from India were particularly pervasive, and

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always had been to varying extents, and this increased in 1888-1898, during British rule from Bombay. Pankhurst also notes that even the Indian rupee was adopted as currency, and that one observer noted some Somalis in Zeila, which was well populated with Indians, understood Hindi better than English.29 This extent of trade would only have been possible to successfully maintain over a long period of time with the northern Somalis having developed skills for organization, planning, networking, communication, cooperation, negotiation, and compromise. Burton’s “fierce and turbulent race of [Isa] republicans”30 living in Lewis’ “state of chronic political schizophrenia, verging on anarchy”31 are in fact not so readily envisaged within the many Somalis directly or indirectly engaged in trade, nor does such extensive and prolonged direct trade seem possible with a people so described. Towards the end of the nineteenth century, the most prominent disturbance taking place around them was the struggle for the Ogaden, a 77,200 square mile region to the south and west of British Somaliland, and to the west of southern Somalia. Traditionally populated by Somalis and the Oromo, the center of it was Harar, historically considered Islam’s capital in the Horn.32 Harar was an autonomous commercial town, and had been so for centuries. In 1887 it was taken over by Menelik, soon to become emperor of neighboring Ethiopia. Although Ethiopia was predominantly Christian and Harar was Muslim, Menelik realized the logistical importance of Harar, including it being, as Erlich points out, “a town of lively commerce”, arranging for it to “become a model of religious and administrative coexistence under EthiopianChristian dominance.”33 Indeed, Hargeisa in Somaliland was the halfway point between Harar and Berbera, and Harar was a stop along the way for caravans from points further inland. Erlich also comments that the Islamic community in Harar was “more interested in trade than in politics and in tolerance rather than in religious confrontation” and even in 1905 was still “a flourishing town that thrived on both commerce and learning.”34 Before 1905, however, there were repeated incursions into the Ogaden by Ethiopian soldiers, beginning around 1890. Apparently war and famine in the Ethiopian highlands provided the impetus for raiding the livestock of the Somalis living there, something which Menelik overlooked. The raiding was a way to provide for Ethiopian soldiers in a country which essentially had a subsistence economy. Laitin and Samatar claim that livestock was raided in the hundreds of thousands in 1890-1897 and that Muslim “religious orders suffered grievously” as well. Even though Ethiopia was not destructive towards the mosques in Harar, the Qadiriyya settlements in the Ogaden

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were often the object of the soldiers’ raids, most likely due to the settlements’ inability to defend themselves.35 Resentment was growing. Ethiopia’s occupation of Harar and years of raiding in the surrounding area led to important geopolitical changes, and it was in 1897 that the British and Italians agreed to new spheres of interest and boundaries in the 1897 Anglo-Ethiopian Treaty. This included ceding the important Somali grazing lands of the Haud and the Reserved Area to Ethiopia. While the Reserved Area was more or less a wide corridor leading from the Haud towards Djibouti, the Haud itself is a large part of the Ogaden comprising about 67,000 square miles, and on some maps including Harar and Jijiga.36 The Haud was traditionally Somali grazing land and had been under British control since the Berlin Conference. Despite the formality of ceding the Reserved Area and the Haud to Ethiopia in 1897, however, Ethiopia was not able to subdue, coerce or convince the Haud Somalis of its authority. This was to mark the beginning of many incidents that created tensions between Ethiopians and Somalis, specifically the constant and widespread raid and plunder by Ethiopian soldiers of Somali pastoralists who were unable to defend themselves.37 It contributed to the rise of Mohammed Abdullah Hassan, who in March 1900 arranged to attack the Ethiopian garrison at Jijiga with 6000 warriors in tow.38 With the exception of the campaigns against Mohammed Abdullah Hassan and his dervishes,39 the British administration’s presence and activity among the Somalis in the years just before and after the turn of the century was otherwise restrained. Not all Somalis, and certainly not even most Somalis became followers of Hassan, and somehow trade steadily continued, an unintended foil of stability countering the upheaval created by him. This is evidenced by figures on coastal exports from those early years: in 1900-1901, the ports of Berbera, Bulhar, and Zeila collectively managed to export, for example, 1,536,649 kilos of coffee, 1,128,170 skins, 287,565 kilos of gum arabic and resins, and almost 60,000 head of sheep and goats.40 Looking at these quantities in a 52-week breakdown reveals weekly exports of more than 29,000 kilos of coffee, almost 22,000 skins, more than 5,000 kilos of gum arabic and resins, and more than 1,150 sheep and goats. The transport of these goods and the movement of the livestock, week in and week out, was quite an undertaking and required the well-oiled transport networks to be consistently functioning. All of the products listed are labor-intensive, and it is difficult to imagine that during this period they were consistently Ethiopian in origin and that such numbers were maintained from such a distance and during a particularly turbulent period. Even the value of exports for Berbera and

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Bulhar steadily rose from about £210,000 in the 1900-1901 period to £307,000 in 1904-1905.41 This was all taking place in spite of Hassan’s activities, which during this period were reported to have “disorganized the market of the port through the stoppage of trade” and “also inflicted widespread distress on the coastal population, who were dependent on supplies from up country for their existence” Eventually Hassan’s activities did affect trade, with merchants fearful to send imported supplies inland, and food becoming scarce. His activities included raiding livestock from those he considered his enemies or those who would not join his cause, something he reportedly began doing as early as 1900, taking about 2000 camels in one particular incident.42 His campaigns began to increasingly interfere locally with safe access to traditional grazing land, and this began to impact on the welfare of the pastoralists, driving some of them off the land.43 Sheik-Abdi comments, “by January 1902 Berbera was crowded with refugees clamoring for food and imploring the missionaries to take care of their starving children.”44 Britain and Ethiopia had of course embarked on an ambitious campaign against Hassan, the period from 1903-04 referred to as the “height of the AngloEthiopian operations against him.” It was significant enough to have consisted of 10,000 British troops accompanied by 15,000 Ethiopian troops. At this time, Hassan’s own forces numbered about 20,000, though only 8000 of them were mounted.45 And yet in spite of this, the export trade rather remarkably steadily plodded on. It is worth mentioning that a late nineteenth century British consular report noted Berbera’s activity was based more on trade with specific Somali clans than on caravan trade from the walled city of Harar in Ethiopia, thus suggesting that the Somalis were indeed doing much more than simply acting as middle men in the markets, and this included stocking the markets.46 And although Harar once featured prominently in the northern coastal Somali markets, its role began to decrease over time as problems and intrigues with Ethiopia, the Ottomans and European powers increased. Yet it was in the midst of Ethiopia’s appetite for the Ogaden and Britain’s relinquishing of the Haud that exports along the Somali coast steadily continued, exports which to a large extent now relied more than ever on pastoralists’ livestock and other related products. Trade still involved goods from further inland, but not to the extent it once did; after all, the slave trade by now had dwindled to nothing, and conflict within the Ogaden interfered with the movement of goods. It is this continuity of quantities to the markets, the adaptability of the Somalis to changing and demanding circumstances, changes in

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desired commodities, and the necessary involvement of both coastal and inland Somalis which serves as a constant backdrop to the changes beyond their control taking place which is so extraordinary. Overall, and in spite of political manoeuvrings, machinations and the ambitious designs of those in power, the Somalis in general, between the lines, offer us an impression of a particularly persistent and almost peculiarly persistent, industrious, independent and resourceful people who were continuing as they had been while formal rule or governance and even boundaries and territories shifted and changed. It appears that as the turn of the century approached and then turned the corner into the first years of the new century, the patterns of life being practiced were not much different in nature than they had been a century earlier and had so remained. In spite of new problems beginning to emerge resulting from Hassan’s presence, the undercurrent of continuity was unmistakable. Continued Autonomy, 1905-1941

In 1905, the British withdrew their presence from Nogal region47 due to an agreement allowing Italy to assume control instead. In March of that year, Hassan signed an agreement of protection with the Italians in the Treaty of Ilig, in which he was given access to grazing areas within the British Somaliland Protectorate and was free to trade in anything but slaves and firearms.48 In the same year, Britain’s Colonial Office took over the administration of the Protectorate from the Foreign Office, and the British area of interest became more focused on the coastal region, avoiding the inland areas frequented by Hassan’s increasing activities. He was affecting the livelihood of the people more and more, and changes that had to be made in grazing patterns resulted in overgrazing and soil erosion. As the land was less and less able to support livestock, more people moved to the towns, thus leading to a growing urban poor.49 It was the early years of a new trend which was also to include the growth of crime.50 In the midst of this, the British further adapted and developed procedures which incorporated existing Somali societal traditions into their own administration, such as the pragmatic use of akils – Somali elders appointed to make determinations in certain areas of law, such as family and clan disputes. Due to limited funding as well as availability of administrative personnel, these akils also acted as formal representatives of their clan to the British administration.51 hiThis arrangement was a new adaptation based on a practice left over from Egyptian rule, when akils acted as a bridge between the Somalis and Egyptian authorities.52 It was mutually beneficial for each party, and in

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regard to the elders, for example, this development put them in the position of appearing to have an upper hand, since they were well aware of the authorities’ reluctance towards making any moves or determining policies which would instigate any more animosity or open resistance to the British presence than that which already existed. After all, any resistance or open rebellion which even remotely resembled conflict with the problematic Mohammed Abdullah Hassan would likely have a limited or at least quite delayed reaction from London. This meant that any conflict arising from the mishandling of Somali sensibilities by the administration itself would no doubt for a time have to fend for itself since there was little hope the Colonial Office would be any more expedient than the Foreign Office had been. Better to tread lightly and find compromise than confront. In other words, maintaining the incorporation of akils as intermediaries was a convenience that helped to maintain some peace between the British administration and the Somalis, but would also keep them from having to request assistance from a possibly reluctant and slow-moving Colonial Office. This fragile balance that had to be maintained between the British administration and the Somalis also was evident in regard to taxation issues. With the exception of the customs duties that had been in existence for decades, in the early years of the Protectorate there was no attempt to impose any additional taxation on the Somali people. This was in spite of the fact that the skeletal administration was increasingly costing Britain more than the revenue it was actually taking in.53 They were well aware additional taxation was something which the Somalis would not tolerate for several reasons, particularly the taxation of Muslims by non-Muslims but also the knowledge that overall, few Somalis had money to begin with, and this was even more the case in regard to the new urban poor. Moreover, imposing and enforcing tax under such circumstances would be likely to drive some Somalis to support Mohammed Abdullah Hassan. After a brief settling-in period in 1905, Hassan lost no time in eventually provoking the inland Somali clans and interfering with the production and movement of goods to the ports in addition to affecting pastorialism in general. This was so much the case that no exports were reported for Bulhar and Berbera from 1906-1907 until and including 1910-1911.54 There were also no exports from Zeila during 1905-1911.55 As Hassan’s activities increased after 1905, it was finally in November 1909 that Britain announced it was to withdraw even more from the Somali interior and restricted its presence to coastal environs. Although the British provided arms for the inland Somalis to use in defending themselves, the clans, rather than uniting against Hassan, instead turned

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on each other. It was reported,“the policy of supplying the friendly tribes with arms and ammunition to enable them to protect themselves against Hassan failed for lack of cooperation among them, and resulted only in mutual looting.”56 Jardine notes that one-third of the protectorate’s male population was killed “in this holocaust”57 and refers to the next two years as “an orgy of internecine warfare.”58 Although by the spring of 1912 this was under control, Hassan now became even more active and posed a serious threat where ever he campaigned. He was reported to be fighting against the Majeerteen beginning 1906-1908, and then with the sultans of Las Khorai and Obbia in 1913-1915 and 1916-1917 respectively.59 Over time he and his fighting force became worn down, mostly due to the efforts of the Somaliland Camel Corps.60 As willing as some Somalis might have been to be employed or supported by the British, their close contact was never able to encourage sufficient interest or concern from the British to overlook Somaliland’s poor potential for financial return and attempt to raise the living, educational, or other standards of the Somalis. For example, in the early years of the protectorate in terms of schooling, Catholic missionary schools and Koranic schools existed, but between the feared proselytizing of the former and the limited accessibility of the latter, both had scant impact, and the latter in fact seemed to have been attended primarily by the children of Arab and Indian merchants. The Catholic missionary schools were completely closed by 1910 due to pressure and resentment from Muslim clerics.61 No replacement schools were suggested, thus suggesting Britain’s temporary intentions. Foreign Office and then Colonial Office decisions were known to be based on selective economic and political considerations, as well as the reluctance to provoke those Somalis who were opposed to too much assistance and thus influence from foreigners.62 Before going any further, it is here we backtrack somewhat and give some additional attention to the role of Mohammed Abdullah Hassan, but with an eye on the specific political culture markers of autonomy and equality. Although Hassan is often presented as a central topic in any discussion of this period, here he is treated more as one of several important formative influences during his own time in addition to those of the previous hundred years. In order to be realistic about the scope of his power, there are two related factors that need to be recognized, the first of which concerns the extent of his acceptance among the Somalis themselves. Although he did have a core dedicated following, over time the numbers began to decline, and this is significant in view of the fact that he never could claim the loyalty of the majority of the population, even at his height. The largest number of troops Hassan ever could

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muster was 20,000, representing about 33 percent of the total males of fighting age.63 This in turn leads to the second factor: what were the political culture influences, if any, of the other 67 percent (and more) of the males of fighting age? Some of their story needs to be considered as well, despite the fact that Hassan is considered by many to be a nationalist hero because he so unrelentingly opposed the intrusion of foreigners. At first glance this is admirable, but it must be made clear that this opposition was based on some rather exclusive and restrictive religious views, and not on any calls to individual liberty, autonomous rule, or egalitarian ideals. It is important to keep in mind that for the twenty years Hassan and his dervishes were often in the foreground, pervasive and yet able to avoid capture, they sought not only to rout the British but also those independent Somalis who would not bend to Hassan’s leadership. These errant Somalis were to be considered infidels and the British themselves as “uncircumcised infidels”; there was no tolerance for anyone or anything but strict adherence to Hassan’s views.64 It could be said that Hassan’s ultimate goal was as extremist in demand as it was nationalist in scope. After spending years abroad studying Islam and finally becoming an adherent of the Salihiyya order, Hassan returned to Somalia in 1895 and quickly became alarmed by the presence of Christian missionaries and the apparently impure ways of the more moderate Qadiriyya sect. Relocating to the Ogaden, his intolerance of the Ethiopians who now had authority over the Ogaden became clear, particularly since they were largely Christian. Moreover, those Somalis who were not willing to abide by his tenets had their livestock repeatedly raided to the point where they could no longer graze their livestock in the summers in the Haud.65 However, those Somalis who did follow him and lived in the Ogaden were also having their livestock raided, but by Ethiopian soldiers who were left to their own devices to fend for themselves. And so it is in 1900, mentioned earlier, that we encounter Hassan’s efforts to help Somalis whose livestock had been constantly raided by Ethiopian soldiers, his efforts resulting in the retrieval of their livestock. His attack on the fort in Jijiga, which housed the soldiers, was a near-pyrrhic victory, as of the reported 6,000 who fought for him, 2,600 were killed. Erlich claims this was a turning point, and Hassan thereafter focused primarily on the British, leaving the “black pagans” to themselves.66 It was the beginning of a long series of large and small battles to expel the foreign presence, and Hassan proved to be an exasperating adversary for the British, who tried to quell the activities of a less well-armed man and

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his followers with no permanent base and were well able to move swiftly and seamlessly through the vast Somali interior. Hassan had arrived back in Somalia at a time when religious changes were widespread, and Islamic tariiqas happened to be on the increase. With their bases located in Islamic centers throughout the Middle East, they arrived amongst the Somalis with a kind of authority, authenticity, and personal message that was understandably appealing for some Somalis. Those Somalis who had been to the Islamic centers in the Middle East and then returned to their home country to proselytize were called khalifas, and many of them remained connected to their respective main houses in the Middle East. Throughout the Horn they established settlements of their own followers where spiritual brotherhood, prayer and farming were pursued, the farming encouraged due to pastoral life’s incompatibility with tariiqa aims. Though individually these tariiqas at times did enjoy considerable religious, economic and political significance, neither their influence nor their lifespans were so great that they impacted comprehensively in the long term. Their mutual rivalries with each other and the disputes thus engendered, often within the same region, seemed to act as a countervailing influence to whatever positive roles they might have played.67 Among the most radical of these tariiqas was the Salihiyya, based on Sheik Mohamed ibn Salih’s teachings and his Salihiyya order, which was openly and militantly opposed to any degree of foreign presence and influence from the West. Although the Salihiyya platform was on one hand a rather direct and somewhat welcome resistance to any foreign presence, on the other hand, for those Somalis who were closely engaged in or benefitting from port trade or the markets, there was limited appeal in any religious order with convictions that were likely to also interfere with the smooth flow of trade and commerce, or indeed with the relative autonomy they had become accustomed to living with. They would have been well aware of Hassan’s lack of tolerance for those who did not comply with his teachings.68 Objections to Hassan should not be understood as widespread undying support for the British, however, but perhaps more of a preference for the least demanding and least interfering authority.69 Thus, objections to Hassan were not necessarily only based on his beliefs per se, since there were other sheikhs who also found the presence of Christianity and Western culture undesirable. One Hassan biographer, Sheik-Abdi, explains that it was “the Mullah’s aggressive manner, his vehemence, and his insistence on immediate and absolute reform” and “any manner of association with the ‘infidels’” that distanced many Somalis from him.70

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From 1901 to 1905 there were four British campaigns against Hassan, and although they were not successful in their aim to capture or kill him, they did manage to accomplish some level of damage to the movement. It is interesting that in all four campaigns there were Somalis, generally of the Isaaq clan from the northwest and northern coastal areas, enlisted. Hassan’s punitive attacks on the Isaaq for not allying themselves with him were frequent. The following example of a contemporary observer’s words during the first campaign, in 1901, help corroborate this: There was at the time, owing to the feeling of exasperation caused by the sufferings of the people, no difficulty in obtaining infantry recruits, even at the low rate of pay of twelve rupees a month, a rate of four rupees less than that given to the Coast Police. On the first day, some 1,200 men came forward. In selecting men, only those vouched for by responsible chiefs and those belonging to trustworthy tribes were enlisted, no Dolbahantas71 being allowed to enter the ranks.72

Identifying just how many Somalis participated in the campaigns against Hassan is as difficult to pinpoint as the number of Somalis who actually fought with Hassan. Having some grasp of this speaks to the degree to which the relatively autonomous Somali clans were willing to surrender their personal liberties to Hassan’s religious agenda. In the case of Somalis willing to be enlisted with the British, the campaigns against Hassan did not consist of singular, uniform incidents, but comprised various skirmishes and attacks, each of which required varying numbers of soldiers and weapons, and at times received reinforcements. It is important to mention that in spite of the fact there were Somalis enlisted against Hassan, this does not suggest that Somalis were faithfully allied to the British in all or any matters, though it is to say that most of the time the potential for animosity was kept to a minimum. In addition, Somali recruits did not receive the same treatment as regular enlisted soldiers, be they English, Indian, or otherwise. Though many were indeed willing to cooperate against Hassan, they were not permitted to become officers or assume any command responsibilities at all, but were always under the command of British military officers.73 Actual total figures can be especially hard to come by since they fluctuated. For example, when they involve camels or horses, since it is not always indicated when the animals might have been utilized only as pack animals and when they might have been ridden. The following passage from official documents on the third campaign illustrates this problem:

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On the 17th March Swann received orders from General Manning to dispatch from Damot74 to Galkayu a force consisting of 300 men of the 2nd Battalion King’s African Rifles, 50 men Somali Mounted Infantry, and two guns of camel battery. These troops, who were to be accompanied by 1,000 camels, two months’ rations, and at least 400 water tins, were to reach their destination by the 25th March … A further supply of 1,000 camels was ordered to be collected at Bohotle as a reserve for the Obbia force.75

Other occasional references to troop particulars are similarly imprecise, with reports such as “a force of nearly 3,000 men, half of them Ishak tribal horse,”and “companies of the 2nd King’s African Rifles, two of which were on the companies of the 6th African Rifles [Somalis], on the left of the 2nd King’s Rifles.”76 The size and strength of Hassan’s troops also were observed to have varied, with one Colonel Swayne of the British Indian Army, who led many expeditions against Hassan, commenting: As to the Mullah’s strength, it is impossible to say what it is. His followers disperse and reassemble continually. He only assembles them for an emergency and, at ordinary times, his people are scattered, looking after their flocks, but all within reach of him, so that they can be readily called in.77

The reported number of Somalis fighting on the side of Hassan varied according to incident, and ranged from 3,000 to 20,000 fighting men, though this number ultimately began to decrease over time. The troops included men armed with firearms as well as weapons such as spears, and men on foot, horseback, and camel. When one of the campaigns against Hassan was at its height in 1903-1904, one of the attacks against Hassan is said to have involved 10,000 British troops accompanied by 15,000 allied Ethiopian troops; the Dervish force consisted of 20,000 men, with 8,000 of them cavalry.78 Certainly the relentless interference with trade and the 1909 condemnation and excommunication of “the mad Mullah”79 by his mentor Mohammed Salih did not help him in terms of continued recruitment.80 Salih’s rejection of Hassan specified non-adherence to Islam as well as the plundering and killing of fellow Somalis, no doubt a reference to the continuous raiding that was reported. Ironically, it was Hassan’s uncompromising demands that must have been almost incomprehensible to those Somalis who traded at the markets and along the caravan routes and had become no doubt quite skilled in the art of compromise itself. The pastoralists also became

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profoundly affected by Hassan’s seemingly ubiquitous presence, by 1915 so dominating the hinterlands that he “made it impossible for the pastoralists to move their stock to the Haud during the rainy seasons without confronting the dervishes” thus leading to devastating overgrazing and soil erosion.81 Mohamed goes on to explain how Hassan “played an active part in the destruction of the country in many other ways: he cut down forests to use in the construction of his many forts; kraals for the livestock that he looted, and homes for his expanding army … the land never recovered.” Another ecologically destructive tactic employed by Hassan and probably learned from and widely practiced by the British was “fields of fire for defensive purposes”, which desolated some areas, turning them into barren dust bowls.82 Hassan’s overall interference was so overwhelming that in Bulhar and Berbera, and then Zeila alone, no exports from 1906/7–1910/11 and 1905-1912 respectively were reported. However, when exports did resume, they did so with a bang, and a look at trade values in rupees for 1911-1912 reveals that Zeila (1,127,533) and Berbera (1,350,659)83 showed an impressive revival compared to figures for 1904-1905. This took place in spite of being in the midst of “the most devastating drought in the early colonial period, which very quickly became a famine” from 1910-1913.84 To some extent, it represented the selling off of what livestock survived, and the skins and hides of those who did not. The value of trade decreased considerably for a few short years after 1913, regaining its footing in Berbera by 1917, though Zeila was on a general decline for other reasons.85 In 1913 Hassan was still reported to be controlling a large part of the northern inland region which included caravan routes to the northern ports.86 However, between his destructive practices on the Somalis themselves and the “rupture between Hassan’s followers” from his excommunication, he was on a path to losing vital support.87 Another drought in 1918 was severe enough to compel pastoralists to appeal to the British for aid, and although this was hardly the first time such an appeal was made, it took place at a crucial time for Hassan.88 The idea of Somalis seeking help from the infidels doubtless only added insult to injury. Hassan’s complicated relationship with Ethiopia came to the fore in 1915, when it was made known that the country was interested in procuring its own harbor. It was suggested a harbor could be located between Zeila and Bulhar, but only if the British were expelled, as that suggested location was clearly within British Protectorate territory. To that end, Hassan attempted to harass and provoke in the Berbera area and along the coast. He was reported to have sent an army of 12,000 men in 1915 against the Warsangali, who were known for being closely

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allied with the British. In spite of its size, Hassan’s army made a limited impact in that they did manage to burn some coastal villages, but at the same time they were low on ammunition. Requests for more ammunition from his former enemy Ethiopia was slow in coming.89 During this period, the numbers of supporters failing, efforts were also made to convince more Somalis to join with him, and in the summer of 1916 this was done via a series of leaflets distributed by individuals within the Ethiopian and Ottoman regimes.90 Taking this a step further, Erlich explains more pamphlets were subsequently distributed, now accusing the British of denigrating the Quran and with plans to enslave Muslims, destroy the Ka’ba and then steal the Black Stone and exhibit it at the British Museum.91 At that time, utilizing the written word to reach Somalis, even in Arabic, would have had a limited Somali audience able to actually read such documents, and calls into question its effectiveness regarding the likelihood of the intended message being fully and accurately distributed. By September 1916 a more direct approach to the Somali chiefs from the Ogaden and the Protectorate was taken, this time in the form of a meeting at Jijiga held by Lij Iyasu, the grandson of Ethiopia’s Emperor Menelik and heir to the throne. Iyasu had more than a passing interest in his own father’s Muslim background, and even though Hassan’s own men did not attend the meeting, he used his Muslim heritage to reassure the Somali chiefs of his devotion to Islam. Money and arms were also given to the Somali chiefs at this time, as well as talk of the importance of Islamic unity, and the responsibility to liberate the coast from the British. Iyasu had misread the Somalis, however, who were as independently minded as ever and had no interest in siding with him or fighting the British.92 There was no SomaliEthiopian-Islamic unity, and by late September Iyasu was deposed.93 Support for Hassan continued to diminish in the coming years. By 1918 he was hardly seen as a major threat, although he was not completely dismissed either. In early 1920 it took British forces, now using air strikes, just over two weeks to take Hassan’s fortress in Taleh, in Sool region, where the remains of the fort still stand today. Hassan and approximately 800 followers escaped to Ethiopia, where in April the British sent ten reluctant Somali leaders to Hassan to convince him to quietly surrender. Hassan refused. In July Somalis allied with the British attacked Hassan’s group and killed approximately 700 of his men.94 Hassan and the remaining men were reduced to asking for help once more from his former enemy Ethiopia, and once again help did not materialize.95 The heir to the throne, Ras Tafari (the future Haile Selassie), did not arrest Hassan but did not assist him either, and Hassan died in December 1920, apparently quite ill.

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At this juncture what one can come away with in relation to political culture is that from 1885 until the appearance of Hassan there was the steady, almost monotonous dealings of the markets and export trade. It involved more than just those Somalis living near the coast, and it seemed everyone along or near enough a caravan route had some opportunity to engage in what had to be a unique spectacle. Those who were not living along the coast were no doubt arranging for the sawaaq herding large flocks of sheep and goats to the port towns, a logistical achievement in and of itself. And those who were not herding livestock to the ports were rearing robust livestock for export, preparing skins and hides or other labor-intensive products to sell or were engaged in preparing other products for the markets. Considering the steady flow of products going to the ports and the relatively small population, it is difficult to imagine the majority were exclusively pastoral Somalis. So for the first ten or twenty years after the Berlin Conference, the habits and skills of the previous decades were more practiced, becoming more ingrained. Preparing for the markets and the caravans had become part of the ebb and flow of life, and had been for one generation after another after another. Weather and illness and drought and famine came and went, and life as it had been continued to raise its head, plodding along with a consistency that year in and year out reliable. When Hassan rose to prominence, he was not able to capture the hearts and minds of all Somalis, nor most of them; there was little tolerance in the Somali psyche for domination of any kind stemming from any quarter. Although he certainly can be credited for raising nationalistic sentiment, in terms of an evolving Somali political culture, Hassan and his followers only represent a temporary deviation from a larger trend. This is borne out by the fact that nothing comparable to it had ever occurred previously and has not occurred since; although al-Shabaab might be considered a recent similar trend, for example, it is too chronologically distant to be considered part of a linked trend. Hassan’s tenets were anathema to the Somali individuals and clans engaged directly and indirectly in trade; he threatened a particular way of life they had been cultivating for more than a century. His demands were not only demands for change to a more religiously correct way of life, but also the implication that the Somalis abandon the relative autonomy they had been enjoying and agree to live under the even more confining strictures and hierarchical structure of Hassan’s dictates. To many Somalis, their relative freedom was more appealing than his purported religious nationalism. Granted, it could be interpreted that the coastal Somalis’ own self-interest was what drove them, rather than a love of autonomy or a distaste for absolute rule; however, it could in

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turn be argued as well that their interest was in the freedom to exercise self-interest, and to be able to continue to do so. In political culture terms, their relative autonomy under less demanding British rule – which included their relative egalitarian social structure – was not worth exchanging or trading off for the coercive behaviour and hierarchical nature of Hassan’s efforts, regardless if they were under the banner of Islam, Somali nationalism, anti-colonialism, or any combination thereof. In addition, Hassan’s duration of twenty years of armed conflict perhaps did not have as much an impact as might be expected since it could be argued to not have been twenty continuous years of fighting, and his own perceptions of who was the enemy underwent occasional fluctuation. There was also the fact that over time, Hassan’s sphere of influence began to decrease, reflected in restricting activties to the inland areas, the British presence remaining intact along the coast, and finally retreating to territory within and seeking protection from Ethiopia, his old enemy. Hassan’s efforts can be viewed as a sort of social-political counter-trend, his sphere of influence and activity generally being too geographically limited and sporadic to integrate as a constant into the broader discussion. Despite his movement’s ultimate demise, Hassan’s legacy can nevertheless be said to have fortified the Somali spirit of defiant independence and tenacious resistance to any attempt at coercive rule, and that, rather paradoxically, included Hassan’s own attempts. Because there were no other comparable long term political strategies among the Somalis, no comparable leadership, he was able to offer the Somalis a larger and alternative political identity96 in the midst of the overall larger political vacuum in which they lived. Closing Years of British Administration

In the last two or three years leading up to Hassan’s 1921 demise, port trade continued, Zeila beginning to show signs of losing its former glory, and Berbera and Bulhar holding their own. The export trade that had been taking place in previous decades plodded on, and served as a steady undercurrent to all and any turbulence on the surface. In the year before Hassan’s death, for example, exports subsequently improved, reaching a value of £543,866, compared to approximately £295,464 only five years before in 1915/16.97 From there, a conservative but steady rise after 1920 can also be observed, and until 1935 exports on the whole increased even more, all of it indigenously instigated, none of it generated, produced by or connected to the relatively small number of British civil servants98 in the Protectorate’s administration.99 Of course,

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occasional decreases in trade figures did take place, but these tended to be influenced by other factors, such as drought, livestock problems and other misfortunes. By the end of the Hassan episode, livestock and livestock products such as skins had become the most important pastoral trade items. Before the opening of the Suez Canal, exports from the Somali coast had included a wide range of non-livestock pastoral commodities such as gum arabic, myrrh, ivory, ostrich feathers, and wax. At the end of the war these commodities had almost vanished from the trade register; it was ecological degradation and export demands that propelled these changes. British Somaliland, at that time with no radio connections and few roads, was an “imperial backwater” and “charter member of the imperial awkward squad,” ranking perhaps lowest of all British-claimed territories, particularly in terms of locally raised revenue and having any ability to pay for itself. With stagnation as the determined policy and never having had a positive trade balance, “Somaliland simply had no future, and Britain had no real interest in giving it one as a form of charity.”100 In looking at statistics provided by Pankhurst, the large quantities of labor-intensive export items for the years 1919-1928 are revealing. Skins, for example, which are distinct from hides, averaged just over 1,300,000 annually.101 Although there was no tanning industry in Somaliland, the dry climate kept the skins from decomposing too quickly; still, the labor-intensive flaying process had to be carefully done in order to avoid damage and to make the most of an individual skin.The export of live sheep and goats averaged out to just over 90,300 annually (more than 1,700 animals per week) during the same period. The export of gums and resins, also labor intensive to produce, increased dramatically, averaging out to 345,000 kilos annually during the 19191928 period.102 These numbers represent a steady continuation of a busy, industrious people and are interesting to compare to the same exports in 1901-1902 mentioned earlier: 1,128,170 skins, almost 60,000 head of sheep and goats, and 287,565 kilos of gum arabic and resins. A. I. Samatar points out that drought in 1926-1928 was responsible for up to 80 percent of the livestock perishing, though he also comments that the export of skins and livestock always increased during such problems, as the Somalis were anxious to sell off what they had before prices plummeted.103 As a result, the resourcefulness and adaptibility of the pastoralists are revealed here as more livestock was moved to the ports and at home more livestock were slaughtered for skins and hides. So throughout the 1919-1928 period, productivity changed little, except to slightly increase.

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During the decade following Hassan’s demise, it is important to note that the lack of rain in 1927 led to drought, which in turn led to famine and necessitated the administration’s opening of a relief center in Bulhar. Although the Somalis had well adapted themselves to drought for centuries, it was now almost impossible for them to do so because of the level of environmental degradation. Past adaptations and coping mechanisms were not sufficient in this new environment, and the circumstances were not dissimilar from those in the northeast eighty years earlier. The relief center remained open into the following year, and the effects of the 1927 drought and famine were only exacerbated by more environmental devastation in July and August 1928. Vast swarms of locusts “stripped trees, denuded pastures, and destroyed all standing crops” and led to a reported loss of 80 percent of livestock.104 The relief camp was not closed until late 1930. After this, Jama Mohamed lists droughts in 1933-1934 and again in 1939. Relief camps were set up in Erigavo, Badhan, and Berbera for the former drought, with thousands provided aid daily. It did not affect all Somalis in the protectorate, but it did affect most people in a large area, and it had to have had some impact on those who did not seek relief. The drought in 1939 was country-wide, with little exception, also leading to significant loss of livestock.105 This resulted in repeated attempts at agriculture, until then generally limited to tariiqas. Overall, the attempts were environmentally careless and caused further ecological problems.106 Export levels did eventually improve, but never to previous levels. By the onset of World War II, pastoralist products accounted for about 72 percent of annual customs revenue.107 Thus, in spite of drought, famine, and other major and minor shifts and changes taking place, there was also a continuity of trade, however monetary values might have dropped, from decades and even generations past. There was even continuity in the role of the akils, whose duties were expanded in 1921 with the establishment of akils courts, which were subordinate to the administration’s court and accountable to the head commissioner. Restricted to dealing with tribal and sharia law, they became counterparts to District Commissioner and something similar to a Justice of the Peace. Islamic law or Sharia provided the basis for most personal law, such as inheritance and divorce, and the akils were also determined to be competent to address complicated political cases, the latter’s need for objectivty tending to “detribalise” them. The result was not only the active perpetuation of a Somali cultural practice, but also that justice in some cases remained the responsibility of the people. Also in keeping with cultural law or xeer, penalties were assessed and meted out according to clan or tribe and not to individuals. However, civil and

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property law remained in the hands of the District Commissioners, even though they often had no legal training themselves. The cases were dealt with through specific protectorate laws, common sense, and some grasp of what would be acceptable as justice to the Somalis. The Somaliland Protectorate’s criminal law initially was drawn from Indian Penal Code, but by 1926 this changed under the Somaliland Administration of Criminal Justice Ordinance. After 1926, it was largely seen as a legal system based on xeer as well as religious law or Sharia.108 And much later, in 1937, qadis109 were also added to the legal system, with similar responsibilities as akils. Because the British had no plans for intensive investment in Somaliland, it was financially convenient to maintain some of the indigenous cultural practices so long as it served their own needs, although the relative stability and continuity it provided were perhaps inadvertent benefits. Some attempt to improve the overall infrastructure was made, ranging from new roads to a central prison, more hospitals to new barracks for police and army, trash collection to improved medical services, a separate leper hospital to piped water in Berbera.110 Clearly, some of these did not directly and immediately affect the wider population, but they did lay some groundwork for the future. Touched on earlier, another way in which consideration was taken with indigenous sensitivities and indeed realities was in regard to taxation for education or other social assistance. It is worth noting that during the more active years of Hassan’s activities, the idea of taxation was simply not possible, and so it was not until a year or so after his death that the topic resurfaced. Time and again London raised the possibility of the protectorate beginning to pay for itself in some small way, and repeatedly the conclusion was reached that it was just not possible. This also caused occasional discussions about Britain’s ultimate purpose for remaining there, and neither leaving nor staying seemed tenable. It was difficult to comprehend from a Western point of view that the Somalis were not interested in paying for improvements in their lives. Even the idea of taking a census first so that different tribes or clans might pay on a pro rata basis was rejected; in fact it was declared that any Somali taking part in a census, registering a firearm, or paying tax would be expelled from Islam. The idea of coercive taxation was also forwarded, but it seemed there was little point in demanding taxes that would cost more to collect than the value of the tax itself.111 Sir Harold Baxter Kiddermaster, who was governor in 1926-1932, saw very little possibility of success of any kind, pointing out to his superiors in London “the intractable, restless habits of the Somalis, their lack of tribal coherence and their nomadic nature” that made taxation imposs-

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ible. There was little point in raising duty fees at the ports, as they were “already so high that smuggling was rampant, and prosecution simply led to litigation which the Somalis enjoyed as a type of free theatre.”112 Some of this seems an unfair observation, as it was during Kiddermaster’s tenure that drought and famine took place and created significant hardship for the people in general. This was the first time any effort was made by the administration to take on a welfare roll and alleviate the worst suffering, and some efforts were made in the form of relief camps, free food, and reduction of import duties for rice.113 Had the Somalis been willing to pay taxes in the first place, it would at this time perhaps have been more drought and famine rather than “intractable, restless habits” that affected revenues. In 1922, a direct tax on the Somalis was proposed for education purposes but with English taught at the expense of Arabic and thus Koranic study.114 It was not only that this tax would have been difficult, if not impossible, for the Somalis to meet, but also that the Somalis, as Muslims, were opposed to the education of their children by Christians. The Somalis refused to cooperate, and there was even a riot in Burao, with the district commissioner shot and killed. Initially the British reasserted their policy with “considerable force” and penalties, but then completely backed down and subsequently only attempted indirect taxation, with “punitive measures restricted to special cases,” a far cry indeed from their initial attempt.115 In the same year riots also took place in Burao due to religious pressure from some returned Christian (not Catholic) missionaries,116 who subsequently departed.117 Another riot with similar concerns regarding Christian missionaries was reported in May 1939, and within this riot three Somalis were killed.118 In spite of their reported “lack of tribal coherence,” there was certainly sufficient coherence to collectively dissent and no sense at all of deference. There is little doubt that the memory of Hassan and his opposition to foreign occupation was one aspect of his legacy that remained quite alive in the minds of those who had lived through this period. Hassan’s legacy, coupled with the protectorate Somalis’ acquired skills for organizing, communication, and bargaining and the increasing exposure to Western ideas and colonial impositions, had to have played on the minds and actions of those living in the protectorate. Here and there the Somalis seemed to increasingly step towards more active politicization. Despite the existence of no clearly defined political elite, political clubs were developing, established by local merchants. With clubs appearing in Berbera, Hargeisa, and Burao, some of these merchants were bound to be the sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons of the Somalis who no doubt were involved in the trade and commerce of the

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previous century. These clubs, when they first appeared in 1935, were not particularly ambitious and had limited membership that seemed to be open mainly to the Isaaq. However, they were the start of further similar efforts. Two years later, for example, the Somali Officials’ Union was formed (1937); although a small number of Somalis had been educated specifically for positions within the protectorate’s civil service, there was, quite deliberately, little opportunity for advancement to middle-and-senior level management. Several sources claim these civil servants were prohibited from political participation, too, especially in regard to complaints or agitation. It is unclear whether this prohibition was official or more subtle, with the risk of job dismissal discretely implied if such links were established. Either way, the result was that those who in several ways might have been most useful to political efforts were not able to so openly engage themselves. Being able to recognize common grievances, collectively and effectively organizing to discuss those grievances and exchange ideas, and then being able to coherently express them without resorting to violence was a new phase and new experience in developing the skills needed for future self-rule. One example would be the mutiny of the Somaliland Camel Corps (SCC), when in 1937 they demanded higher wages and other considerations.119 The SCC had its roots in the late nineteenth century, and was formally established as a branch of the British Army in 1912. Its purpose was to have a highly mobile, welltrained and armed native force to help maintain law and order. It generally consisted of about 500 Somali soldiers with a British officer in the top command position.120 As pastoral life slowly began to decline, the SCC provided an opening for those who had left that life behind; these individuals, according to Jama Mohamed and others, created a new and privileged social category. As a salaried and armed unit living in a barracks, the SCC soon formed its own “distinct group consciousness, identity, and interests,” and to some extent this separated them from Somali society in general.121 Although it is reported that they had no political motives, the very act of taking part in an uprising was political in and of itself. Ultimately, the mutiny was not successful. Part of the reason it came about was linked to the Italians so close by in Ethiopia, as well as in southern Somalia, and the greater pay they gave to Somali soldiers. In the protectorate, it was known that many Somalis were eager to leave their posts and enlist as better-paid soldiers in Ethiopia, where, coincidentally, enormous investment was also being made in the infrastructure. Once the market consisting of Italian soldiers was recognized by enterprising Somalis in the protectorate, many responded by importing goods into the protectorate and reselling them to

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the Italians in Ethiopia at a huge profit. This temporarily stimulated the economy of the protectorate; it did not last long, however, as the Italians soon were well able to import their own goods, and also World War II was at hand. Still, both the fact that a mutiny took place at all and the Somalis quick adaptation when a new market developed speak to their propensity for taking autonomous action in an attempt to change or adapt to new circumstances.122 In spite of actions such as the mutiny, the Somalis in the SCC generally made favourable impressions on their officers. In one official document from 1925, they are patronizingly described as “cheery and lighthearted; … extremely quick to learn up to a certain point.”123 In a subsequent discussion on “the Somali as an enlisted soldier,” they are given a bit more credit, albeit still reflecting a colonial perspective: The Somali has many good qualities which fit him to be a soldier. He possesses considerable bravery and dash. As a scout he is full of resource and in his own country is unsurpassed in such work; his marching powers are above the ordinary. He is able to subsist for comparatively long periods on short rations of food and water, cheerfulness under such privations on active service being one of his best characteristics.…he has few vices and serious crimes are rare. Somalis in the Camel Corps have on many occasions proved their staunchness, and in East Africa during the Great War Somalis in the King’s African Rifles Mounted Infantry did conspicuous service.124

The writer also was certain to add, “the Somali is not the least subservient, and has considerable independence of spirit, which he will readily show if he thinks he is being imposed upon.”125 Somaliland’s first governor since the death of Hassan, George Archer, also thought well of the Somalis, referring to them as an “intelligent and enterprising people.”126 Although derogatory observations can be found as well, commentary was overall positive, with emphasis often put on independence and resourcefulness. In spite of positive impressions and trying to blend some aspects of Somali culture and tradition with administrative rule, including the possibility of incorporating some aspects of xeer as statute law, there were some developments that clashed quite directly with Somali culture and were completely unacceptable to the people in general.127 Corporal and capital punishment were practiced within the protectorate, the former generally in the form of flogging and caning, the latter by hanging. It was reasoned by the protectorate leadership that flogging and caning was more effective than prison or fines, especially since some of the offenders were already in prison anyway and others were unable to

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pay a fine for more minor infractions. Considering that preferred tradition would make the entire clan responsible for the actions of one individual, flogging and caning were argued to be expedient in cases where an offender no longer had a clan attachment. It applied in a range of cases, from minor offenses and mischief to robbery and rape, and was practiced on young and old alike. Misbehaving orphans who were in the care of the British Administration could be caned for disobeying an order, and on one day 141 prison inmates were caned for the same infraction. Although some Somalis reportedly were not opposed to corporal punishment, serious questions from London reflected concern for Great Britain’s reputation, and it still was a step well outside the boundaries of indigenous Somali practice.128 Capital punishment was even more problematic, and went to the heart of Somali sensibilities. The idea of the diya-paying group – rather than the individual – being responsible for compensation for offences, including murder, was confronted when capital punishment was introduced in 1920. It was as much an assault on the foundations of the culture they had been brought up with as it was for the British to not hold an individual perpetrator accountable. Capital punishment was not broadly applied, however, and it was not until 1933 that an individual was actually hanged. However, clans found to be hiding those responsible for murder were penalized as a group by the government, and in spite of the clans seeing murder as a matter between clans. This came to a head in 1937, when nine Somali policemen disobeyed a command to prepare an execution shed in the Central Prison for a condemned prisoner. They argued their religion would not allow them to participate in any execution, and this resulted in their being imprisoned for 42 days of hard labor and then discharged from their positions with loss of all benefits. The practice of corporal and capital punishment was certainly a factor that led to a growing distance between the Somalis and the British administration. In the mid to late 1930s, other changes were taking place as well, signalling shifts in the social culture that had never occurred before. Young people, for example, were less inclined to take up pastoral life and were drawn to the towns, where at one point an overall labor shortage presented them with some opportunity.129 It was also reported that some Somalis were selling the majority of their livestock in order to buy motor vehicles, and the number of commercial vehicles, for example, leapt from 49 in 1933 to 316 in 1937. This in turn led to more roads, and a need for the vehicles to be serviced; it was claimed in a 1937 report that there were then at least 600 Somalis able to do so.130 There were others who opened coffee shops or became itinerant traders,

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and those who left Somaliland altogether and went to Aden to work as teachers, shop owners or butchers, or worked for the government as clerks or interpreters.131 In the 1930s social clubs and welfare societies also began to appear in towns, and Geshekter offers the examples of the “Gift of God” club in Berbera and Burao, and the “Blessed Association” in Hargeisa, neither of which were clan-based.132 The export of livestock and skins continued to surge, and in 1937 there were 85,000 sheep and goats, and 1.5 million sheep and goat skins exported. This was to peak in 1942 at 160,000 sheep and goats, and 1.6 million skins.133 The topic of education began to be brought up again as well, and challenges to the British administration – including complaints about the lack of education – were also becoming more frequent. It was clear that the 1930s represented a significant shift in the social and political landscape. However, by the late 1930s such matters as Somali education were hardly a priority of the British government. In 1936 Italy had taken control of Ethiopia, and Austria was subsumed by Germany in March 1938. War was on the horizon, and plans began to be made for the eventual abandonment of Somaliland. By May of that same year it was decided in London to go ahead with the suggestion that the Somalis – who had been receiving arms from the administration for years – were to be disarmed with compensation. The reasoning behind Somali disarmament in general was “so that they would not embarrass London by attempting a defence.”134 The protectorate was so informed in July to begin to implement the order, which turned out to be more costly and more difficult than anticipated. In the meantime, more disturbing changes were underway: in March of 1939 Czechoslovakia fell under German control, and when Germany invaded Poland in September 1939, Britain and France declared war on Germany. With a skeleton staff of 55 in a territory now numbering approximately 347,000,135 it was clear that no plans had ever been made for Somaliland’s defense, that to invest in it now was not considered worthwhile, and the only option, astonishing as it seemed, was to evacuate. From September 1939 evacuation to Aden gradually commenced. Events accelerated. Almost all Somalis were disarmed by February 1940, and in March three companies of the Somaliland Camel Corps were showing clear signs of loss of morale. In June France surrendered to Germany, and Italy declared war on Great Britain and France; the protectorate was invaded by Italy in August. Although at the eleventh hour a decision had been made to ostensibly defend Somaliland after all, the arrival of the 1st Battalion, Black Watch and subsequent forces were painfully inadequate for the overwhelmingly well-armed Italians. After two weeks of fighting off the Italians and an uncertain number of

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casualties,136 the order was given to evacuate, something the Black Watch commander had anticipated all along anyway. Needless to say, the Somalis were not only feeling stunned and betrayed, but also “unprotected, disarmed and occupied by a largely native and hostile Italian Colonial Army of occupation.”137 Millman further comments, rather poignantly: The defence of Somaliland was opéra bouffe. The Protectorate was abandoned because it had no importance, was rendered indefensible because [it was] not worth defending, while deliberate policy had deprived it of what had always been its sharpest sword – the basic loyalty of an armed and stoic populace, schooled from infancy in the art of raiding.138

Abandoned, disarmed, betrayed and unable to defend themselves, for seven long months the Somalis did what they do best: took matters into their own hands and exercised their resourcefulness for survival with an eye on the future. This is perhaps well reflected in the following example: During the Italian occupation of Somaliland (August 1940–March 1941), Somali truck owners cleverly avoided confiscation by dismantling their vehicles, separately burying the engine, wheels, and other parts in the sand. When British forces re-occupied the Protectorate, the Somalis dug up the parts, reassembled them, and the so-called “out-of-the-earth” trucks resumed operation. An eyewitness likened the spectacle to “seeing a dusty corpse get out of the grave and drive off!” With spare parts and garages nonexistent in the Protectorate, “the Somalis had to tie their old trucks together with bits of rope,” reminisced a district commissioner, “and plugged radiator leaks with dates.”139

When the British forces returned in early 1941, they did not only take back the protectorate, but they were to take Italian Somaliland too. Political Progress

In the years immediately following the Berlin Conference, the Somalis in British Somaliland experienced a continuation of the relative autonomy and equality from previous decades. As the twentieth century approached, their lives were interrupted by British and Ethiopian intrigues and Mohammed Abdullah Hassan’s forays into ridding the land of foreigners and recruiting true believers. Remarkably, and in spite of these interruptions, the trends of autonomy and equality were

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embedded enough to withstand these challenges, and remain prevalent and intact enough for the Somalis to build on them as circumstances increasingly presented them with opportunities. Admittedly this is only painting wide brush strokes and offering general impressions, but the pattern and its continuity is unambiguous and offers some preliminary alternative insight. Changes began to take place just at the turn of the century, however. Environmental destruction was brought about by British practices and the effect of Hassan’s campaigns on the movement of livestock; Hassan also affected commerce in general. Increasing numbers of people moved to Berbera and other towns because they simply had nowhere else to go, and the numbers of urban poor increased accordingly. Eventually port trade resumed, but was never to return to its previous quantities. Repeated droughts leading to famines resulted in the establishment of relief camps which sometimes tended to several thousand people a day, thus creating some ties of dependence. However, the British were determined to maintain a strategy of near-indifference to Somaliland in general, with no interest in colonization or building up an infrastructure, and well aware there were no natural resources to develop. While pastoralists still existed as well as those who were involved in the markets and commercial trade abroad, there were some Somalis working within the administration, were part of the court system, and were recruited into the Camel Corps and served in related capacities as well. By the 1930s they had become more vocal and insisted on certain demands being met, and also were almost reflexively forming small groups or associations. Opposition to certain administration policies were vocalized, rarely with violence. By the time the British left in 1941, the Somalis of the protectorate were unwittingly already on their way to self-rule. These impressions invite a further look at the political culture markers of autonomy and equality. They point to the general observation that at first there was limited or minimal coercion and a moderate but consistent amount of autonomy. Coercion which did exist came primarily in the form of the implicit power asymmetry which lay behind each and every “friendship” agreement between the British and the Somali clans. There were also some signs of it in the occasional campaigns against resistant Somali clans, as mentioned at the beginning of this chapter. However, overt and sustained coercive measures against the Somalis was non-existent or nominal along the coastal region, and limited and irregular at best inland. This was so much the case that the Somalis experienced nominal interference from the British in their daily lives and particularly in regard to their trade and commerce. In time, as

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some Somali custom and culture was integrated into the administration, problems arose and then fell, and although there was increasing contact between them, it generally took place in subtle ways. There was no wholesale acceptance of all administration policies, and the Somalis were progressively more able to voice their concerns and opposition, and at times even act it out, and with limited if any repercussions. Another consideration is that with the British so few in number within the protectorate and the Somalis so vastly outnumbering them, the potential for an imposed wholesale withdrawal or indeed a well orchestrated massacre simply was never taken up. Signs of coercion among the Somalis themselves did not predominate; although some occasional clashes between them were reported, there were no accounts of any prolonged or intense conflict between them, or any clashes more unusual than what had gone before. The subsequent aberrant actions of Mohammed Abdullah Hassan, who not only turned against the British but also other Somalis not compliant to him, is a singular exception to this trend. It would be fair to say that they were more practitioners of autonomy than victims of coercion. There is a similar observation to be made about equality versus hierarchy. Though the institutionalized hierarchical structure of the British administration was clearly and quite observably in place, one actively intrusive practice of it was not: the militarily advanced British appeared to have quite a limited presence in Somali life. If their military presence had been greater and more actively employed, for example, they would have seemed more of a threat and Hassan might have had a stronger following, or other movements might have developed. What can be said is that yes, a fundamental binary hierarchy existed between the Somalis and the British, but it was infrequently violent, at times benevolent, and usually a reflection of British concerns over the sheer cost and inconvenience of hostile relations. Likewise, aside from what was already built into clan culture, there were no signs of an overtly contentious hierarchy among the Somalis themselves. There could have been, but wasn’t, a hierarchy that manifested in a number of openly conflictual ways, whether at the markets, monopolization of the caravan routes and/or the caravans themselves, and control of the production of certain export commodities, to name a few. Although some clans admittedly predominated in these areas, for all the years the markets were active, there is limited mention of sustained violent rivalries within commerce and the marketplace, and not even an allusion to any of these possibilities. In terms of trade, the Somalis in the north tended to cooperate amongst themselves, and this cooperation would not

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have been possible in the atmosphere of an oppressive or otherwise demanding and rigid hierarchical structure. The northern Somalis were inadvertently achieving a stronger sense of equality amongst themselves as well as the British, not only through the relative freedoms they already had, but also through the development of such mechanisms as Akil Courts. For those who were pastoralists, their contact with the British was generally limited, with few demands being made on them and life continuing as it had been. This included of course competition among them for scarce resources, and the resulting feuds, but again, these were limited in size, scope, intensity and duration. As such, the relative autonomy and equality among the northern Somalis paved the way and prepared them for increasing autonomy and embryonic political pursuits. In spite of occasional internal disputes as well as the influence of Hassan, the Somalis of the protectorate became increasingly inclined towards organizing themselves while continuing to engage in trade and commerce. Although twenty-first century notions of autonomy and equality did not exist in northern Somalia at this time, the social and political context in which they had been conducting themselves was decidedly different from the south, and seemed to be a variation of their precolonial sedimentary foundations.

Notes

1

Touval, p. 63. Understood by many to be the Somali people’s greatest nationalist champion, Hassan was a controversial religious extremist with strong antiforeigner sentiments. He embarked on twenty years of campaigns against the British as well as Somalis who would not accept his religious views. 3 There is a large body of literature on Hassan, and no need to reiterate his life story; a few examples: Douglas Jardine, The Mad Mullah of Somaliland, (London: Herbert Jenkins, 1923); Abdi Sheik-Abdi, Divine Madness: ‘Mohammed’ Abdulle Hassan (1856-1920), (London: Zed Books Ltd., 1993); John P. Slight, “British and Somali Views of Muhammad Abdullan Hassan’s Jihad, 1899-1920,” Bildhaan: An International Journal of Somali Studies 10, 2010; Said S. Samatar, Oral Poetry and Somali Nationalism: The Case of Sayyid Mahammad Abdille Hasan, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982). 4 Prunier, “Benign Neglect,” p. 37. 2

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5 For example, according to the British War Office’s 1925 “Precis of Information” on Somaliland (p. 8), the total number of non-Somalis in Somaliland at that time was less than 200. This included Europeans, Yao soldiers, and Indian and Arab traders. 6 There was some duty on exported and imported goods, though this varied in location, time period, and types of goods. See for example United Kingdom War Office, Military Report, pp. 86-92. The same source also reported “the rates are not strictly enforced”; p. 90. 7 Millman, p.82. 8 See all references to Hertslet’s Commercial Treaties in Ch. 2. 9 Hamilton, p. 46. 10 British and Foreign State Papers, Vol. 81, pp. 132-34. 11 British and Foreign State Papers , Vol. 81, p. 936. 12 United Kingdom War Office, Military Report on Somaliland, p. 176. 13 R. Pankhurst, “The Trade,” p. 63. Pankhurst notes on p. 40 that E.Q.M. Alamanni, the source for these figures, does not reveal his own sources for such information. Though Pankhurst presents a table of impressive figures from the years 1919 to 1935 of specific commodities, they are significantly less than Alamanni’s reporting. It is not clear if this indicates a decrease in the need for such commodities, if an alternative source was found, or if Alamanni’s reporting is problematic. 14 Clive A. Spinage, Cattle Plague: A History, pp. 642-643. Although rinderpest is also known as “cattle plague,” it can be just as devastating to sheep and goats. In addition, there is a rinderpest-like virus that is specific to sheep and goats. 15 A. I. Samatar, The State, p. 42. 16 This point could easily and understandably be overlooked by anyone not familiar with a rural environment. 17 Geshekter, p. 22. 18 A. I. Samatar, The State, p.34. 19 Hamilton, p. 12; a slightly larger number of 315,000 is offered in ‘Military Report on Somaliland,’ p. 190. A note here about the use of this particular source: this author reported on his years in Somaliland while an officer in the British military and campaigning against Mohammed Abdullah Hassan. His work is particularly interesting since he demonstrates a personal affinity for the Somalis as well as a suggestion for the ‘resumption of friendly relations with our erstwhile foe’ (p. xv). 20 Ibid, p. xiv. 21 Lewis, “Lineage Continuity and Modern Commerce,” p. 368. 22 Erlich, pp. 50-51. 23 This is the most moderate calculation available from www.measuringworth.com, a website maintained by scholars specializing in historical monetary values. Higher values applying other indexes are available. 24 Pankhurst, The Trade,” p. 40. In the same year from Zeila, there was also a reported 300 pounds or 135 kilos of gold; see p. 42. 25 Bulhar was a dependent port of Berbera and located about 70 kilometers west of Berbera. 26 Pankhurst, “The Trade,” p. 57. 27 A. I. Samatar, The State, p. 41. 28 R. Pankhurst, “The Trade,” pp. 49-50.

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29

R. Pankhurst, “Indian Trade,” p. 464. Burton, p. 174; Burton applied this only to the “Eesa” clan (likely Issa) and not to all Somalis, as is commonly assumed. 31 Lewis, “Making History in Somalia,” p. 2. 32 The Oromo are culturally distinct from the Somalis and are the largest population of Cushitic people in the Horn, numbering well over 30 million. 33 Erlich, p. 46. 34 Ibid, p. 46-47. 35 Ibid, p. 51. 36 For a sense of scale, the Haud is about the size of Florida or about 10 percent smaller than Scotland. 37 Geshekter provides detail of the extent of these raids; pp. 8-10. 38 Laitin and Samatar, pp. 55-57. 39 Laitin and Samatar explain this is from the Arabic word Darwiish, “meaning one who is dedicated in service to God and community”; p. 57. 40 R. Pankhurst, “The Trade…”, pp. 41, 42 and 57. Although the number of sheep and goats is notably decreased from the reported half a million only ten years earlier in 1891, this might very well reflect an increase in animal husbandry in the importing locations. 41 Trade after 1897 was reported in Indian rupees, with approximately ten rupees equal to one sterling pound; see Malhotra, p.28. The reported figures in rupees were 2,170,403 and 3,077,269 respectively. Colonial Reports from R. Pankhurst, The Trade, p. 54. 42 Lewis, A Modern History, p. 72. 43 Jama Mohamed offers a particularly detailed account of the ruination of pastoral lands, including poetry from the period which describes it in poignant detail; see “The Political Ecology,” passim. 44 Sheik-Abdi, p. 114-115; this seems to have been the first in what was to become an increase in a surge towards the towns. 45 Laitin and Samatar, p. 58. 46 From Report for 1891-2 on the Trade of the Somali Coast Protectorate, in R. Pankhurst, “The Trade,” p. 59; the report states the trade was based on the territory of the Habr Toljaala, Dolbahanta, Habr Gerhajis, and Habr Awal tribes as well as “the far Ogaden.” 47 Nogal, also spelled Nugal; an administrative unit just south of Bari region and north of Mudug region. 48 Touval, p. 54. 49 Mohamed, “The Political Ecology,” pp. 539-42. 50 United Kingdom Parliamentary Papers, “Report on Somaliland…”, Cd. 2685-54; Millman also raises the subject of crime, pp. 63-68, and passim. Rayne, for example, is also one of several contemporary observers who so commented; see Rayne, Sun, p. 6. 51 Major Henry A. Rayne offers an interesting article on this just months before the akil courts were established: Rayne, “Somali Tribal.” 52 Millman, p. 54. 53 For example, A. I. Samatar claims customs duties accounted for threequarters of local revenue; see The State, p. 41. This is discussed again later in the chapter. 54 Pankhurst, “The Trade,” p. 54. 55 Ibid, p. 39. 30

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56

127

United Kingdom War Office, Precis, p. 4. Jardine, p. 198. Assuming a population of about 350,000, this represents about 55,000 deaths, though it is unclear how Jardine arrived at this estimate. Moreover, a drought which led to famine during 1910-1913 is reported to have killed one-third of the population, and it is unclear if Jardine is including this in his estimate; Mohamed, “The Political Ecology,” p. 548. 58 Ibid, p. 197. 59 Ismay, from Slight, p. 28. 60 Jardine discusses this period in great detail; see pp. 197-261. 61 Touval, p. 64. 62 See, for example, Laitin and Samatar’s critical perspective; pp. 59-60. 63 This is based on the reported population of 246,000 in 1899, approximately half of them being male, and half of the males (61,500) being of fighting age and physically able to fight; figure from United Kingdome War Office, Official History, Vol. I, p. 7. 64 Andrzejewski and Lewis, in Erlich, p. 58. 65 Touval, p. 53. 66 Erlich, p. 56-57. 67 For a thorough and excellent examination of this facet of Somali history, see Reese, Renewers. 68 Hassan is often seen as an unerring nationalist hero, but other modern and contemporary sources have reported a less flattering side to him, in particular the execution-punishment of those perceived to have insufficient piety. See, for example, Drake-Brockman, British Somaliland; Jardine, The Mad Mullah of Somaliland; S. Samatar, Oral Poetry and Somali Nationalism; Rayne, Sun, Sand, and Somals; also the oral poetry of Hassan’s contemporary, Ali Jaama Habiil, as found in Sheik-Abdi, fn. 64, esp. pp. 51-54; Martin, “Muslim Politics and Resistance to Colonial Rule,” pp. 471-486. 69 See for example, Slight, pp. 25-31. 70 Sheik-Abdi, pp. 58-59. Hassan’s objections included, for example, smoking, chewing qat, and not permitting men to speak with any women other than their wives; Lewis, Pastoral Democracy, p. 226. 71 Hassan’s mother was of the Dulbahante clan. Although people of that clan were not considered ‘trustworthy’ by the British, it is interesting that they came forward at all initially, though on campaign against him, two Dulbahante sub-clans reportedly turned to the British for help, and “means of livelihood” – including arms – were given to them. United Kingdom War Office, Military Report, pp. 139-140. 72 Hamilton, p. 56. 73 United Kingdom War Office, Precis, p. 3. 74 Damot or Danot is a Somalia district (woreda) within present day Ethiopia, just south of the Haud. 75 Sheik-Abdi, pp. 130-31; from United Kingdom War Office, Official History, Vol. I, pp. 146-70. 76 Ibid, pp. 119 and 122 respectively. 77 Ibid, pp. 129-30, from a communication between Commissioner E.J.E. Swayne to Sir Clement Hill (Foreign Office), Berbera (April 1903); United Kingdom Foreign Office MSS. British Empire, s 279/13-15, No. 6. 78 Laitin and Samatar, p. 58. 57

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79 This was not a term invented or only used by the English; Somalis who were opposed to Hassan’s extreme message referred to him as wadad wal or ‘the insane Mullah’, initially taken from the poetry of one of Hassan’s contemporaries, Ali Jaama Habiil, who referred to Hassan as a ‘crazed priest’; see Sheik-Abdi, pp. 53-56. See also Hess, “The Poor Man....” 80 For more, see Slight, p. 26. 81 Mohamed, “The Ecology,” p. 544. 82 Ibid , p. 545. 83 R. Pankhurst, “The Trade,” pp. 39, 55. 84 Mohamed, “The Ecology,” p. 548. 85 Mohamed, “The Ecology,” pp. 55, 39. 86 Walls, A Somali Nation-State, p. 99. 87 Slight, p. 26. 88 Mohamed, “The Ecology,” p. 548. 89 Erlich, p. 74. 90 During the latter years of Hassan’s twenty-year uprising, there was also a prolonged two-year conflict between the British and Cawlayan Somalis. This began in 1916 with the murder of a British lieutenant and the sacking of Sarinley, located on the upper Juba River. This also had to have had some impact on trade and commerce, although it would be difficult to know to what extent. Certainly it added to existing tensions and could possibly have contributed to part of the area called Jubaland being ceded to the Italians in 1925, the remainder of Jubaland eventually became Kenya’s Northern Frontier District (now North Eastern Province). 91 Erlich, p. 79. 92 Ibid, p. 81. 93 The Ottomans also lost all influence in the Horn at this time, partly due to the rise of the Arab Revolt. For more background, see Erlich, 43-83. 94 Hess, “Poor Man,” pp. 96-7. 95 Erlich provides some excellent details of Hassan’s views of the Christian Ethiopians, citing several sources; see pp. 51-85. 96 Geshekter, p. 17. 97 United Kingdom War Office, Military Report, p. 87. The second figure is based on export values in rupees for Zeila, Berbera and Bulhar combined and converted to sterling for that time period: see R. Pankhurst, “The Trade,” pp. 39, 55, 59 respectively. 98 For example, according to the 1925 Precis of Information Concerning Somaliland 1925, the total number of non-Somalis in Somaliland at that time was less than 200. This included Europeans, Yao soldiers, and Indian and Arab traders; United Kingdom War Office,/ Precis, p. 8. 99 United Kingdom War Office, Precis, p. 63, fn. 112; also United Kingdom Colonial Office, Somaliland; also Boucoiran, “La situation economique de l’Ethiope,” pp. 191-212. 100 Millman, pp. 25-26. 101 Generally skins are considered to be from smaller animals and more pliable, and hides are from much larger animals and general are more thick and difficult to work with. R. Pankhurst, The Trade, pp. 63-64. 102 Ibid. 103 A. I. Samatar, The State and Rural, p. 50. 104 Mohamed, “The Political Ecology,” p. 548.

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129

Ibid, pp. 548-549. Ibid, pp. 542-543; Mohamed provides compelling details on these attempts. 107 Geshekter, p. 24. 108 Millman, pp. 54-55. 109 A qadi is a judge within Sharia law. 110 See Millman for more details; pp. 100-102. 111 Millman, pp. 84-85. 112 Ibid, p. 31. 113 Millman provides interesting details about the relief camps, including some disreputable actions of the akils; p. 102. 114 Turton provides detail on resistance to taxes and education; see http://somalilandtimes.net/200/19.shtml. 115 United Kingdom War Office, Precis, p. 5. 116 United Kingdom, “Somaliland Protectorate Education,” pp. 2-4. Also Issa-Salwe, p. 35. 117 There was, in fact, one intriguing Christian reverend who was welcomed by and lived among the Somali for more than thirty years, Reverend John Ethelstan Cheese. Considered a truly holy man, he lived simply and was looked after by the Somalis around him. For more, see “Unpredictable: Impressions of the Life and Work of John Ethelstan Cheese”, The Muslim World, Vol. 57, Issue 4 (October 1967). 118 Touval, pp. 64-65; an Education Department for the Protectorate did not exist until 1938. Touval also reports that in 1934 there was only one school in the Protectorate and it had 120 students. Annual government support for education was approximately £500, being split among school maintenance, subsidies to Koranic schools, and the education of some Somali youth at Gordon College in Khartoum; Parliamentary Debates, House of Commons, fifth series, vol. 289, cols. 488-489 (May 3 1934), cited in Touval, p. 64 119 Mohamed, pp. 615-634. 120 There also was another armed group, referred to as illaloes. They served as a temporary, auxilary police force consisting of local men. Well armed but not uniformed, they knew the countryside well and often accompanied District Commissioners on their rounds. The government otherwise employed 300 Somalis continuously, another 300 seasonally, and 600 in transport; see Millman, p. 88. 121 Mohamed, pp. 616-617. 122 Kittermaster, writing at that time, would have disagreed here: “it is impossible to foresee the lines on which the Somalis will settle down into a community capable of managing their own affairs.”; The Development of the Somalis,” p. 244. Kittermaster also wrote about his own rather interesting perspective on British Somaliland in The Journal of the Royal African Society; see “British Somaliland,” Vol. 27, No. 108, pp. 329-337. 123 United Kingdom War Office, Precis, p. 8. 124 Ibid, p. 11. 125 Ibid, p. 14. 126 Millman, p. 92. 127 Ibid, p. 59. 128 Ibid , pp. 63-68. 129 Mohamed, p. 629. 106

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130

p. 13.

131

In Geshekter, p. 24, from Somaliland Protectorate Annual Report, 1937,

Ibid, p. 24-25. Ibid , p. 25. 133 Ibid, p. 23. 134 Millman, p. 110. 135 Ibid, p. 52. 136 There is significant discrepancy regarding casualties. See: “Supplement to the London Gazette,” The London Gazette, 4 June 1946, Issue 37594, p. 2725, V. Summary of the Operations; http://stonebooks.com/history/somaliland. 137 Millman, p. 117. 138 Ibid, p. 118-119. 139 Geshekter, from an interview with F. J. Chambers; p. 25. 132

4 The Impact of Italian Colonization

Disunity, of course, was not new to the Somali scene; the commercial and political links that had been built in the nineteenth century were fragile strands overlaying a profoundly faction-ridden society. That society was now being threatened by foreign powers who sought to exploit Somali disunity for their own ends.1

After almost a century of unremitting disruptions and turmoil, the political context in which the southern Somalis found themselves following the Berlin Conference was one that was to offer little improvement from previous decades. The period from which they were just emerging was characterized by fluctuating rule from Zanzibar; the domination of trade and commerce by sultan and sheikh middlemen and Indian and Arab merchants; the rise and fall of Mogadishu’s fortunes; internal and often bloody strife; bouts of plague, drought, and famine; and a widespread dependence on slavery. Without doubt, the majority of the nineteenth century consisted of almost constantly lurching from one crisis to another. This was even more so at the end of the century as the Somalis were increasingly pulled into a new paradigm that affected everything and from which there seemed no escape. In regard to the economy of the Benaadir coast, for example, Reese refers to the “great hardship to the urban merchant communities of the coast” and how “disease, commercial competition and encroaching colonialism spelled economic disaster for local merchants.”2 He further explains: During the last two decades of the century, however, a number of crises threatened Benaadiri economic well-being. Some of these calamities were natural, most notably the drought and rinderpest epidemic which stuck much of East Africa during the 1880s. Others were created through human agency, in the form of Indian financial leverage, Arab mercantile adventurers, and encroaching Omani and European imperialism.3

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Continued Adversity

In general, when there were not minor or larger disturbances among the Somalis themselves, then there was resistance or resentment towards Zanzibar; and when there were not economic problems, there were other problems. Not surprisingly, Cassanelli detects a downward trend within Somali leadership as time passed, of decreasing confidence in the leaders who were once respected regional rulers.4 By the time the Italians officially came on the scene in the 1880s, there had been much strife and there were no regional alliances as there once had been, creating an overall feeling of insecurity.5 What limited structure and power relations the people of the region had were soon to be lost, and it could be said a process of decomposition had begun. Throughout the continent, powers with far greater military might as well as political and eonomic ambitions became more deeply entrenched than ever, making changes and decisions that profoundly affected the average African’s life. The scramble for Africa was now full on. Italy had only recently become unified (1871) after several decades of revolution and political action, and it was now anxious to take its own share of the colonial booty that its European neighbors were enjoying and eager to assume a place among the other colonizing states. With aspirations towards North Africa and the Horn of Africa, Italy’s sights were set on southern Somalia for several reasons, including its role as a back door to Ethiopia. Following the controversial 1889 Treaty of Uccialli (Amharic: Wuchale) between Italy and Ethiopia, and according to the rules of the Berlin Conference, Italy notified the other powers that it had established a protectorate over Ethiopia, much to Ethiopia’s alarm.6 Boundary protocols with the British in regard to these areas were subsequently agreed to in 1891 and 1894.7 As will be shown, the subsequent decade in particular and the colonial era in general consisted of as much constant change and uncertainty as previous decades. As a region with established ports, a people perceived to be easy to subdue, and a large agriculturally rich inter-riverine region, Somalia appeared to some to be a colony with appreciable potential. The Italians eventually were to see their new colony as only a part of a larger new Rome, a piece of a fifty-year plan to rule the Horn of Africa. Despite a long-term plan, Italy was to end up remaining there only about forty years, the first fifteen rather ineffective, the last five under great pressure, and the intervening twenty years ineffectual. There were plans for entire families from Italy to relocate from the homeland and become the pioneers of Italy’s imagined new greatness, a northern version of Afrikaaner pluck and determination. From the very late 1800s, the

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Somalis were swept up in the middle of growing Italian designs on the Horn as a whole. With a decline in Somali organization and leadership, the subsequent social-political void left the Somalis somewhat vulnerable, less cohesive than their northern counterparts, and more or less vulnerable to other internal disturbances or foreign interference. In the case of the former, this was particularly so in regard to any influence which held a promise of direction, cohesion, security, structure, and power, and these needs seemed to be met for a time by several religious leaders and their movements, predominant among them Muhammed Abdullah Hassan, mentioned previously. Not all Somalis joined his forces, though there were thousands of Somalis north and south who did. But the “Mad Mullah” aside, where the Somalis of the north at this time were still enjoying commercial prosperity and a less ambitious foreign presence, the southern Somalis were emerging from a troubled and somewhat unstable past and heading into an even more fractious future. One seemingly positive development was the increasing appearance of Islamic tariiqas or sect movements. Individually these tariiqas at times did have some religious, economic and/or political significance; in the latter case, for example, providing an alternative source of leadership and guidance when more conventional sources were deteriorating. However, their significance was never so great as to figure substantively in the long term, though there is no doubt they had offered a measure of a stabilizing influence for some. As discussed further on, their mutual rivalries with each other and the disputes thus engendered seemed to act as a countervailing influence to what ever positive roles they played. In regard to any foreign presence or intrusions, it had never been uncommon for the southern Somalis to resist external authority or bear some degree of resentment or hostility towards foreigners. They had certainly been known in the past to openly oppose the forces and impositions of Zanzibar. Moreover, Ethiopia’s incursions during the 1890s into the mainly Somali Ogaden, which was considered part of the British Protectorate, and eventually occupying it only aggravated the general environment. Foreign interests were approaching the Somalis from all sides at varying times, and with an intensity that could not be stopped. This was possible partly due to the obvious imbalance in military power relations between them and external forces, but also due to the often combative relations among themselves and being unable to present a unified front. From the end of the Berlin Conference in 1885 to the arrival of Fascism in 1923, the Somali people were to be increasingly squeezed into the very colonial trap which they had feared. After the Fascists assumed power in Italy in 1922, the Somalis were to

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experience an even harsher existence still, until Italian Somaliland was overtaken by the British in 1941. Pre-Fascist Rule, 1886-1922

During the 1880s, the sultan of Zanzibar, Barghash bin Said (Sayyid Barghash), still held control of the ports lying south of Obbia8 from Mogadishu to Kismayu. Britain was in the midst of negotiations with him for the concessions to these ports to be placed with the British East Africa Company. Although he died in 1888, his brother and successor Khalifa bin Said, agreed in 1889 that the territory would become a protectorate of Britain, and what control he had of his Benaadir ports was turned over to the British East Africa Company. In February of that same year, the Sultanate of Obbia came under Italian protection through agreement, and two months later, in April, the Sultanate of Majeerteen9 followed suit. Like an unwanted hand-me-down, the Benaadir port concessions were formally transferred to the Italians by 1892, and Britain essentially removed itself from this arena. Although an earlier agreement between the British and Sultan Barghash (1886) restricted the sultan’s sovereignty to the walls of the port towns, such constraints were conveniently overlooked in the British–Italian transactions, and as will be seen, the territory in question began to be understood as a much broader area than the sultan’s original port rights had entailed. Not surprisingly, these events took place without any consent or input from the Somalis themselves. It was the beginning of a new wave of constant change, frustration and coercion, creating an atmosphere of further resentment and uncertainty. A more formal Italian presence along the Benaadir coast initially manifested in the form of the Filonardi Society. Behind it was Vincenzo Filonardi, the Italian consul at Zanzibar as well as a Roman trader who had been active in the region for at least ten years. Almost simultaneous to the Treaty of Uccialli, by 1889 Filonardi had signed treaties of friendship with several clans. Notably sensitive to Somali values and to the fact that there was a Somali religious elite who were also engaged in trade and commerce,10 he attempted to establish commercial regulations that encompassed both Islamic and Italian law. In 1893 he signed a three-year contract with the Italian government, which essentially gave his company sovereign-like control of the entire Indian Ocean coastline. Among the company’s rights was its “sole authority” to purchase or “deal with public lands”; assign all official appointments; create a Court of Justice; determine all controls on taxes, tolls, and tariffs, as well as trade and commerce in general; and exercise the authority to create

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banks, maintain troops, and issue currency. The decision to renew these far-reaching powers was to take place only after twenty-five years. The Italian government was to be paid in terms of an initial premium and then quarterly installments.11 Filonardi was careful not to tread too far inland, which was essentially off-limits to foreigners, and he also tended to look askance at the slave issue, a sensitive matter to the southern Somalis since they were so deeply dependent on slaves. Filonardi’s actions helped to create some apparent parity and goodwill between himself and the Somalis, which in turn encouraged the further development of trade. His style of involvement had to have been a welcome departure from decades of internal political strife and natural disasters, of one interference after another, although the past precolonial rivalry and disturbances between the Xamarweyn and Shingaani sections of Mogadishu still persisted and were commented on by visitors.12 Cassanelli refers to Filonardi’s “fragile commercial arrangements” revival of Somali economic prosperity in spite of famine from 1890-95, knowledge of Somali culture, and the Somali term of respect local merchants had assigned to him.13 Filonardi and his practices were by nature not dissimilar to the British presence in the north in terms of limited interference and practical working relations. No matter how conciliatory he might have appeared, however, another side of him was revealed in his 1895 Provisional Regulations. In Article I, he rather uncharacteristically seemed to attempt a deliberate land grab from the Somalis, the article simply stating: “All uncultivated land not belonging to any adjudicated owner belongs to the Royal Italian Government.” This is an astonishing statement since Filonardi did not appear to have established that he had the authority to make such a claim; it was to profoundly affect the pastoralists; and few Somalis would have actually been adjudicated “owners” of land, with deeds or titles in their names. Essentially, this amounted to all land being owned by the Royal Italian Government. In addition, it was not just the Benaadir coast that was to be in the Italian government’s hands: [T]he coastal areas between the ports themselves, together with the hinterland, had been proclaimed in 1889 to be under Italian protection, on the basis of international treaties defining the Italian ‘sphere of influence’ in the Horn of Africa, and a number of agreements entered into with local chiefs.”14

The reasoning behind this article is unknown, although interestingly it was never applied by Filonardi himself. The non-renewal of his contract

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in 1896 might have had something to do with this as well as the likelihood of Somali hostility it would create. In spite of the rules not being applied, the fact that they existed at all caused resentment. Guadagni notes, “Filonardi’s land provisions were felt by the Somalis as an arbitrary denial of their own rights.”15 In regard to the nonapplication of the provisions, it must be remembered that Mohamed Abdullah Hassan was becoming more active at this time, and there was no point in pouring fuel on his fire and helping him to win over more recruits. The private companies which came after Filonardi’s departure did not make use of it either, but then there was no interest in agriculture from them at that time. The purpose behind the article remained overlooked until about fifteen years later, when it was to be resurrected in a slightly different form. During Filonardi’s tenure, only one significant conflict was reported between the Somalis and the Italians, and this concerned an attack on one soldier in Merka which also resulted in the demise of his Somali attacker.16 However, during the three year contract period the Italian government offered Filonardi little support of any kind. They had envisioned more ambitious plans for Somalia and seemed to be losing patience with Filonardi’s relatively cautious and gradual approach. The three-year contract was not renewed, and by 1896 his company was allowed to go bankrupt; what little gains he had made were interrupted by more ambitious Italian colonial interests. Although the three years in which Filonardi’s company was granted the contract for the Somali coast seem insignificant, it was that brief period and perhaps his earlier activities in Somalia which signalled a possible turning point or window of opportunity for the Somali people in the south. Although any apparently progressive social-political side-effects of Filonardi’s commercial activities should not be over-emphasized, and Filonardi himself perhaps should not be seen as anything more than a cautious businessman, nevertheless, the positive environment he began to foster and the atmosphere of trust he initiated can not be overlooked, particularly in contrast to what was about to follow. What if Filonardi had been able to remain, and continued to further develop cooperation and collaboration between himself, other businessmen, and the Somalis? His early efforts, though perhaps inspired by self-interest, nevertheless were a substantive departure from what the Somalis had been experiencing in previous decades. But with Italy anxious to move forward and Filonardi not moving fast enough, in a few short years this all would be gone, the tables turned against the southern Somalis, and the next round to be more destabilizing than anything they had ever before known.

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Thus, the end of Filonardi’s three-year contract in 1896 marked the beginning of a new era for the Somalis and a downward trend in their relations with the Italians. In positing how they might have experienced autonomy or equality during this time, perhaps it is best characterized as fluctuating from year to year, and location to location. There was no great overarching trend, though Filonardi’s departure also seemed to indicate an end to the potential for budding and continued amicable relations. On the one hand, in the earlier years, the Somalis had the benefit of Filonardi, who perhaps took a lesson from the north, and was deliberately adopting similar conciliatory practices in the south. Although he could not single-handedly address the slavery issue, for example, he did, on the other hand, create links between himself and his company in a way the Somalis could understand and respect, and was building a foundation upon which future relations might be based. His encouragement of trade was also encouragement of some degree of autonomy, since he in fact did not overtly act on all of the rights granted to his company. This early period of initial mutual regard between Filonardi and the Somalis was regrettably short-lived. For some Somalis, it quickly transformed into outright resistance as previous Somali apprehensions of foreign colonial aggression became a reality when Filonardi was ultimately replaced by Antonio Cecchi in 1896.17 Cecchi was a captain in the Italian navy who had taken part in several missions in the Horn of Africa beginning in the late 1870s. He had kept his eye on Somalia for some time, interested in advancing his own personal ambitions as well as Italy’s. An “ardent expansionist” who completely put aside the careful steps taken by Filonardi, Cecchi aimed to embark on a series of changes which would only distance the Somalis and undermine any small positive steps Filonardi might have made.18 Although he was not in his position long enough to do much damage, he did arouse fears of land confiscation and embark on a series of several affronts, such as attempting to compel Somali caravans to unload at Italian-held ports rather than their usual British-held ports further south. Expeditions and exploration of the Shabelle and Juba Rivers, and the building of a fort at inland Luuq on the Juba River and about 31 miles from Ethiopia, ostensibly to thwart Ethiopian ambitions, also raised apprehensions. Cecchi was also anxious for some collaboration with the inland sultan of Geledi, and in November 1896 embarked on “the first colonial attempt to penetrate the interior with a military contingent.”19 However, having already raised the alarm about his ultimate intentions, he did not get very far. All but three of his party of sixteen Italians and seventy askaris were killed by Geledi-allied Somalis,20 the location inspiring the name

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“Lafoole Massacre.” It was to be one of several in a series of Somali reactions against the Italian presence, including the murder of individual government representatives and soldiers.21 The Italians in turn assumed an overall anti-colonial conspiracy by the Somalis, and such incidents as the incarceration and unexplained deaths of five Somalis arrested and imprisoned together only added more fuel to the fire.22 The Lafoole incident was so unnerving that it was to be three years before the government made any effort to formally authorize the charter for the company that was to replace Filonardi’s company, the Benadir Society, and about a decade until they embarked on any new inland expeditions to the Shabelle River environs.23 At this point, what had been taking place in the wider region could not have escaped Somali attention. They must have been well aware, for example, that the 1889 Treaty of Uccialli had been completely rejected by Ethiopia, and that in 1893 Italy invaded Ethiopia for failure to adhere to their version of the Treaty of Uccialli. Although there was no love lost between the Somalis and Ethiopians, this spirit of defiance must have had some influence on Somali perceptions, particularly when the Ethiopian forces eventually defeated the Italians, most notably at Adowa in 1896. This was followed by the Treaty of Addis Ababa in late 1896, which recognized Ethiopia’s sovereignty and rescinded the Treaty of Uccialli. All of this happened in the same year that Filonardi left and Cecchi replaced him and then was killed. No matter what the relationship between Ethiopia and the Somalis in general, the very idea of a European power being routed by an African army had to have gained some currency as well as had some galvanizing effect in the minds of many Somalis. The Europeans, or at least the Italians, were not, after all, invincible. Italy’s generally unwelcome presence provoked the Somalis – a colony “afflicted by poverty and chaos”24 – and Cassanelli identifies three waves of anti-colonial violence in 1904-1910.25 Little had been achieved after the Lafoole incident, one example being the failure to establish an emporium in the Benadir due to “poor communication and transportation systems, and the inefficiency of the seaports.”26 Somali resistance actions ranged from road blockages, skirmishes and battles, and destruction of property to armed outbreaks and refusal to abide by Italian demands. It was observed that no European could “venture outside of any coastal towns without an escort of armed soldiers with fixed bayonets.”27 Due to increasing restrictions, including a sweeping anti-slavery ordinance, the Somalis could only watch as their hold on the land that their slaves had worked for the past century slowly ebbed away. Moves towards increased Italian control of the land next involved

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changing the status of the protectorate to that of a colony, wherein the colonizer had greater latitude. This took place internally, and with no international legal mechanism or notification regarding the change in status. 28 The difference in Italian and British approaches to their new territories could also be observed in their future intentions, and this became increasingly apparent as the new century proceeded. Italy, for example, was well aware of its international obligations regarding slavery, and in May 1904 the anti-slavery ordinance mentioned above was drawn up by the current governor of the Benadir Society, which had the contract for the Benaadir, and Luigi Mercatelli, who was to become the first governor of the colony Italian Somalia the following year. The ordinance abolished the slave trade and allowed for emancipation, though by August the Biimaal clan, who were particularly dependent on their slaves economically, objected and then in October revolted. Among all the southern Somali clans and sub-clans, the Biimaal from the Merka district proved to be most unified and focused in their resistance to changes by the Italians at this time.29 They were unique when compared to other Somalis in terms of their history as formidable fighters and being able to present a united front; and with their land considered “the most fertile and intensely populated,” it could be argued they had the most to lose.30 With some assistance from Mohammed Abdullah Hassan in the Nogal, as well as from Hassan’s allies, for three years the “intransigent” Biimaal “endangered the position of Merka and disrupted land communications” and only temporarily backed down when they were soundly routed in 1907 by 500 well-trained askaris (to 3,000 Biimaal).31 The Biimaal continued to object and create confrontations, but eventually they acquiesced to a sort of modern-day serfdom or domestic servitude, wherein the servant would be able to eventually pay his way out of servitude and become a free person. Of course, the Biimaal were not alone in openly resisting the Italians. There also developed in the south a type of adventurer-soldier referred to as a darwiish (dervish). Not precisely a follower of Mohammed Abdullan Hassan and not to be confused as one, these southern dervishes lived off the land and were more like “a mobile command unit”, provoking the Italians as well as Somalis who had given in to the foreign presence. Only numbering about two thousand, they were remarkable in that it was an inter-clan group which had ties with other similar resistance groups in the Horn.32 It is now worth taking a step back to note several points vital to keep in mind. The first is that the reaction to creeping Italian encroachment was sometimes accommodation but more often, and understandably,

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violent attack or open conflict of some kind. This constant recourse to fighting represents a type of ongoing distress or disturbance – indeed, trauma – that Somalis in the south had to endure. Some were more affected by it than others, but all were affected. Necessary as some of it might have been, it did not allow the laying of foundations for a stable future, and in fact, detracted from that, often leading to continued hostilities. A second point is that differences of opinion did persist within clans and subclans; even though the Biimaal were able to find consensus and to act on it, this was unusual. Cassanelli importantly reminds us that viewpoints and motivations about the Italians were varied within all clans, and that “to speak of entire clans as either ‘resisters’ or ‘collaborators’ is obviously to misrepresent the historical situation.”33 From those who wanted to be rid of the invading infidels to those who sought collaboration with them, their reasoning was just as likely to be motivated by religious zeal as personal interest or an aversion to bloodshed. What is notable here is that by the end of the first decade of the twentieth century there was wide and varied dissension among the Somalis. This lack of a unified approach was brought about by different interests and the difficult Italian presence, and so engendered the continued strife and division that came with it. Although the south was initially viewed as important only politically and commercially, and neither the Filonardi nor Benadir companies engaged in agricultural exploitation, this changed once the government took over.34 In 1906-1910, Italian rule took a decidedly more colonial and somewhat belligerent turn. For example, during this time, concessions of prime agricultural land were offered to Italian citizens. There was little interest at first, though the terms, such as a sixty-year contract and a five-year tax exemption, were generous. Attempts to convince Italians from the homeland to settle in Somalia were not particularly successful, although fifteen concessions were granted between 1908 and 1911, with almost 50,000 acres (20,000 hectares) of irrigable land included in the leases.35 Ironically, an agronomist named Romolo Onor, who had been brought in by the new governor, Senator Giacomo De Martino, in 1910, had recommended against Italian concessions and instead suggested “native colonization” for the smaller concessions. De Martino was completely opposed to this, and Onor’s unfavorable reports were hidden from the Italian government. Onor, despondent by subsequent negative developments, became marginalized and restricted in his efforts as he watched almost every single concession fail. Eventually, in 1918, he shot himself.36 Somalia was not proving to be cost-effective at all, was unable to support itself, and its trade imbalance was startling, with the value of

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imports largely doubling the value of exports.37 In spite of suggested reforms, rich inter-riverine resources, and generous land investment concessions, Italy still was unable to find any significant economic success in southern Somalia. Although it was often pointed out that this ongoing failure was due to an unwillingness or inability to commit to serious investment in Somalia, even when investment increased, success was not at hand. With the south’s new role as a colony of expansionist Italy, it now stood in contrast to the markedly less ambitious British administrative presence in the north. Moreover, southern Somalia was soon to be linked to even greater Italian colonial ambitions to take over the Horn completely. The more immediate goal of colonization included maximizing natural resources, and some of the focus was on the interriverine region and developing concessions for Italian nationals. One complication concerned who was to work the land; considering the southern Somali aversion to agricultural work and the prohibitive cost of importing Italian labor, only slaves or recently freed slaves as indentured laborers would be sufficiently experienced and available to work the land.38 There was also a development that would have consequences regarding deeded or titled land ownership: the prohibition of Osmania, a script developed for the Somali language in the beginning of the century.39 One of the most detrimental changes was the passing of Law No. 161 of 1908 (April), entitled “For the Organization of Italian Somalia.” It included “the adjudication of all lands at the free disposal of the State, preserving actual occupations that might constitute rights according to custom.”40 Although this appears to imply acknowledgement of the lack of Somali literacy and consideration for any possible customary right of the Somalis to land they might have had under cultivation, the wording was carefully selected to serve as only a step towards even more onerous laws that were to erode any semblance of native autonomy or intrinsic rights. Since land ownership in the form of legal documents or title deeds was unheard of among Somalis and cultivation of the land was accepted as ownership or rights, then just how the Italians arranged for the land to be adjudicated and what was meant by “might constitute rights” was worrying.41 Worth keeping in mind is that the Biimaal resistance had been actively taking place into 1908, and it was now clear that the Biimaals had been correct to be more than suspicious of Italian intentions all along.42 Less than two years later, when De Martino was appointed governor in 1910, he was empowered to enact more changes in Italian Somaliland, which were to have a further direct impact on the everyday

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lives of all Somalis. Among the most significant of these changes was the authority to form a new government, and it turned out to be a government that was to remain in power until the Italians left Somalia in 1941. Although his administration was initially limited to the Shabelle River region, De Martino was further empowered to expand Italian administration beyond this area. He acted quickly: in 1911 he intensified his hold on the territory with Royal Decree No. 695, which declared that all uncultivated lands not under permanent use by the native people or belonging to a European were at the disposal of the state. Hess expresses this development rather succinctly: “In essence, most of Somalia became the property of the state.”43 This included lands used by pastoralists, as well as generally cultivated land which happened to temporarily be fallow. One other notable development from Royal Decree No. 695 was a distinction made between a citizen and “native individuals”, and different legal standards for them. Just as Article I of Filonardi’s Provisional Regulations blatantly expressed a shift in land tenure, so Article I of Royal Decree No. 695 was unequivocal in its intentions: Lands in the Colony of the Italian Somaliland, which are not subject to valid and recognized rights of Italian or foreign citizens, and which at present are not effectively cultivated nor permanently utilized by native individuals or collectivities, are declared to be at the free disposal of the State.44

This distinction was a subtle but critical division on top of the obvious problem of what constituted effective cultivation and permanent utilization and who decided this. Guadagni explains “recognition was granted to citizens’ land rights on the basis of the legal requisite (title), while for natives the material element (cultivation) determined the recognition of their land rights.”45 The ebbing away of Somali land did not stop here, and additional legislation which built on this was soon to come in the form of Decree No. 815 of 1912. It was made clear therein that Italy as the conquering state had a right to the land of those they had conquered. Any adjudication process that had been mentioned in the past simply was turned into the colonizer’s determination of just how much land they determined the Somalis needed. Customary land rights were now only to be preserved if they did not interfere with the “exigencies of colonization.”46 The circumstances of the Somalis in approximately 1910-1920 quickly deteriorated as law was applied and land was confiscated. Those Somalis who had long been dependent on and engaged in agriculture

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were now losing more and more control of what had been their livelihood.47 This is best understood in light of other restrictions imposed on them, and as they looked on, their land became divided into the new administrative regions of Upper Juba, Middle Webi Shabelle, Upper Webi Shabelle, and Gosha-Lower Webi Shabelle. These were in turn divided into sixteen residencies and vice-residencies; although some of these residencies already existed, most of the positions to govern or oversee them were filled by active or retired professional soldiers.48 After residencies and vice-residencies, the next breakdown was into local areas. The new hierarchy must have seemed astonishing to the Somalis, including as it did the Ministry of Colonies, governor of Italian Somaliland, regional commissioners, residents and vice-residents, commanders of stations, separate police posts, native chiefs and Muslim cadis49 administering native law. Regarding the chiefs and cadis, who were predictably at the bottom of the hierarchical ladder, in 1914, Governor De Martino had co-opted some of them in order to keep a pulse on the activities of the native population. The former referred to as warrant chiefs, they as well as the cadis were considered to be the “point of contact between the government and its colonial subjects” and were to be held responsible for “preventing raids upon tribes in the undefined Somalia–Ethiopian frontier.”50 The loyalty or cooperativeness of these chiefs and cadis was not assumed, and those who were nominated for the position went through a three-month trial period. Even if they were found to be pliable enough, payment was based on continued good behaviour as well as their relative worth as an ally. Salaries were suspended for lack of cooperation, and in annual reports the chiefs and cadis were to be categorized as “bad, mediocre, good, or excellent.”51 The judicial system established in 1911 also was to have its own unfortunate effects, and these were to last until the end of the Italian presence in 1941. In an awkward attempt to ensure the chiefs’ continued credibility with their people and for obvious reasons of convenience, traditional rights and powers of the chiefs were seemingly protected by law, recognizing Sharia as well as xeer. Although the system guaranteed the preservation of native law, it also rather shrewdly required it to be “compatible with the fundamental principles of Italian law” in order to be applied. In cases where a crime was committed but was not covered by xeer or Sharia law, the Italians had established a regional-level tribunal, the Tribunale dell’Indigenato. At this level, Somalis could be tried on a range of offences: arms and ammunition smuggling; endangering the security of the colony through raids; committing crimes against an official on duty; refusal to accept legal currency; refusal to cooperate in supplying labor or requisitions for public welfare or to

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furnish correct information to the authorities; and failure to observe government rulings or demands. Using its “broad discretionary powers,” the tribunal’s decisions were enforced through confiscation of goods as well as collective punishment, both of these seen as “refinements” of Somali custom, making the clan responsible for the actions of one member. The Italians found this to be extremely effective, and when it was not, offenders were deported to Eritrea.52 Somalis who were twenty years old in 1890 found themselves to be living in a very different world when they were forty. There was to be one more final affront to southern Somali existence, a kind of nail in the coffin just before the end of World War I in November 1918. Thus far, the Somalis in the south had been cornered into a form and level of repression simply unknown in their history. In October 1918, Governor Cerrina-Ferroni issued Decree No. 2096, whereby adjudication became restructured and more simplified, partly by dismissing Somali chiefs and cadis from the adjudication process. At this point, not even paid, co-opted Somalis had any say in decision making. It was a final blow to their already having been placed under constant scrutiny and classified according to cooperativeness. With Somali law now subordinate to and also almost dismissed from Italian law – together with a range of major and minor actions for which a Somali could be tried and with land confiscation in a region of agropastoralists who worked according to season and agricultural conditions – most Somalis lived in a reduced arena of curtailed power and flagging authority. The loss of slaves was equal to loss of wealth and loss of ability to work the land; land cultivation went from being a source of wealth to a subsistence activity.53 This is not to say that no Somalis were co-opted by the Italians: for example, about ten percent of the 4,000 Colonial Troops Corps were Somalis.54 Reliance on Slavery

The slavery issue during this early period was problematic in that Italy was under pressure from public opinion both domestically and internationally to bring it to an end once and for all, yet was aware of the advantages of letting go of it only slowly. The resulting gradual approach was partly due to the longstanding Somali reliance on slavery at home, in agriculture, and in small manufacturing processes. It was known that “purely slave clans” lived among most Somalis.55 Agriculture had particularly been long dependent on Oromo, Bantuspeaking, and other non-Somali slaves, so any decisions made concerning land had to take the slavery issue into account. Cassanelli

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cites a letter from an “influential” Somali elder to the Italian consul in 1903, wherein the elder appeals to the consul, insisting “We can do nothing without our slaves.”56 Hess refers to inland Bardera and Luuq as “veritable slave markets.”57 Providing some idea of the claimed extent of urban slavery in Mogadishu at the turn of the century, one report by an Italian investigator revealed that at least 35 percent of the native population was considered to be either of slave status (31 percent) or had only recently been liberated (4 percent), and that slaves were also profuse throughout the Benaadir region.58 Italian officials who were opposed to slavery saw the problems associated with their obligation to suppress it according to the Berlin and Brussels agreements as well as local agreements with the sultan of Zanzibar. This was apparent from the beginning of Italian administration in 1893, when after only three years it was noted in an inquiry report that state management failed to adhere to certain obligations, particularly regarding slavery: The administration … handed fugitive slaves from the interior to those who claimed to own them, and sometimes with cruelty (mal modo), imprisoning and chastising them before consigning them to those who came to claim them – in open contravention of the explicit directions of the Brussels Act … it was found convenient to call Slavery “domestic.” Records of the purchase and sale of slaves, their succession to new owners, their transfer, mortgage and pawning were inscribed in the records of the Kadi Courts. All this was done without the Government in Rome, the Royal Commissioner Sorrentino … and the Royal Civil Commissioner Dulio, appearing to know anything about the Decrees of the Sultan of Zanzibar, which the British were vigorously applying.59

The conditions under which the Somalis lived during the early years of Italian presence changed little over time. Although the above quote is from the 1890s, ten years later conditions had hardly changed and in fact were about to worsen. Alerted by the alarming revelations from a representative for the Anti-Slavery Society of Rome in 1903, a Mr. Robecchi-Bricchetti, a further investigation was arranged by the charter company in control of much of southern Somalia, the Benaadir Chartered Society. An investigation was undertaken by Gustavo Chiesi and Ernesto Travelli, who discovered extensive violations of slave treaty obligations and found the Italian government itself to be more abusive than the Benaadir Society. Their scathing report revealed that not only were efforts to abolish slavery lamentable, but that in the midst of such circumstances there was also open slave-trading as well as a range of

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maltreatment, from severe beatings to imprisonment (also reporting on the appalling conditions of the prisons), the sale of free Somalis as slaves, concubinage and rape, the use of shackles and even killing. Stating that the slavery situation had become “more and more grave and urgent”, they added that in their investigation of official documents, interviews, and observation, they had not found “any trace” of efforts to address slavery.60 This resulted in some nominal reactions within the Italian administration, though new laws which were developed over time tended to be vaguely applied, but as such were permeable. Although it was claimed that slavery per se had been completely abolished, there still existed domestic slavery, indentured labor and agricultural serfdom, all rather similar to slavery in actual practice, and to some, the difference was in name only. In addition to Somalis not being permitted to own land, those who did simply had theirs confiscated, their options for survival becoming quite limited: work for the Italians or attempt to survive by pastoralism alone. However, as a pastoralist one needed to live beyond the desirable lands confiscated by the Italians, and any livestock or commodities for export would have to be handled through the Italians, since Somalis were also not permitted to export.61 Although self-incriminating official documents on this issue for Italian Somalia were not to be found after the Chiesi-Travelli report in 1904, when British forces first arrived on the scene in 1941, evidence from that time revealed the reduced status and poor treatment of the Somalis. The intended nature of colonial ambitions was to be affected by the Benaadir Society’s signing of a contract in 1900 with the Italian government for the administration of the Benaadir area. Within that contract the company was also charged with the responsibility of adhering to and applying the General Act of Berlin 1885 and the General Act of Brussels 1890, particularly in regard to slavery issues. In both documents, slavery was clearly prohibited and efforts were to be made by the signers to continue to suppress it. However, when Italy did not renew the Benaadir Society’s contract, and the government itself took over the administration of southern Somalia in 1905, it was known to be partly due to the Benaadir Society having made little to no progress in regard to abolishing slavery. In fact, even before the government took control, it could be seen little had been done, and so new legislation outlawing the slave trade itself and automatically liberating all slaves born after 1890 was issued in 1903 and 1904.62 It had been explained that due partly to the number of slaves in the Benaadir as well as the difficulty in teaching the Somalis how to replace some slave labor with oxen labor, any attempt to simply abolish it would

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result in the resistance and revolt of the Somali slave-owners. This in turn would impede any progress towards the apparent “civilizing” process which the Italians were allegedly attempting to maintain.63 Once the government took over but was only able to provide limited support for colonization efforts, it was argued that only military occupation of the relevant territories would suffice to eradicate slavery, an argument which conveniently dovetailed with colonial ambitions.64 For those slaves born before 1890, a system of what amounted to indentured labor was created, ostensibly as part of a step-by-step process towards emancipation. The concessions mentioned earlier were indications of the interest there was in large-scale commercial farming, and there was an assumption that liberated slaves would somehow be available as a new labor force willing to work on the new commercial argicultural concessions. However, this was a mistaken assumption, not least because among the early crops chosen for cultivation were cotton, tobacco, and rice, each of them requiring hard labor that was more of a deterrent than an incentive. As early as 1895, there were an estimated 20,000-30,000 ex-slaves living in their own well-known communities in the Juba River valley and also near Avai on the lower Shabelle River, and so some manumissioned slaves had somewhere to go.65 While it is known that some slaves did not want to be liberated due to various insecurities,66 others stayed on with their former owners as liberated slaves with varied arrangements made for them. Those slaves from the towns who did not remain with their former masters were found to be socially problematic, committing crimes such as theft and prostitution and otherwise becoming a burden on the state, accountable to no one.67 In order to avoid this taking place among the rural slaves, a policy of “gradualism” was adopted, desertion becoming apparently so common and so feared that accounts of keeping slaves in leg irons began to surface.68 Ultimately, partly due to a lack of people willing to work the land, and also partly due to lack of sufficient investment, most of these early consessions failed. By October 1910, only four concessions were still operating.69 Anti-Italian and pro-slavery efforts among the Somalis were common and continuous throughout the earlier part of the Italian presence. To complicate matters, although the Somalis genuinely were resistant to abolishing the use of slaves, their resistance to slavery reform was often highlighted at the expense of their other equally abiding and widespread concern, the Italian take-over of their land.70 After all, it was more appealing to public opinion and the Italian Parliament that an increase in troops or funds was needed to combat

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slavery rather than to confiscate native land. This is especially so since, being well aware of the perceived economic advantages of using slaves for agricultural work and the need for agriculture to be developed as cheaply as possible, the Italians were little motivated to actively implement anti-slavery legislation; what legislation did exist was not applied with much diligence.71 Slavery of one kind or another was still active in the south, it was more or less nonexistent in the British and Italian north; although some sources, including the Italian administration and Chiesi-Travelli, reported that it did not exist in the northeast at all. As the northern Somalis witnessed and experienced the demise of the slave trade, the Somalis in the south not only saw it continue into the twentieth century, but due to loss of slaves to work the land for them, eventually found themselves to be in not much better circumstances than their former charges. Fascist Rule, 1923-1941

Between the end of World War I in November 1918 and the arrival of Fascist rule in December 1922, the newly emerging Somalia struggled along. Kismayu in the far south and a strip of land just south of the Juba River had been under British rule, but both were signed over to the Italians in 1924 in acknowledgement of Italy’s role in World War I. It would be difficult to generalize on developments for all of Italian Somalia, as changes took place in a regional and urban/rural patchwork rather than proceeding on an all-encompassing linear path. Rudimentary roads and bridges were built, a simple railway from Mogadishu to Afgoye was being planned,72 the four surviving concessions were wrestling with a host of practical problems,73 and life for many Somalis was changing rapidly. Finding a rural labor force was still problematic, even for the Societa Agricola Italo-Somala (SAIS), established in 1919 and the largest investor in Somalia. Besides being innovative economically and in terms of production methods and crops selected, the SAIS appeared to have found a way to tackle the lack of manpower, though it was not to last for long. By offering prospective workers – usually former client-cultivators – attractive labor contracts, they drew people to them initially,74 but due to plague and flooding, by 1924 they were in need of government assistance. Because the success of the concessionaires was so vital to Italy’s success in their colony, coercive measures were taken to ensure there were sufficient workers. The arrival of the new Fascist governor Cessare Maria De Vecchi in December 1923 was accompanied by new ideas of colonial rule.

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Among them was a “hut tax,”which, aside from levies relating to those involved in trade and commerce, was the first time the Somalis at large had ever been taxed.75 De Vecchi also quickly resorted to the coercive measures mentioned above for locating individuals to work the plantations. Local chiefs were strong-armed into “rounding up” workers for plantations near and far, no matter if the people they convinced to work were former slaves or former slave owners; as long as the chiefs did not have to do such work themselves, they could live with it. Those who cooperated were disliked by those around them but had the approval of the local authorities, and those who did not cooperate were “honoured” by their clansmen.76 The workers’ experiences during this time were difficult, as described in a report that was written in 1941, once the Italians had left and the British had taken over southern Somalia as well. At that time, there was a “wholesale refusal” of the Somalis to return to work for the land-owning Italians who had remained behind, and the report offered some explanation for this:77 Under the ‘colonia’ system, men, women and children had been taken by force from remote places and condemned to an indefinite period of servitude on Italian farms. To quote from an official report, ‘Rations were grossly inadequate both in quality and quantity, and pay varied from one to three lire a day. Bachelors were forced to marry women who had been born and bred on the estate. Punishment, inflicted by the resident on the ex-parte representations of the employer, was brutal and excessive. For a first offence of disobedience or indiscipline, fifty lashes with a hippopotamus-hide whip was a common award, and for a second offence, the victim was strung up for several hours on the gallows, with his toes just clear of the ground, suspended by chains attached to wooden billets under his armpits, and with his hands handcuffed behind his back. It is not unnatural that the native laboring population regarded our coming as a deliverance from their Italian oppressors and that they resolutely and determinedly refused to return to work for them, in spite of our efforts to persuade them to do so.’ They had had enough of slavery.78

Although the treatment quoted above most likely reflects the final years of Facist rule and the treatment of slaves and workers did vary considerably, even the more moderate early years had to have been difficult to adjust to from what had been before, and only paved the way for what was to come. And despite the fact that even from earlier in the century the slave classification no longer was used, it was noted that there was little difference between slavery and newer forms of indentured labor:

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The conception of these agricultural enterprises as ‘exploitation concessions’ engendered under the Fascist regime a labor policy of considerable severity in theory, and actual brutality in practice. It was, in fact, indistinguishable from slavery.79

In 1928 De Vecchi was replaced by Governors Gorni and then Rava. In spite of continued permission for the Somalis to enjoy full religious liberties, circumstances for the Somali people did not otherwise improve. Although Hess refers to the departure of De Vecchi as the end of a “militaristic administration” and “Fascist heroics” and the beginning of “more peaceful development,” he also concedes that the colonial government’s “new ‘tough’ policy” towards the Somalis continued, and one way it manifested was through continued economic pressure on wayward chiefs. There was even a scale of punishments that were formally endorsed and that officials were reminded to apply: “verbal reproof in public, suspension of the stipend, suspension of the chief’s authority, and ultimately removal of the uncooperative chief.”80 This is worth keeping in mind since in the midst of taxation and other means of revenue generation, the colony continued to fail to become selfsupporting, though the Italians persisted in attempts to show a profit in the agricultural sector, specifically through the numerous agricultural concessions they were promoting. However, the agricultural success they sought relied on the cooperation and support of the larger Somali community, something they continued to fail to achieve through oppressive native policies. Although there had been some positive or at least neutral relations between the Italian civilians and the Somalis, Fascist rule was to cast a pall over all aspects of life, and even from a purely business standpoint, no substantive effort was made to improve the lives of the native people as important assets to Italian Somaliland’s success. Education, for example, was simply ignored, although some limited schooling was available for “mulatto orphans,” or the illegitimate children of forbidden Italo-Somali relations.81 By 1935, there were only about 1,300 Somalis registered in primary and orphanage school, and none in middle school.82 To return to agricultural labor and offer some idea of the scale of workers needed by the concessions alone, by 1933 their number had grown from those four floundering concessions in 1920 to an impressive 115. Together they comprised more than 148,000 acres/60,000 hectares of land, only half of which was under cultivation and amounted to a rather unimpressive 115 square miles (an area about 12 miles long by 9.6 miles wide). The largest concession was the SAIS, intent on modernization and experimenting with different crops. They controlled

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62,000 acres (25,000 hectares) of land, with 25,000 acres (10,000 hectares) of it under cultivation. Tremendous amounts of money and equipment were invested in order to develop agriculture, and by 1925, the SAIS showed a profit of more than 2 million lire – however, since their “profit was the direct result of government aid,” it was a deceptive statistic. Moreover, the SAIS did not have Somalis working their land, but about 6,000 members of a Bantu tribe called the Shidle, whom the Somali disliked. The working arrangements made for the Shidle were generous for the time, often including a hut, perhaps a small amount of livestock, land for farming their own food and separate land for farming for their landlord-masters, tools and supplies, and more.83 Another major concessionaire was Azienda Agraria Governativa, located at Genale, near Merka. Started in 1912, it had varying degrees of success and failure over the years, and by 1929, another Bantu group, the Tuni Torre, comprised the labor supply at Genale. The smaller concessions were unable to achieve even the appearance of success. Since they were unable to offer native workers the same terms as the large concessionaires, their efforts were almost doomed from the start. With the largest concessionaires dependent on non-Somalis, and the smaller ones unable to attract sufficient workers of any kind, Hess observes, “those who benefited from this trade were few in number” and “life for the Somali was unchanged by Italian colonization.”84 It might be more pointed to state that life was unchanged in that Italian colonization was yet another link in the long chain of undermining disruptions and difficulties that the Somalis had endured for generations. Nevertheless, some changes were decidedly positive: Luling comments that the mechanization of the plantations brought about changes that led the Somalis to have wealth in other ways, particularly in regard to jobs linked to transport. Roads were built, motor vehicles became common enough, and the need for “drivers, mechanics and garage hands” opened up; towns were easier to reach, small shops appeared, the economy began to diversify, and the use of cash became more widespread.85 In some ways, the modern world had arrived, and the Somalia of their parents and grandparents was vanishing quickly. In 1935 there were momentous changes that were to intrude on the lives of the Somalis more than ever, a layering of new disturbances and demands on top of earlier ones. Two main developments were the massive and sudden influx of Italian colonists, wooed from Italy by the government to take part in a revitalized effort to create what was to become Italian East Africa, and the annexation of Ethiopia following a brief war. Regarding the increased Italian presence, until 1923 there were never more than about 1,000 Italians in Somalia at any one time.

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However, once the optimistically ambitious Facist plans for creating a new vast imperial Italy and controlling the Mediterranean Sea were underway, Italians were encouraged to take part in populating the domain. By 1939 there were more than 19,200 Italian civilians in Italian Somalia,86 and in 1935 about 285,000 Italian soldiers were stationed there in preparation for conquering Ethiopia.87 The Second ItaloEthiopian War only lasted seven months, beginning in October 1935 and ending in May 1936, with Ethiopia defeated, the Ogaden now part of Italian Somalia, and Italian Somaliland now part of Africa Orientale Italiana.88 Here the idea of pan-Somalism gained momentum, with three of five Somali-dominated regions now unified, albeit under Italian rule.89 In some ways, La Grande Somalia did not seem so distant, even though it seemed it was to be achieved through Fascist conquest. The more immediate increased Italian presence was an undeniable reality. Their numbers represent a huge new presence in Somali lives, an unprecedented incursion; even if just under 20,000 civilians were present, which is a relatively small number, it still represented almost ten times the number who had been there. This is even more the case for the Italian soldiers in 1935: with an estimated total population of about one million, the soldiers awaiting orders represented just over 25 percent of the total population. Ambitious as these developments might have been, they were just as poorly thought through, reflecting a “careless attitude” and part of an overall Fascist foreign policy that was “improvised and confused.”90 Life continued to become increasingly difficult under Fascist rule, and the new racial laws introduced in 1937 were tantamount to apartheid. With Italians referred to as “citizens” and Somalis referred to as “subjects,” marriage or sexual relations between citizen and subject could result in up to five years punishment; citizens and subjects were not permitted to visit each other at locations specified for one group or the other; regular employment of a subject was not permitted without the governor-general’s written consent; subjects were not allowed access to any motor vehicle that was also used by citizens; any Somali meeting a white man had to salute him; any Somali caught using Osmania – a script that had been developed for the Somali language – was to be imprisoned; Somalis were not permitted to own land; and the list goes on. Although the laws were not routinely enforced, the fact that they existed at all was a source of resentment.91 One particularly profound consequence was that most Somalis suddenly had little choice regarding how to sustain themselves: they could live exclusively on pastoralism well beyond the lands controlled by the Italians; work directly for the Italians, often under harsh conditions; or attempt to make it on their own

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in one of the “new” trades or services brought on by Italian development. However, in spite of these laws, as Laitin and Samatar comment, some groups among the Somalis “grew exceedingly rich from the boom times” due to the building of roads, the creation of new markets, and the extensive agricultural concerns; and segregating laws were “difficult to enforce given the passion of Italian men for Somali women.”92 Referring to I. M. Lewis, Latin and Samatar agree with him that during the final five years of Italian colonial rule, in spite of the extreme race laws, the fact that no resistance to Italian rule took place was an indication of the economic benefits reaped by many Somalis. Although it might indeed be the case that some Somalis benefited from this period and so had no reason to oppose the regime, it is also worth considering that the Somalis who did not benefit simply had no option to resist, and so this lack of open opposition would hardly be surprising. By 1940, the Italian Chamber of Commerce reported approximately 180,000 acres (73,000 hectares) of arable irrigated land was owned by Italians, 15,000 by Arabs and Indians, and none at all owned by Somalis, a result partly due to legislation prohibiting native proprietorship of land, but also having its roots earlier in the century with Arab and Indian commercial domination.93 The Somalis had lost their relative political autonomy and the use of their land. At the same time, they gained greater contact and communications within their own world as well as with the outside world.94 It was not long before Italy completely withdrew from Italian Somalia in 1941 and the Somalis were to experience a period of autonomy and equal treatment they had not seen in a generation or more. Developments in the Northeast

Due to shifting political circumstances during the colonial period, the northeast region merits some separate discussion in addition to the brief references made to it above. Overall, the sultanates at the tip of the Horn were not particularly similar to those of the northwest or the south, for although there were some fundamental similarities, there were important fundamental differences as well. These differences can be found in the means of livelihood, which were as varied as they had been in the previous century; but the people of the region also appear to have continued to have more than their share of day-to-day hardships. When the colonial era was first underway, the sultans of Obbia and the Majeerteen had agreed to their sultanates becoming Italian protectorates in 1888 and 1889 respectively, with an agreement of very little Italian interference. The other dominant sultanate from that period, Warsangali,

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had become part of the British Protectorate of Somaliland in 1884. The history of these two regions from the late 1880s until the early 1920s is intertwined with several difficult political matters: internal strife between the “Deshisha” (Dishiishe) and Bahadir clans against the Bagaren;95 efforts of the British to seize Muhammed Abdullah Hassan; Italian attempts to befriend and thus exert some influence over Hassan; the Somali sultans’ ever-changing alliances between themselves and Italy; and other continuous internal conflicts within the region. Overall, the northeast’s compliance with the Italians was grudging, transient, and at times defiant. Interestingly, Zanzibar never had any suzerain claims here, and its control north of Mogadishu only extended to the ports just south of Obbia. The years of internal fighting had resulted in the building of forts by several clans, sometimes in the same locations. At Bossaso, for example, there were seven main ones: three of the Bahadir, two Dishiishe, one Bagaren, one Arab and some smaller ones as well, and multiple forts were also at Qandala and Durbo. By 1908 several of them, including one at Bereda, were to have been bombarded by Italian ships for failing to cooperate with the Italians.96 It was a confusing and complex time, with internal fighting at the heart of it: the Majeerteen’s sultan was the “Machiavellian” Osman Mahmud, and the sultan of Obbia was his father-in-law, Yusuf Ali, who should not be confused with his successor son, Ali Yusuf. Osman Mahmud and Yusuf Ali were rather continuously engaged in clashes over Nogal, the territory which lay between them. In an effort in 1905 to appeal to Muhammed Abdullah Hassan, the Italians made the remarkable decision to give Nogal (over which Osman Mahmud and Yusuf Ali had been battling) to Hassan and make him the recognized ruler of Nogal, which they even more remarkably declared to be Italy’s third protectorate in the region, in addition to Obbia and Majeerteenia. Hassan, who had come to represent political uprising and anti-colonial discontent as much as his stringent religious doctrine, almost immediately began to boldly distribute arms and preach revolt to Somalis in the Italian-dominated Benaadir region. One year later his continued incursions prompted an Italian official to remark on Italy’s position as “beginning to be ridiculous.”97 Beginning” indeed – within two more years Hassan and his dervishes were attacking Obbia and other areas. In the midst of what could only have been constant fighting, the Italian traveler Giulio Baldacci made frequent mention of how impoverished so many people were. In describing his travels, he comments on the people of Damo and Olok, who are “very poor” and “eke out a living by fishing and trading in goods plundered from wrecks

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on the east coast.” In Bereda the people were found to be “miserably poor.”98 Referring to Bossaso in 1906, he comments on the “poor wretches” and “famished crowds” and paints a rather troubling and desparate state of affairs at the port: The natives pay no tribute whatever, either on the caravan trade or on that carried on by the sambuks (small coasting-vessels); it is paid, however, by the Arabs and Indians, great numbers of whom are engaged in a considerable import and export trade … At one time the import duty on rice amounted to 5 sacks in the Ioo, and the chief of the country was bound to protect the traders' property by taking measures to prevent the Beduins of the interior, when driven down to the coast by hunger, from cutting open the sacks piled on the beach in order to get at the rice, which they devoured raw.99

Unless Baldacci is exaggerating, it is remarkable to find so much commercial activity and in the midst of it people so hungry that precautions needed to be taken to prevent people from eating rice raw. Yet, he is sufficiently familiar with trade to know that the small town of Karin is the last halting place for caravans enroute to Bender Ziada or Bossaso,100 even though most caravans from the interior and Nogal Valley preferred the longer route to Berbera. He also provides sample statistics for exports from the independent Somali ports to Aden alone from July 1906 to July 1907, showing gums and incense weighing 1,408,152 kg. and hides numbering 544,292.101 There is no way of knowing what percentage of the total product went to Berbera, but all three of these products are labor intensive, and it implies a level of industriousness and initiative that took place above and beyond the conflicts revolving around them. Linked to this is the fact that evidence of any widespread and economically dependent use of slaves in the northeast is difficult to find, leading weight to the Italian observation that slavery here was found to be “virtually non-existent.”102 Although Declich refers to the customary law of the Majeerteen regarding slaves, it appears to mainly apply to female domestic slaves and no suggestion is made regarding how widespread it might have been or suggest an estimated slave population.103 The scarcity of slaves in the northeast at this time was likely due to the region’s great distance from any source of slaves, the termination of the slave trade along the northern coast in particular and the region at large decades earlier, a lack of history of slave use, and the relatively strained existence of many Somalis, unable to provide for slaves. When De Vecchi assumed leadership in 1923, he embarked on new efforts to control and subdue the northeast, and one of his first tasks was

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to completely disarm Majeerteenia and Obbia. Sultan Ali Yusuf of Obbia was forced to make a humiliating oath of loyalty in 1924 which was to have its repercussions later. De Vecchi believed the populations of these sultanates were heavily armed, and the chiefs and elders were ordered to surrender all firearms and ammunition within forty days. In order to more efficiently enforce these new demands, a new elite force of 800 men was developed from the Somalia Police Corps. De Vecchi sent 100 troops to two key towns – Rafun and Alula. The sultan, Osman Mahmud, was ordered to disarm, and though he initially resisted, eight days later he offered to negotiate. Another town, Bargal, was attacked by the Italian forces and razed. A little more than a year after Sultan Ali Yusuf was made to swear his oath of allegiance, he attempted to form an alliance with an old rival, Osman Mahmud, to join forces against the Italians. His letter to Mahmud was intercepted and the plan failed. There is little doubt that the spirit of open defiance so witnessed in Mohammad Abdullah Hassan only a few short years earlier must have inspired some to continue to resist Italian demands. Even those Somalis who had fought against him at times must have known that at some level, they shared the same enemy. Despite De Vecchi’s ambitious efforts, some chiefs rallied around Osman Mahmud’s son, Herzi Bogor, though resistance in the region was widespread. One example would be the case of a Somali named Omar Samantar, who had been appointed as chief by the Italians in El Bur area. In November 1925, although he initially seemed loyal to the Italians, Samantar seized a fort and its arms, and remained inside while the Italian troops surrounded it. The Italian troops, in turn, were surrounded by other Somalis who happened to be led by Ali Yusuf’s military commander Herzi Gushan. In this incident, thirty-eight of the elite Zapitié troops were killed and those remaining retreated to nearby Bud Bud.104 They quickly retaliated, however, with two battalions of Eritrean forces, but were soon defeated again at Bot. In order to be more effective, the Italians had to change policy and rearm one group, the Habr Gedir, which was anti-Obbian Hawiyans. It was not until January 1926 that the new troops were able to defeat Samantar at Shillave in the Ogaden. This resistance was furthermore continued by Herzi Bogor, who in December 1925 drove them out of Hordio, a major port town. He then attacked the Italians at Cape Guardafui six weeks later, which led the Italians to try a new tactic – to slowly drive forward from the south to the north and eventually corner Bogor and his forces. Bogor turned out to be not only a survivor but a mediator, as he managed to unite two long-time rivals behind him, Omar Mahmud and Isa Mahmud, to thwart the Italian approach at the mouth of the Nogal at Eil. It was not until

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February that the Italians defeated them, though Omar Mahmud’s initial agreement to disarm was short-lived upon hearing Bogor’s intention to retake Eil at any price. By May, Bogor’s reassault was a failure and by late June the Eritrean reinforcements brought in by the Italians did manage to occupy Nogal. The last was not heard of Herzi Bogor, however, and by the summer and autumn of 1926 the tenacious Somali was still not captured nor put under submission. Eventually the Italians closed in on the Majeerteen from all sides, and Yusuf Mahmud and Osman Mahmud eventually surrendered to the Italians; this was not the case for Herzi Bogor, however, who finally retreated to British Somaliland. What these and other accounts until 1941 reveal is concerted, continuous and organized resistance to Italian demands, their ultimate success or failure not as relevant as the fact that they openly acted on demands for their subjugation and threats to their autonomy, even to the point where old rivals would cooperate. In spite of themselves, they at times presented a stubborn unity of purpose which did not prevail in the south. Further Decline

The focus here has been on reviewing those aspects within the experience of Italian colonialism that led to, influenced, or possibly diverted any evolving political culture and what the nature of that culture appeared to be. With a political culture lens scanning the Somali landscape, it becomes clear that, overall, the Somalis lived for decades under intense conditions of coercion and hierarchy brought on by the restrictions that were inflicted upon them. It was different than their experience during the nineteenth century, which was a period of varied struggle, with no winners, and no crushing defeats, just a continuous series of difficulties to cope with. The Italian presence was of a different nature entirely: it was about conquest, domination, loss of status, loss of lifestyle, loss of the world as the Somalis knew it. Few were immune from losing power over their way of life and living in an atmosphere of oppression and control. It was not simply an atmosphere of limited autonomy, but one of evident, persistent, and at times an extreme coercion which only intensified as the years progressed. With arbitrary and punitive laws inflicted on the Somalis by the Italians, slavery camouflaged as harsh labor practices, the confiscation of traditionally public or communal land for Italian concerns, restrictions on Somali involvement in import/export trade, and more, the environment was oppressive. Any lax application of the laws were of course welcome, but the fact that the laws nevertheless existed and

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could be applied at any time outweighed any leniency in their application. It was also a more acute form of the injustices the Somalis had already been living with. Although some Somalis may have benefited from relative economic prosperity, the majority did not, and none of them experienced political autonomy at all. For the few Somalis who were managing to live above a subsistence level, positing their relative economic well-being as political autonomy would be an awkward equation.105 Likewise, the hierarchy element of the equality/hierarchy theme also was well in play during this time. The structure among the Italian authorities made up several rungs on the hierarchical ladder. The Somalis, due to their past hierarchical trends and their use of slaves made up more levels within their own indigenous groups. These conditions were exacerbated by the hierarchy established between the Italians and the Somalis. It was in fact a multi-level and staggered hierarchy, and one that increased in size through time. The southern Somalis not only witnessed hierarchy and lack of equality, but historically had been partly involved in creating the structures themselves. Ironically, they were to became victims of a system that was very much like the system they attempted to preserve, some becoming victims of indentured labor arrangements themselves. This hierarchy expanded even more after 1910, when colonization in southern Somalia began in earnest and different administrative levels were established by the Italians. The plan that the Italians had for Somalia was one that had no room for egalitarian values, any allusion to fair treatment or rights, and literally no prospects for the development of indigenous people. Even when the Fascist presence led to a diversified economy, with new work opportunities for the Somalis and a new way to understand wealth, they were still significantly displaced from the status they once had. Coercion and hierarchy appeared to be alive and well in Italian Somalia for most of its duration. The clear, constant, and prolonged presence of coercion and hierarchy in the south contrasts markedly from the relative autonomy and tentative equality in the north. Of course, although the themes of autonomy and equality had no real role to play under Italian domination, it also must be acknowledged that twenty-first-century standards of autonomy and equality were not present in northern Somalia either. In spite of local, sporadic, and limited regional efforts against the Italian presence, there was a notable lack of a sufficiently binding and more widespread unity among the Somalis to more effectively interfere with Italian colonization. Their political, religious, economic, and personal interests were as divergent within the clans as they were between them.

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From the fragmenting effects of the different tariiqas to those collaborating with or submitting to the Italians, and from the limited numbers of dervishes to Somalis turning on each other over collaboration with the colonizers, the Somalis in the south were simply never in a position to formulate or envision even a rudimentary cohesive strategy of resistance. What little resistance the southern Somalis did inflict on the Italians proved that on a limited basis they were well able to openly oppose; but they lacked an overall unified and unifying political strategy with clear objectives. Any resistance that might have been encouraged by Muhammad Abdul Hassan was undermined by being excommunicated from his order in 1909, by the relatively limited numbers of his followers, and by his zealous religious demands. Of course, what Hassan left the Somalis with was a lively spirit of resistance to foreign intrusion, and indeed a spirit that is well remembered to this day. As for those Somalis who were not followers of Hassan and yet were provoked by Italian rule, their lack of cohesiveness did not leave them disposed towards creating a greater political vision. In spite of this, however, and not unlike Hassan, they did manage to move Somali interests in time by leaving behind a memorable legacy of resistance that was to serve as a galvanizing force for future efforts.

Notes 1

Cassanelli, The Shaping, p. 197. Reese, “Urban Woes,” p. 171. 3 Ibid, p. 174; see also pp. 175, 178, passim. See also Reese, Renewers of the Age. 4 Cassanelli, The Shaping, pp. 187-89. 5 Ibid, pp. 189-190. 6 The controversy behind this treaty rested on its Article XVII. The Amharic version portrayed the Italian government as offering Ethiopia the option of conducting business with other governments through the assistance of Italian diplomacy. The Italian version, on the other hand, had a somewhat less optional tone to it, which Italy perceived as a pretext for conquest and ownership. Sylvia Pankhurst offers an English translation of the Italian version from the authoritative Map of Africa by Treaty, Sir E. Hertslet (ed.), revised edition by R.W. Bryant and H.L. Sherwood (Frank Cass & Co. Ltd., 1967), Volume 11, pp. 454-455, from S. Pankhurst, p. 11. 7 A large area primarily west of the Juba River, known as Oltre-Giuba, that is Trans Juba or Jubaland, remained a British protectorate until 1925, at which point it was ceded to Italy. Until then, it existed in a sort of British 2

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administrative gray zone, with no plans for the type of colonization and control that were taking place just over the border in Kenya’s Northern Frontier Province (NFP). For more on Somalis in the NFP, see for example Turton, “Somali Resistance,” pp. 119-143. 8 Present day Hobyo in Mudug region. 9 Majeerteen here refers to the territories of the Majeerteen Sultanate, which was roughly 1000 km/620 miles from Mogadishu. 10 Reese, “Urban Woes,” p. 178. 11 S. E. Pankhurst, pp. 14-19. 12 Alpers, pp. 454-457; one exception to this often violent rivalry is recounted in this article and involved a ceremony or ritual in which inhabitants from both sections took active part, see p. 457. 13 Cassanelli, pp. 202-03; Filonardi was referred to by the Somalis as Aw Filo, ‘aw’ being a designation of respect usually reserved for Somali elders. He provides expansive and detailed reporting of this period in The Shaping, Chapter 6, “Local History and Regional Responses: The Somali Response to Colonial Occupation in the Benaadir Region, 1870-1910”; pp. 183-253. 14 Guadagni, “Colonial Origins,” p. 5; the author discusses the legal implications of these regulations in depth. 15 Ibid, p. 13. 16 Cassanelli, The Shaping, pp. 201-202. 17 Ibid, p. 202. 18 Ibid. 19 Ibid, p.203. 20 Hess, Italian Colonialism, p. 63. 21 Cassanelli, The Shaping, pp. 204-205. 22 Ibid , p. 205. 23 Ibid, The Shaping, p. 203. 24 Tripodi, p. 26. 25 Cassanelli, The Shaping, pp. 206-207. 26 Tripodi, p. 28. 27 Ibid, p. 35. 28 Guadagni discusses in detail the lack of legal theory and other procedural government oversights in the enactment of these changes; Guadagni, “Colonial Origins.” 29 Mohamed Haji Mukhtar provides a quite detailed and interesting account of largely short-lived resistance movements in the south during this period in “The Plight of the Agro-Pastoral Society of Somalia”, Review of African Political Economy, Vol. 23, No. 70 (Dec., 1996), pp. 543-553. However, the article’s lack of references prevents it from being referred to as a source for this book. 30 C. Rossetti from Guadagni, p. 12. 31 Hess, Italian Colonialism, pp. 88-9. 32 Cassanelli provides fascinating background on the darwiishes and others who resisted, including a more critical view of them by other Somalis; The Shaping, pp. 246-251. 33 Cassanelli, The Shaping, p. 231. 34 Guadagni, p. 1.

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35 Ibid, p. 3; Cassanelli reports there were fifteen concessions leased from 1907 to 1909 comprising 120,093 acres/48,600 hectares of irrigable land; “The End,” p. 311. 36 Hess, Italian Colonialism, p. 113; referring to 1912, but ongoing. 37 Ibid, p. 111. 38 Ibid, pp. 87 and 100. 39 S.E. Pankhurst, p. 230 & passim. 40 Guadagni, p. 19, quoting Rossetti, Manual; Guadagni covers the legalities in detail pp. 4-8. 41 Ibid, p. 19. 42 Guadagni, p. 13. 43 Ibid, p. 112. 44 Rossetti, Vol. II, p. 365, from Guadagni, p. 21. 45 Guadagni, p. 21. 46 Ibid, p. 24. 47 Hess, Italian Colonialism, pp. 162-168. 48 Ibid, p. 107. 49 In Islamic populations, a cadi or qaadi is a type of magistrate or if you can judge. 50 Hess, Italian Colonialsm, p. 108. 51 Ibid, p. 108. 52 Ibid, p. 109; Eritrea was formally declared an Italian colony in 1890. 53 Luling, “The Social Structure,” pp. 212, 223. 54 Hess, Italian Colonialism, p. 110. 55 Besteman, “Disputed,” p. 571. 56 Cassanelli, The Shaping, p. 225. 57 Hess, Italian Colonialism, p. 77. 58 Robecchi-Bricchetti, Dal Benaadir, pp. 68-69. Besteman also considers numbers of slaves in the south during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and points out they were also used by pastoralists; Besteman, “Public History and Private Knowledge,” pp. 568-571. 59 S.E. Pankhurst, pp. 59-60. 60 Ibid, p. 71. 61 The confiscated land was granted to Italian concessions, and it was these grantees who had the right to decide what land and other rights they would dispense to the natives. 62 Cassanelli, “The Ending of Slavery,” p. 310. 63 S.E. Pankhurst, p. 61. 64 Hess, Italian Colonialism, p. 89. 65 Besteman, “Disputed,” p. 571. 66 Luling, “The Social Structure,” p. 123. 67 Cassanelli, “The End,” p. 319. Sandra Ponzanesi provides some fascinating background on the role of colonized “madamas” in Italian East Africa; see “The Color of Love,” pp. 155-172. 68 Ibid, p. 317. 69 Hess, Italian Colonialism, p. 111-12. 70 Guadagni, p. 11. 71 Ibid, p. 12. 72 Luling, “The Social Structure,” p. 204. 73 Cassanelli, “The Ending,” p. 326.

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74

Hess, Italian Colonialsm, pp. 164-165. Ibid, p. 160. 76 Luling, “The Social Structure,” pp. 219-221. 77 Gandar-Dower, pp. 57-58; the state of agriculture was reported to be ‘not encouraging’. They found, for example, that on 67,000 fertilised acres/27,000 hectares, ‘thirty-two of the 136 holdings were totally abandoned, thirty-six others were idle, on thirteen a moderate amount of work was being done, and only on six was there extensive cultivation’, pp. 57-58. 78 Ibid, p.60. 79 Rodd, British Military Administration, p. 162. 80 Ibid, p. 160. 81 Ponzanesi discusses this more fully in “The Color of Love.” 82 Hess, Italian Colonialism, p. 170. 83 Ibid, pp. 163-5. 84 Ibid, p. 169. 85 Luling, “The Social Structure,” pp. 224-226. 86 I censimenti nell’ Italia unita, Instituto Nazionale Di Statistica Societa Italiana di Demografia Storica, Anno 141, Serie XII, Vol. 2, p. 263. 87 Baer, p.13. 88 Italian East Africa, which comprised Ethiopia, Italian Somaliland, and Italian Eritrea. 89 The other two areas were the North Eastern Province (Kenya) and Djibouti. 90 Tripodi, pp. 42-43. 91 Touval, p. 71. 92 Laitin and Samatar, p. 62; the authors specify it is the “Haaji Diiriya and Yuusuf Igaal families” who benefited from the economic activity, but do not indicate how extensive are the families they refer to nor give examples of the families’ wealth nor sources for this claim. In regard to the claim about Italian men and Somali women, given the close adherence to Muslim morality, it is difficult to grasp what percentage of Somali women they refer to, though it would be safe to assume they were a minority. 93 Reese expands on this in “Urban Woes,” p. 175. 94 This is interpreted from Luling, who identifies the main causes of change during the colonial phase as “loss of political autonomy, cession of lands to the colonists, the emancipation of the slaves, increased communication overseas, better communications inland, improved external and internal communications, and direct but limited contact with an entirely strange culture”; pp. 211-212. 95 Baldacci, publishing in 1909, claims that the fighting involving the Dishiishe and Bahadir agains the Bagaren culminated in the murder of the Bagaren chief Nur Mohammad and that the fighting continued until “about twenty years ago,” which would place it in the late 1880s; see Baldacci, p. 61. 96 Ibid, pp. 65, 67, 70. 97 Ibid, pp. 134-135. 98 Ibid, p. 70. Damo is located just on Cape Guardafui and Olok is about 4 miles/7 km west of it. 99 Baldacci, pp. 62-63. 100 Ibid, p. 62; Karin is about 18 miles/30 km from Bossaso. 101 Ibid, p. 72. 75

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163

Hess, Italian Colonialism, p. 126. Declich, pp. 55, 57, 58, 63. 104 This was an elite force of approximately 800 Somalis, Arabs, and Eritreans who were organized by the Italians; Hess, Italian Colonialism, p. 150. 105 For a through discussion of the scant economic development taking place during this period, see Mark Karp, The Economics of Trusteeship in Somalia (Boston: Boston UniversityPress, 1960). 103

5 Unifying North and South

In 1955, halfway through the [Italian] mandate, very little had been achieved and the economy. which it was hoped would pave the way for political independence in 1960, was still in a state of disarray.1 [D]evelopment in the Protectorate would be gauged to keep it in step with what was happening in the neighbouring trusteeship in Somalia within the ultimate aim of off loading the Protectorate into a unified state at no distant time in the future.2

The post-colonial period lasted from approximately March 1941, when Britain reclaimed its protectorate in the north and assumed administration of Italian Somalia, to 1960, when UN-backed independence and unification were declared. In spite of its brief nineteen years, this period further divides into an interim phase from 1941 until 1948-1949 when the region was under British rule entirely, and then the trusteeship phase in 1950-1960, when Italy remarkably was appointed through the UN to prepare its former colony for statehood. From 1941 until 1960, the Somali people’s progress and process towards statehood was destined to be complex and problematic, resulting in a perhaps premature birth and with all the subsequent complications and congenital vulnerabilities known to accompany one. World War II did not heavily affect the Somalis except for the demands it put on Britiain and Italy and the change it brought about in Italian Somalia. Although the founding of the United Nations in 1945 served to further promote and support ideas of independence and statehood, the impetus and clear stirrings for such had already been well in place before then, both north and south. In spite of the very different paths the northwest, northeast and south took in previous eras, it is at this time that their present and future began to converge and travel in tandem towards the road to formal statehood and unification. However, when the formal process of preparation for statehood was finally underway in 1950-1960, there were significant

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differences in how the north and south proceeded while they yet were to be moving towards the same goal.3 Although the north might have appeared to be backward in comparison to the south and was more halfheartedly granted increasing autonomy, in retrospect this might have had more of a stabilizing influence than the fast pace of southern politics. Suggestions that those in the north were not sufficiently politically mature might have been a hasty observation. The Road to Independence

The two previous and significantly longer eras, the immediate precolonial and colonial, can be viewed as recent geological strata to the pre-independence period. Put another way, and continuing with the idea of political culture as geological layers, 1941-1960 should not necessarily be viewed as the foundational layer upon which very recent events rest, but only as a more recent layer in a series of several interlinking layers. In this way, accounting for contemporary circumstances does not become limited to finding explanations in this period alone, but opens the door for analysis which includes and in fact relies on the tracking of political culture indicators further back in time. It is in this way we have a long term view of political culture as an active process, and not as a static phenomenon. Both the early and latter parts of this period represent a time of unprecedented opportunity and great contextual shifts for the Somali people. The earlier part was predominated by the rapid development and growth of political clubs and their nationalist, pan-Somali principles, although there were some troubling events as well. The political clubs themselves and the kind of environment they fostered were to some extent a legacy of the political culture influences they had inherited. The international community became increasingly involved, and the aims of what became the Somali political parties and the Somali people at large seemed a step closer to realization upon the close of World War II and the establishment of the Four Powers Commission. Somalia’s future was to be one of a range of issues discussed within the Four Powers Commission’s Council of Foreign Ministers in a meeting taking place in Paris in April and May of 1946. Although it was agreed that a trusteeship should be established and the Somali people prepared for independence, the conditions under which that trusteeship should take place became a point of contention, with Italy eager to return to their former colony and many, including Somali nationalists, against it. British Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin proposed British trusteeship over the whole of Somalia, and this was opposed in particular by the Soviet

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representative, Molotov. It was decided that the commission needed to determine the political wishes of the local population, and a visit to southern Somalia was organized for January 1948. Ultimately it was to be decided that the Italians would be the trustees for former Italian Somalia, though ostensibly closely monitored. The British were to maintain their presence in British Somaliland in the form of Military Administration, and begin to prepare the people for self-rule. Turton points out that the idea of unification was accepted among key British figures: Yet by the early 1940s, there was in fact considerable support for the view that all land occupied by Somali ought to be united. This was the opinion of Sir Philip Mitchell in 1941 when he was Chief Political Officer under General Wavell, Commander in Chief Middle East Forces. It was also the opinion of General Reece, then Provincial Commissioner of the N.F.P., and D. H. Wickham, Military Administrator at Mogadishu. 4

In anticipation of the commission’s visit in early 1948, the leading Somali Youth League (SYL) and other nationalist groups in the south coordinated efforts to rally for independence with northern counterparts, specifically the Somali National League (SNL) and later the National United Front (NUF). The SNL had been formed as, quite notably, a coalition of several small political clubs which had existed earlier. With the commission intending to visit regional centers in addition to Mogadishu, the SYL was spurred into opening branches in almost all urban centers throughout Somalia, including the north, and in some areas they gained significant popular support. However, the path leading up to this momentous visit was predictably different in the north versus south, and this in spite of all Somalis from both areas being under British rule from 1941-1949. Interim: Somaliland Protectorate

To backtrack, some events leading up to March 1941 and the resumption of the British in the Somaliland Protectorate were to serve as precursors to subsequent developments that either affected the Somali people in the north or were initiated by them. The political clubs mentioned previously, which were established in 1935 by local merchants from Berbera, Hargeisa, and Burao, represented a step towards modern political organization. Two years later there was the Somali Officials’ Union, established for Somali civil servants who wanted to express

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problems of unfair labor practices. Continued opposition to Western or Christian education also revealed a prevailing sense of resistance to outside influences and the expression of a new sense of independence through allegiance to Islam. Setting up an Education Department in 1938 was delayed due to the threat of possible Christian missionary work through the education system, as well as because of the threat it posed to religious leaders in the form of a more educated generation of Somalis. A riot ensued in protest, and three Somalis were killed.5 This harkened back to a not so distant time when Mohammad Abdul Hassan was alive and raising the alarm against any foreign presence; he was still very much alive in the minds of most Somalis. Even those who did not support his religious message or his methods at that time still had to have experienced some residue of Hassan’s active years. In addition, the newly arrived Italians in Ethiopia took a renewed interest in the Ogaden from 1935 and began to send well-armed troops there to collect taxes and otherwise impose themselves on the resident Somali population. There is little doubt of the effect that these developments had on the northern and even southern Somalis, further fostering ideas and sentiments about foreign rule, self-rule, and foreign interferences. This then was the background to the return of the British to their protectorate in early 1941. When the British returned, they did so as a military rather than civil administration under the auspices of the War Office. It was to be a temporary arrangement, so there was a need only to act on what was directly in front of them; they were exempt from long-term considerations.6 At the same time, colonial policy began to further develop, citing the need for colonial dependencies to begin to prepare for self-rule as members of the British Commonwealth; this widened opportunities for native employment, which in turn led to more investment in education. None of this applied formally to Somaliland, though there had to have been some indirect effect. As one of the least developed territories under British control, what the Military Administration had inherited surely was disheartening.7 Before 1940, the protectorate had been run by only a few dozen British Colonial Service officers working under a Westminister-ordered policy of stagnation and minimal investment, amounting to an administration that “had been stripped to the bone.”8 For the number of years the British had been present in the protectorate, they had accomplished very little in terms of development or social services, particularly in comparison with the Italians; this was impossible to miss. Brock Millman commented in his history of British Somaliland, “No research had been possible. Nothing was really known about the country. There were no accurate

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maps. No English-Somali grammars. No ethnographic studies. Much of the country had not even been traversed by Europeans.”9 In addition to this, the British encountered a people who had endured much hardship during the brief period of Italian occupation, experiencing not only beatings and the confiscation of their livestock, but the burning of tariiqa settlement areas, severe food shortages, and a lack of cotton cloth.10 For those pastoralists living inland, a rainfall increase mitigated this somewhat, and the departure of many Banyan and Middle East traders left a gap in retail sales which some Somalis were able to fill.11 Generally, however, this was a trying period not only for the Somalis but also the British. World War II was in full swing. April and May 1941 alone were awash with challenges and demands: Rommel had just taken Libya; the pro-British Iraq government had just been overthrown and the new government allied itself to the Axis powers; and Belfast, Birmingham, Bristol, Coventry, Liverpool, London, and Nottingham were experiencing bombardment. Britain was essentially fighting for its life, and Somaliland was of minimal concern. Understandably, nothing quite like what appeared to be the accelerated political developments of the south was to take place in British Somaliland during the 1940s. Here, progress took a different form, and the largely pastoral population, the small number of urban centers, and the irregular attempts at political fostering were behind this. It is important to note that there was significant movement to the towns upon the British return, and Berbera’s population in 1941, for example, doubled in anticipation of economic opportunities.12 Exposure to the war was also exposure to the rest of the world, which had some positive impact on attitudes towards formal, secular education. Many in the protectorate now saw that Somalis who had been abroad or were from Italian Somalia seemed more advanced in that they spoke European languages and had some access to technical training. They began to insist on education and at least being trained in English; as Millman comments, “education in English had become a political and economic necessity.”13 Whereas in the late 1930s there were no schools at all, except for minimally supported Koranic schools and one school opening in Berbera in 1938, only five years later, in 1943, three primary schools were opened, overseen by a Somali who had been promoting education for almost twenty years.14 Anticipating the administrative and other needs of the future Somali state, by1949 there were seven district primary schools and one boarding school, the latter bringing students to the end of their seventh year, with plans for another similar boarding school underway. Of the two boarding schools, one was to offer academic subjects and technical courses, and the other, when completed,

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was to offer academic subjects and agricultural courses.15 In terms of population percentages, these later figures represent a little more than approximately 2 percent and then 1 percent of the respective populations at that time. It should be kept in mind that the north had a significantly smaller population than the south to begin with, and that pastoralism predominated, with school not as accessible.16 Nevertheless, this at least reflects some positive movement, and the beginning of further movement. Some of that further movement concerned the education of women and girls, considered culturally unacceptable at the time and bound to create wide opposition. The military governor from March 1943 to March 1948, Brigadier G. T. Fisher, was well aware of the advantages of educating women, apparently influenced by his “highly engaged and energtic wife.”17 In a clever strategic move, the education of women came to fall under Maternity and Child Welfare Services, a part of the Department of Health. This had appeal since it was considered part of a larger package of learning about health and hygiene in general, infant care, first aid, and family science; and because it was to be taught by the wives of currently active officers, English had to be included in the teaching as well. It was widely accepted by the Somalis.18 Of course, in relation to the total population, these developments had a limited impact, but they were improvements just the same, representing a constructive but token step forward, influenced by impending independence and the idea that some of these students were to be eventually employed as civil servants. In addition, and in an attempt to acknowledge and satisfy Muslim concerns, support for Koranic schools began to increase19 and in the mid 1940s a notable sheikh was appointed as religious adviser and instructor within the new Education Department.20 Somalia at large was still seen as a place with little to offer, a “featureless expanse of nothing in particular …vast, dreary and flat,”21 a reminder of the lack of investment potential the British had been so aware of for decades. The Colonial Office commented that Somalia was “blessed with little in the way of natural resources” and was “dusty and waterless,” noting that “even with the restoration of law and order little economic development has been possible” and that government grants were needed “for the building of communications and the provision of administrative and social services.”22 The protectorate was nowhere near self-supporting and never had been, the overriding strategy still being one of limited reluctant expenditure. What little funds were forthcoming from London were to be used primarily on agriculture and education; nothing was to be spent on any forms of welfare unless it was urgent.23 This was not just a reflection of past policy, but also the realities of post-war Britain,

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which had its own post-war recovery to manage as well as other needs that had to be met, including those of colonies with tangible, extractable resources. In 1944 expenditure on the protectorate did increase. It had gone from just under £150,000 in 1942 to £300,000 in 1943, and then rose to £500,000 in 1944; by 1948 it was well over £900,000.24 This period also saw the emergence of an embryonic Somali intelligentsia, “a politically conscious stratum.”25 Somali civil servants, for example, tended to be literate in Arabic, English, and/or Italian, were well informed, and had access to external news and some degree of freedom of movement.26 In regard to the latter, Geshekter points out that the combination of increased activity at Aden from 1839 and the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 was the beginning of creating enhanced travel opportunities for Somalis in terms of seasonal or shortterm employment, which was also alternative employment from more traditional work. As mentioned in previous chapters, although Somalis had long been known to establish bases or small communities beyond their own land, the changes due to Aden and the Suez Canal created new opportunities exponentially. They increasingly projected an image of a both determined and entreprenurial people who were well able to adapt and thrive. Somali immigrant communities became established in the UK as well, in Cardiff, Liverpool and Manchester,27 and the protectorate itself also experienced this industrious spirit: [B]y 1942, itinerant Somali traders could be found in virtually every village and in the vicinity of livestock where they bartered tea, cloth, dates, rice, and sugar to pastoralists grazing herds in the Haud and Ogaden. Although some goods still moved by camel caravans from the lands of one clan to another under the guarantees of the protectors (abbaan), the substantial increase in trade truck traffic was evident throughout the eastern Horn.28

It was a new world. Even the simple example of motor vehicles reflected this: in 1937, there were 367 private and commercial vehicles registered in the protectorate;29 fifteen years later, in 1952, there were 600 private and commerical vehicles and 270 government trucks and Land Rovers.30 Predictably, work as drivers and mechanics surfaced at this time as well, thus adding to the numbers who no longer lived a nomadic life and instead lived on wages. During the early Military Administration there were also efforts to train Somalis in administering basic health care within the population, and within a few years this was supported by improvements to the nascent health and medical infrastructure.31 By the late 1940s life had changed rapidly for most Somalis, both inland and

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along the coast. though the Somali intelligentsia still had considerable growing to do. “Somalization” was well underway, some of it more inadvertent developments among the Somalis than efficient strategies by the British. It was not so developed, however, that direct taxation was as yet considered possible, and so the people continued to expand, diversify, and adapt as their immediate world continued to transform and they in turn transformed it. Some of this transformation took place in and around the 1942-3 drought, which was severe enough to lead to about a 60 percent loss of livestock and a relief camp being opened in Borama, at one point feeding about 20,000 Somalis in ten days.32 Yet in spite of an uncertain re-start, the Somalis themselves lost no time in not only resuming commerce, but increasing it significantly in a short period of time. The trade balance was always going to be uneven, but what is significant is the rapid rise to opportunity: with a 1940 starting point value in sterling of 0, it rose to 200,000 by 1941, leveled off until 1943, and by 1948 reached close to 500,000.33 In terms of livestock trade, the years 1942 and 1947 show lively productivity in the export of 1.6 million and 1.9 million skins respectively.34 This is not meant to naively suggest an idyllic Somaliland, but a people who largely struggled with some success through a range of challenges in spite of obstacles. Although blood feuds between some clans were almost a mainstay of society, for example, there appeared to be an internal stop point or limitation; as in the past, inter-clan conflict never seemed to escalate to the point where its affect was so widespread that it interfered with the necessary working organization of trade and commerce. To address problems of clan violence and crime in general, efforts were made to improve upon the qadi and akil courts, which had begun to lose their status before World War II. It mainly consisted of reducing the number of akils by maintaining only those who had been effective and to otherwise “appoint representatives of good quality”. They were to have limited authority to maintain law and order and control pastoral life in terms of grazing land, water availability and access, and other related concerns. District Councils were to be formed as well, consisting of clans and local authorities at first having only advisory powers but eventually being given limited executive powers. As such, they were to serve as a foundation for future representative government, and be linked to the Protectorate Advisory Council.35 In spite of name changes and trying to force the process, the attempts failed largely because most Somalis saw no reason to improve on the system that had been in place, which combined xeer, Sharia, and protectorate law and had served their needs in a way they could understand. The protectorate courts and district courts were certainly kept busy, the former hearing 96 cases in

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61 days, in 1943, for example, and the latter hearing 24 “serious criminal cases,” almost 1800 other criminal cases, and 146 civil cases.36 In spite of the failure to make changes in the courts, some legal changes were underway that affected Somali culture. Perhaps the most important of these changes was setting unprecedented limits to the collective responsibility of diya-paying groups.37 It was still allowed, for example, in cases of accidental death or when there might well be a collective responsibility, but overall it marked a shift towards the individual and a move away from all-embracing, absolute clan ties. Another shift which also marked movement away from clan was the increased recruitment of Somalis as police and soldiers. In a policing role, illaloes were well known in towns and rurally, particularly since they tended to hail from pastoralist groups. Their local knowledge coupled with Somali social and cultural background and not being uniformed provided them with access that simply was exceptional and made them invaluable. Although by late 1941 they only numbered about 2,100 – which was four times their number before the war – being very mobile and in demand also made them very visible.38 The Somaliland Camel Corps resumed after the war and were also highly mobile, at first with camels and then motorized vehicles. Numbering about 300, they were highly visible, especially in their striking uniforms. In 1945 they disbanded due to a mutiny over being assigned to Kenya, and the details behind the mutiny highlight the extent to which they saw themselves as Muslim Asians rather than Africans, and how to be considered African was repugnant to them.39 The Somaliland Scouts, established in 1942, appear to have filled the gap left by the SCC, and in fact remained in force until independence. The Somaliland Police were yet another law enforcement group, with uniforms and in barracks, numbering perhaps about 450 Somalis, the officers British.40 Among the police and the truck drivers, a new political movement, began as a Somali initiative with Somali support near and far and aspirations for political power. The Somaliland National Society (SNS), Geshekter points out that members of the SNS were seen not only as “impatient and aggressive” but also “‘well organized and disciplined to an unexpected degree’”.41 Changing its name to the Somaliland National League (SNL) in 1947, the group’s rapid growth was a concern to the authorities, partly due to its promoting a move away from a clan identity and towards an overarching Somali nationality.42 Some of the more radical members in fact had created an Anti-Partition Party, which was founded on the idea that any rule by external powers was not to be tolerated.43

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There were also various political clubs, and charitable and self-help groups, some of which already existed before the war, and which demonstrated a continued and evolving predilection for non-clan-based organization, taking initiative, identifying shared problems, and voicing solutions for them. These represented an important political step, but the British failed to see their significance, neither how town and countryside were well linked due to continued trade, nor the vital role that townbased organizations could play. In 1945, one observer commented: The establishment of a central legislature and of the machinery of modern local government can scarcely be hoped for until the people, at present almost entirely nomadic, develop into a more stable society; and that, for a livestock-owning people dependent on seasonal grazing, 44 is not to be looked for just yet.

The same report continues on to describe the newly formed Protectorate Advisory Council, which consisted of delegates from “all sections of the community” and met for the first time in January 1947. Having an advisory capacity only, the council forwarded ideas on creating subordinate and increasing clan monetary contributions in the form of taxes towards protectorate revenues.45 The report also noted that the circumstances of nomadic pastoralism interfered with the formation of even local government, and that authority needed to be placed within the clan system and could not be reliably based on geography. This did not negate the positive role of unofficial town-based committees and groups, but assumed that since large numbers of Somalis did not live within the towns, some form of “link between Government and the great majority” was necessary in spite of existing links between town and rural Somalis. What is interesting through this period is how the Somali people and the protectorate stood apart from other British interests in Africa in terms of how they were treated. The Somalis were clearly going on a separate path, so much so that they were not at all part of an Africa conference held in London in 1948. Organized as a forum for expressing the views and concerns of unofficial representatives of the colonies, the conference was also a chance for representatives from different colonies to exchange views, compare notes, and express concerns at the ministerial level. The Somalis were the only people who did not send any representatives, which was explained as being due to them having “no Legislative Councils.” Since they were already on their own unique path and it was well known the Somalis identified themselves more with other Muslim peoples than with Africans, this might not have mattered to them. However, it also meant that they had lost an opportunity for

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contact with other politicizing peoples under British rule, where an exchange of information and experiences might have been constructive. 46 The first Somali Legislative Council in the protectorate was not to be formed until 1957, well into the trusteeship period, and only three years before independence.47 Finally, in November 1948, the Colonial Office took over from the Military Government’s “temporary” arrangement in effect since 1941. Perhaps demonstrating a bit too well that military skills are not the same as those required for governing, limited progress had been made by the military during those seven years, and yet some tangible political evolution of the Somalis took place in spite of it. Interim: Former Italian Somliland

To review the situation of the Somalis in the south when the British arrived in June 1941, World War II was in process, and Italian East Africa appeared to be becoming even more of a reality when Italy declared war on the Allies in August 1940. A few weeks later, Italy invaded British Somaliland and took control after only two weeks. The British had left the territory underdefended since the onset of the war, the bulk of their forces needing to be concentrated elsewhere.48 At this point, most of the Horn of Africa and almost all Somalis were largely under Italian control. Racial laws had been in place for about three years at this point, and although in some ways new income avenues had been found, for the most part, the people were living under more restrictions than ever before, a life their parents could never have envisioned. The seemingly triumphant Italian takeover of British Somaliland was rather short-lived, and only six months later, by February-March 1941, it was back under British control. By June of that same year Italian troops in Italian Somalia had completely withdrawn or been defeated,49 and for the first time British Somaliland, Italian Somalia, and the Ogaden were united under the same foreign power. These two latter areas were now under the rule of the British Military Administration, which was based in Mogadishu,50 and British Somaliland was still under the control of the British Colonial Office and retained its own military governor. However, British presence was not overwhelming, and at that time, the total number of officers under the chief political officer for Ethiopia, Somalia and Eritrea (Major-General Sir Philip E. Mitchell) was 268.51 A month later, authority was given to create a native force of 1,500 men, which was to be called the Somalia Gendarmerie.52 Until 1941, almost 6,000 Somalis had been employed as civil servants or soldiers in Italian Somalia, but the takeover by the British in 1941

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changed this, and about half of the former Somali soldiers were left unattached.53 Circumstances at first were somewhat insecure. When the British entered Kismayu in February 1941, for example, they found it being looted by Somalis in the wake of the Italian departure; apparently this had been going on for two days and affected general order as well as public sanitation. British reporting at the time stressed the Somalis’ loathing of Italian rule, so looting and other violations were not unexpected. The Italian military in many cases departed with great haste, often leaving behind weapons and ammunition that the Somalis claimed for themselves, and that in turn became a problem for the British: The natives had armed themselves with sufficient weapons to give vent to their love of tribal feuds and their hatred of the Italians, or, if they felt so minded, to start a new Jehad under a new Mad Mullah.54

Though there were many references to general looting and inter-clan conflict, there was no new mullah around whom to rally, thus no jihad was rekindled. The state of affairs in Mogadishu in February 1941 was found to be somewhat similar to that in Kismayu and other urban centers, but with the additional discovery of Mogadishu prison, which held approximately 400 prisoners. Besides the list of irregularities that were reported, including the absence of records for the charges that had been made and inmates kept uninformed about their right to appeal, the prison sanitation and health conditions were particularly shocking, punitive in and of themselves. The British were at first apparently well received by the Somalis; an early report elaborates on this, though it must be read with reservation: Everywhere the advent of the British is welcomed, but that is not to say that the Somalis are prepared to obey our orders or to live at peace with neighbouring tribes unless made to do so by armed force. In the areas within immediate reach of authority some slight abatement of lawlessness is discernible, but elsewhere the country is in a state of wild and uproarious disorder in which it is bound to remain till adequate numbers of political officers and gendarmerie can arrive on the scene.55

This state of affairs was apparent not only in Mogadishu and the southern area in general, but also in the northeast, which had also been under Italian colonial rule, though a less repressive rule than in the south:

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Above all, it was necessary to deal at once with the large-scale raids which were now being launched by well-armed Somali tribesmen against their cousins in British Somaliland in an unprecedented totalitarian manner, including rape and the theft of water-carrying camels, two practices which were quite contrary to the traditional protocols governing Somali looting.56

What is significant is that there were not only traditional protocols for looting, but that the breach itself was noted by the contemporary observer and that no similar reports emanated from British Somaliland. The general disorder and lawlessness described above turned out to be short-lived, however, and perhaps just a backlash to the harsh rule they had been living under for so long. It left another contemporary observer with an impression of the Somalis being “proud, suspicious, conservative, and fanatically Moslem,” though at the same time “a highly intelligent race, by no means lacking political aptitude.”57 The south’s subsequent interim years under British military administration represent unprecedented and accelerated political activity, almost as if they were making up for lost time. The general violence and disorder due to the retreat of the Italians was indeed only fleeting, for it was only one or two years later that it became apparent southern Somalia had also been organizing politically. It was a phenomenal leap of one or two years from living with racial laws and other profound restrictions to suddenly having a political freedom they had not known in decades. This leap has been acknowledged among various sources writing about this period, although they often differ on the reasons for this development. Laitin and Samatar characterize it as follows: The most notable development under British military rule was the growth of a new and fervent sense of national awareness. In mosques and markets, in public and private meetings, urban Somalis began to question the legitimacy of colonial rule, to call for political unity, and to debate large, supratribal issues.58

To account for this new awareness, several reasons are cited, from the recent memory of Mohammad Abdul Hassan to the newly unified British rule of most of the Somali people, improvements in education and a more diversified economy, the appearance of an “articulate elite”, the “public humiliation of colonial masters” and abolishing the prohibition on publicly discussing political issues.59 Writing twenty-four years previous to Laitin and Samatar, in 1963, Saadia Touval also identified most of these very same reasons, but explained that for most

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of them, “their impact was not sufficient to transform the passive feeling of national consciousness into a militant political movement” and that it mainly stemmed from outside events, especially the events and after effects of World War II as well as the birth of the United Nations. Between the future of Italian Somalia being openly debated with the general public consulted on it, and Somali exposure to the West and Western thought through serving in the military and ideas of oppressed people and self-determination, it was inevitable they would become more politically organized and aspire to statehood.60 There is of course no one factor to account for the increased political activity, though of course British and international encouragement played a part as well, and it is likely that all the factors above each had their own peak of influence at different times, different contexts, and in different locations. It was during this same period, in May 1943 and so during the height of World War II, that the nationalist Somali Youth Club was first formed in Mogadishu.61 Renamed the Somali Youth League (SYL) in 1947, part of the reason for its founding related to concerns over the possibility of Somalia being divided up again, and under different trusteeships. As such it demonstrated a growing concern for and interest in ideas of political unity. As World War II came to a close, some Somalis by then had been increasingly exposed to political ideas from the West, their drive for independence observably swelling. The political clan-based organizations that had formed became involved as the future of Somalia was discussed by the Four Powers Commission.62 Even simply forming associations was significant in terms of the political culture process: the presence of associations signalled agreed-upon common ideas, the ability to communicate those ideas coherently, and as the skills needed to negotiate and reach a shared understanding. No doubt this was due to a combination of internal and external factors, and between the Somali’s exposure to war-time issues concerning the freeing of oppressed people, anti-colonial struggles, the lifting of a ban on open political debate, the embarrassing defeat and exposed fallibility of their oppressive Italian colonial masters, and their never having completely accepted institutionalized authority, it is difficult to see how such political awareness and organizing could not have developed.63 As several political associations were formed during this period, some of them transformed into political parties. Some did not form until the trusteeship period, some at times were to boycott elections, and almost all of them were clan-based. Besides the SYL, there were also the Hizbia Dastur Mustaqil Somali, Somali National Union, Greater Somalia League, Liberal Somali Youth Party, Somali Fiqarini Party, Somali Democratic Party, Marchan Union, Somali African Union,

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Conferenza della Somalia, and several other smaller parties.64 Although the SYL was to become the dominant party, collectively these groups represented an ability to collaborate among themselves and adapt to the new circumstances and new opportunities. However, in the coming years, the ability to collaborate and adapt was to prove insufficient for the difficult task at hand. As the trusteeship period approached, the question of which country was to become the trustee for Italian Somalia became widely discussed. The SYL led the anti-Italy campaign, and Italy lobbied strongly to return to its former colony to fulfil a curious sense of commitment.65 It was decided a UN mission would visit Somalia in January 1948 to look more closely at this, and its anticipated arrival took place amidst great expectations and preparation on the part of the Somalis. Part of this preparation included nonpolitical associations turning into political associations in order to be able to make a presentation to the UN mission.66 Five days after the commission’s arrival in Mogadishu, however, its trip was disturbed by a clash between the ardently nationalist SYL and a pro-Italian demonstration. The clash rapidly turned into a riot which even more quickly escalated out of control. It was particularly violent, with some of the Somali Gendarmerie reported to have acted with the rioters, and the Italians becoming the focus of the rioters. There, in the presence of the UN mission, fifty-four Italians were killed, Tripodi noting they were mainly women and children, and fiftyfive more Italians were seriously injured and hospitalized.67 To make matters worse, fourteen Somalis who had tried to interevene and protect the Italians were also killed, and forty-three were badly injured.68 This had all taken place over the course of only several hours, during which 177 Italian homes were also looted, and the Italian Mission Press was damaged by fire.69 Those who escaped the violence did so by retreating to hospitals and churches, and apparently it was weeks before Mogadishu returned to some level of normality. A British officer was also implicated, reported to have encouraged the attack to begin with, providing weapons and trucks, and even involved in the death of an Italian at the Central Police Station. This is hardly surprising, since it was also understood that “at least 60 percent” of the Somali Gendarmerie were SYL members and also were actively involved.70 It was an especially vicious event where a violent option prevailed over the political, and which also rather painfully pointed to how simmering resentments were still deeply held, were sufficiently widespread, and in spite of political developments, were still very close to the surface. Although it might be argued that these events were caused by a small minority, it is the extent of them in

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terms of numbers of deaths and numbers of homes looted, as well as the range of them, from looting to killing, which is troubling. If the numbers of those killed and homes looted were even half of what was reported, it would still have been a notable event and undoubtedly an unfavourable comment on the state of any budding democratic political culture in the south. Compared to rapid political developments, other changes were not as notable. In terms of education, for example, it had been overlooked all along by Italy, Hess labelling it as “virtually complete neglect.”71 It was to become a more central concern by the early 1950s, though from 1934 to 1947 there was little movement at all, the Somali student population increasing only from 1,265 to 1,853.72 By 1956, it jumped to 26,796, this number representing more than a token percentage of the urban population.73 Until then, however, some children attended Koranic schools, and at different times there was only limited schooling provided for a limited number of students.74 In terms of the economy, occupational diversity, or any other significant leaps, it was much the same as with education. The Fascists had left Italian Somalia economically unviable, and the British had to pick up where the Italians had left off. Perhaps a partial explanation for lack of progress can be found in the demands World War II put on the British economy, which became bankrupt due to the war. At this time the British were also undergoing preparations for the independence of its jewel in the crown, India, in 1947, and the birth of the new state of Pakistan. Because the former Italian Somalia was not run by the Colonial Office but was under military administration, there was bound to be an approach somewhat different from that in British Somaliland. The paths that former Italian Somalia and the British protectorate had been on since 1941 had always been divergent, and they were to diverge further during trusteeship. The Road to Statehood (1948/50—1960)

Reflecting the Somalis’ intricate clan system, range of internal and external actors, town and rural divides, and ever-changing political, social, economic and geographical landscape, much of Somali history is confoundingly complex. It is perhaps the trusteeship period that is the most intricate of all, as several of these factors seem to reach their maximum amperage at this time. The evolving political culture can yet be found amidst the complexities when keeping an eye out for changes

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and disruptions. Examples of inequities become apparent then as well, since coercion and inequality are often found concurrently. So it is here over a period of ten years that examples of both can be observed, within the activities of two distinct entities, with two distinct trustees, and the path to statehood pursued rather curiously in two very distinct ways. In the midst of the administrative intricacies of preparing for statehood, the Ogaden was completely lost to Ethiopia, political parties rose and fell in the south; political parties in the north were not allowed to operate until just a few short years before independence; in the south, violent conflict erupted often; and the north remained almost maddeningly static. After much lobbying on the part of Italy and in spite of its difficult past, former Italian Somalia was extraordinarily placed under Italy’s trusteeship through UN General Assembly Resolution 269A (IV) in November 1949, effective in April 1950.75 The British Somaliland Protectorate was to remain a protectorate, but with an agreement with the Trusteeship Council that it was to be prepared for statehood. Efforts were to be made to reduce the negative influences of tribalism, primarily through territorial and local elections as well as selfgovernment, and to “Africanize” the civil service through increased employment of native people. The estimated populations of the two territories were already quite different from each other: there were approximately 650,000 Somalis in the north, 90 percent of whom were reported to be pastoralists (though diversification had begun to evolve), and approximately 1,260,000 in the south, who were divided between pastoralism (500,000+), agro-pastoralism (350,000+), agriculture (240,000), and other livelihoods (120,000+).76 At this this point, an alphabet for the Somali language had still not been decided on or implemented, and both populations were largely illiterate. Education statistics from the late 1940s reveal less than 2,000 students enrolled in primary schools in either area, and ten years later, the increase was only nominal and unimpressive.77 Nevertheless, political parties and political organizations developed rapidly as the idea of a united Somalia gained momentum and increasingly seemed within reach. Italy’s and Britain’s approaches to their responsibilities could not have been more different, perhaps reflected in the makeup of their civil servants and administrators. About halfway through the trusteeship, Italy was to have more than 5,000 officials, more than 85 percent of them Somali; Britain had a maximum of 300 officials, and only 10 percent of them were Somali.78 Although several political parties were clan-based and included particular clan interests in their platform, all of them shared the principles of independence, unification, an end to tribal warfare, and

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social-economic progress. Along with a United Nations Advisory Council set up in Mogadishu, it appeared to be a promising start.79 When the Colonial Office took over in late 1948, there was a shift in approach regarding the type of British-born civil servants they were to hire. Newly hired British civil servants were now expected to work alongside native civil servants as equals, and the Colonial Office had no patience for those who felt otherwise. In a document entitled “Job Analysis for the Colonial Service,” written in 1945, the assistant undersecretary for the Colonial Office specified what was required of a Colonial Office civil servant: He must not be infected with racial snobbery. Colour prejudice in the Colonial civil service is the one unforgiveable sin. One has come across an old school of Colonial Administrator who likes the primitive people but cannot get on with the educated ‘native’. The day for that attitude is gone forever. We have now to deal with the educated leaders of Colonial communities, whom our policy has produced, and must continue to produce in increasing numbers. If you cannot accept them as colleagues, social equals, or superiors, you might be an admirable person, but you should seek another vocation.80

Certainly in the past some poor judgement had resulted in resentment and anger among the Somalis, and although that could not be erased, it might be avoided in the future. The past had seen the refusal to keep Somaliland Camel Corps rations separate from those rations containing pork; their poor treatment by Rhodesian officers; disregard for religious practice; and the killing of civilians. A different approach was surely overdue. The Colonial Office was barely in place a year when 1950 began with a particularly widespread drought and accompanying famine. According to Jama Mohamed, relief camps opened in Garadag, ElAfweyn, Erigavo, Badhan, Burao, Borama, and Berbera. Mohamed reports, “by the middle of the year an average of 10,000 people – mostly women and children – were fed in the camps.”81 Although in terms of numbers provided aid it was not as severe as the 1943 drought and famine, it was yet another sobering reminder of a certain damage done to centuries of Somali self-sufficiency and adaptation. Yet they continued to inch forward, and besides any civil service and political education that Somali nationalists had garnered over the decades of British administration, their political visions also were buoyed by their relatively close contact with the Arab world, which also had its share of independence and nationalist leanings, and particularly in regard to the contemporary rise of Egypt’s Gamal Abdul Nasser. Still, in a territory

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populated largely with pastoralists who were always moving and always competing for scarce resources within their clan-based frameworks, it could understandably be assumed that efforts to avoid tribalism and instead develop a secular or non-clan-based form of politics would be difficult. Downplaying tribalism did not necessarily mean that clan and tribe referencing was to be avoided all together. For example, the earlier mentioned 1947 Advisory Council in the north was necessarily clanbased and had the purpose of encouraging popular participation in government as well as disbursement of public funds, the latter being a particularly wise choice given there had been past problems with taxation. Most of the political organizations, then, were not surprisingly linked to more populated areas and were also clan-based. Although some political groups were eager to shed strong clan affiliations, they were well aware that this was not completely possible. One issue that particularly galvanized all Somalis north and south was the return of the remainder of the Ogaden to Ethiopia in 1954. This took place in stages, the details sometimes unclear or incomplete. More recently, the Ogaden had been absorbed into Italian Somalia after the Fascist takeover of Ethiopia in 1935. Once the British had control of Italian Somalia in mid-1941, the intention initially was to ultimately unite it with their protectorate in the north and the former Italian Somalia: this then would have resulted in what had been Mussolini’s Grande Somalia dream, and indeed the dream of many Somalis. In 1948 the British conceded to relinquishing all of the Ogaden, except for the Haud and the Reserved Area to Ethiopia. In 1955 the Haud and Reserved Area were handed over to Ethiopia as well, the result of Ethiopia’s Emperor Hailie Selassie successfully convincing the Four Powers Commission to do so. This took place in spite of no consultation with the Somalis, creating deep resentment and a resolute irredentism that exists to this day. Since so many Somalis depended on the Ogaden’s extensive grazing land and water sources for their own survival as well as that of their livestock, this issue alone galvanized the birth of another political party in 1955, the National United Front, which championed the cause of returning the Reserve Area of the Ogaden to Somali control. Although this goal was never accomplished, the issue served to incorporate more pastoralists into the territory’s political landscape simply by providing them with an issue with which they could all identify and rally around. Two years earlier, in 1953, Town Councils were created, presumably a step up from the previously mentioned informal town committees, and charged with the twin tasks of collecting taxes and administering services. Once this was well underway, the next step was

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the formation of the first Legislative Council in 1957. Developing from the District Advisory Councils in that its scope was national rather than regional, it consisted of six members. However, similar to the District Advisory Councils, these members were appointed rather than elected, were considered unofficial, and had no decision-making power.82 Although this might appear to be a rather meaningless concession or an attempt to placate national ambitions, it in fact turned out to be a precursor to the next stage only a year later, in 1958, when a new constitution was forwarded, reportedly brought about by increasing political agitation. The draft constitution was formulated by British and Somali contributors, and among other provisions it allowed for an increased number of men to sit on the Legislative Council and rather significantly provided for them to be elected and not appointed. Although political parties existed as groups and were now active, they were limited in scope and appeal since the protectorate’s population was still largely made up of nomadic pastoralists who were clan-based in their thinking. The very nature of their subsistence way of life demanded more attention be paid to the immediate rather than, to them, the rather abstract ideas around nationalism. Writing at the time, Lewis commented that “patriotic nationalism is little more than an empty slogan and has little reality as a permanently effective political sentiment.”83 Under the circumstances, it may well be that the slow rate at which political developments did take place had its advantages in the long run. Even though the independence timetable was the same in the south as in the north, the circumstances were quite different. Under Italian trusteeship and the Mogadishu presence of the UN Advisory Council, the south might be seen as having been more actively exposed to Western influence than the north and appeared to be significantly more developed politically, though this can be called into question. The lackluster economy and weak agricultural gains of the colonial era and limited resources available during British military rule did not serve as a springboard to a thriving economy during the trusteeship. With the British having literally disassembled some of Italian Somalia’s infrastructure and exported it to their own colonies, the means of production and transport were not the same as they had been: this included Italian Somalia’s only railway, a bridge over the Shabelle River, machinery from a salt works, and the closing of two mines.84 The trusteeship began with 6,500 Italian troops for the Corpo di Sicurezza being sent to replace British troops, though for economic reasons, the number was reduced to 2,250 about a year later, and in 1952 finally reduced to 740; however, over 2,400 Somalis had joined the Corpo di

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Sicurezza by then.85 Sylvia Pankhurst in fact likened the rearrival of the Italians to more of a military occupation.86 This was reflected in Pankhurst’s citing of a reporter from the New York Herald Tribune: “Heavily armed troops are everywhere, artillery practice is held within a few miles of Mogadishu, fighter planes roar overhead.87” A litany of accusations of firing on crowds, killings, and arrests by the Italian troops circulated, Pankhurst claiming that this was disseminated by the BBC Overseas Service and in regional and international newspapers. She also related that more than 300 members of the Somali Youth League had been incarcerated, Somalis were required to salute Italians, economic restrictions were applied, dismissals were rampant and the trusteeship agreement in general was betrayed. Although at the time of its writing little of this was convincingly substantiated by the author, it nevertheless was akin to those events and circumstances that could be corroborated and thus could not be so lightly dismissed. There was quite a list of problems signaling Italian trusteeship was off to a troubling start that in fact could be corroborated: open conflict between clans; hostility towards the Italians; clashes between political parties;88 Italian personnel who had little knowledge of or only a colonial view of Somalia; unskilled officials in the bureaucracy; importation of Fascist literature; the Italian community unwilling to abide by trusteeship requirements and unable to accept they were no longer in charge; a dramatically reduced budget; increased “rioting” by the end of 1951; “dangeous” levels of tension resulting in death of three Somali policemen and more; neither Italians or Somalis were willing to pay taxes; the SYL killing of a political opponent; a stagnant economy; and the Italian monopoly on all-important banana exports.89 In the midst of this troubled beginning, some positive signs appeared as well. The Territorial Council was created at that time, and although it was only a rudimentary appointed body with advisory functions, similar to the north’s 1951 District Advisory Councils in that it consisted primarily of tribal leaders, it was in fact much larger, with thirty-five seats, and seven of those seats given to political parties. Although its members were initially appointed, it was the first formally representative political body with advisory and decision-making responsibilities. Its responsibilities were varied, and covered such areas as developing ideas about the future structure of municipal councils, advising on the official language within education, and other fundamental starting points for a future active government. Meeting three times a year and with a formal committees active in between meetings, it was less than a year before the members became elected

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rather than appointed, and five years before a more formal and widely inclusive election system was introduced. These political changes took place alongside other developments, particularly in agriculture and education. Contributing to the agricultural infrastructure, access to water was critical, and so excavations for canals began in 1954, their purpose to provide irrigation for crops, and the building of dams and dykes was also underway in order to control water flow and prevent flooding. Plans were also made for the building of reservoirs and silos since water storage was vital as well.90 Some limited gains were made in education during the first year of the mandate with the training of civil servants and the establishment of a School of Political and Administrative Preparation for them. It was a three-year course with a range of subjects, from international law to Islam, administration to geography and more. Three years later saw the birth of the Institute of Social Science, Law and Economics, a precursor to the subsequent University Institute of Somalia. Impressive as this all was, Italy fell far short of the goal of widespread primary school education for all Somalis.91 As is well known, by the time of independence in 1960, literacy rates were still alarmingly low and efforts made towards developing a sustainable economy had similar results. Clan divisions had become so conflictual and so dominant that by 1958 the UN Advisory Council passed a law that prohibited a clan’s name from being used in the name of a political party. Touval noted that “most of the clan or local parties were not political parties in the normal sense of the term. Instead, they were temporary political groupings formed for the purpose of putting up candidates for the elections.” 92 The increasingly wide success of the SYL naturally put a stop to the proliferation of political groups, but this did not affect the political and voting irregularities which had been cropping up after the first few years of the trusteeship. Perhaps these irregularities and others can be seen as part of a larger process, a prevailing trend that began with the 1948 riots in Mogadishu or even the attack on the Arab community in Mogadishu the previous year. It is interesting to note that the process of preparation for statehood in the south was dissimilar to the north in that it was apparently accelerated. The differences from the north’s process in terms of timing and scope were apparent from the start of the trusteeship period. However, it also might imply the possibility of some haste on the part of the Italians and any role the UN Advisory Council might have had in any overly-ambitious intention to succeed, particularly in the aftermath of World War II. The south additionally appeared to be much more advanced when in 1954 the first elections were held, three years sooner

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than the first elections in the north. These were municipal elections, and fifteen political parties were reported to be competing. The number of registered voters actually taking part in the election was 38,119, representing 75 percent of the 50,740 registered voters.93 Two years later, in 1956, territory-wide general elections were held. The earlier established Territorial Council (1950) was replaced with an elected Legislative Assembly. What might have appeared to be extraordinary political growth was highlighted by the numbers of people reported to be voting, recorded at 614,000.94 Even considering that the 1954 election was municipal and indeed the first round of elections at all, the leap of participating voters in just twenty-four months to sixteen times that amount is overwhelming. However, these numbers are also extraordinary since they respectively represent approximately 50 percent of the total estimated population for the territory.95 In addition, conflict broke out between the clans within the triumphant SYL, who had captured just over 333,000 out of the 614,000 voters.96 The internal fighting and the problematic numbers were overlooked, however, and more elections were planned for 1958, this time returning to municipal elections. By this time, only six of the original fifteen parties remained active, likely a natural winnowing of some parties and assimilation of others. There was an appearance of governance, but little actual political control. That something was amiss did not completely escape those overseeing the situation, and in 1958 a mission from the UN was sent to Somalia to review preparations for independence. The mission reported that although Italy had indeed created the appropriate institutions for a peaceful transfer of power, it also advised that Somalia would not be sufficiently prepared for independence by 1960, seemingly due to a heavy dependence on Italian subsidies.97 Before the general elections for the Legislative Assembly were held in early 1959, there were several violent incidents between the police and opposition parties, as well as the SYL and opposition parties, resulting in five deaths, many injuries, and finally in February, the arrest of 280 members of the Greater Somalia League and other smaller parties, thus preventing their participation and guaranteeing the SYL’s success.98 After the elections in June 1959, representatives from three of the affected Somali political parties travelled to UN headquarters in New York and petitioned the Trusteeship Council. The concerns they raised included the occurrence of “threats and bribery” on the part of the Italian authorities to “force” tribal leaders to attest that the 1959 elections had been “democratic and free.”99 Other matters involved false representation of political parties; a claim that the current Somali constitution was “neither constitutional nor

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representative”; fear that the “unborn independence of Somalia was already in danger”; “the appointment of insufficiently qualified persons as Ministers and Under-Secretaries”; controversy regarding large land grants to Italian farmers; and the fear of a tribally based government.100 These concerns all seem to have been overlooked in the face of the upcoming and carefully planned UN resolution on former colonial territories, UN Resolution 1514, the Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and People. Statehood and Fragile Beginnings

The early years and subsequent decades of the new Somali state did not bode well. The veneer of independence could only partially change the lives of most Somalis north and south since there was no way to escape the legacy of the past decades, the past generations, the past century, and more. The interim period and trusteeship had only added another layer of experience to the long chain of experiences that led the Somali people to statehood and independence, and it was a layer mainly composed of sand. For many Somalis, especially those in the south, independence was to mean not only the end of external interference and domination, but also the beginning of another set of problems, internal in nature. For the Somalis in the north, independence was not as momentous a change, due to a less strident foreign presence and a largely pastoral population that was not in touch with the daily intrigues and complexities of political town life. Although some might characterize the northern experience as a struggle against a harsh colonial master opposing independence, the fact is that granting independence to the Somali people was well along in the UN pipeline and indeed considered among the British themselves before 1950, and increasingly so as the profile of UN membership began to change dramatically after 1950.101 The forging of UN Resolution 1514 was already underway, and an independence target date set for ten years after formal trusteeship began had been widely circulated.102 Prior to unification, general elections were to take place separately north and south. In the north, and in coordination with UN Resolution 1514, the general elections for the Legislative Council were arranged to take place in February 1960. By now, only four political parties were involved: the Somali National League, the United Somali Party, the National United Front and the Somali Youth League. The Somali National League was supported largely but not exclusively by the Isaaq clans, which represented about 50 percent of the total population. The National United Front formed in 1955 with the main goal of returning

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the Reserve Area to the Somali people. Initially an umbrella organization for smaller associations, it was representative of the Habr Toljala clan from the Isaaq clan family, which comprised about 16 percent of the population and earned one seat of the thirty-three in the general election. The United Somali Party represented clans from the western and eastern ends of the protectorate, had only formed in early 1960, and yet won an impressive twelve seats in the election. The Somali Youth League, based in Mogadishu and despite its political ambitions, did not win any seats at all. Rather interestingly, the results revealed that voting did not strictly follow clan divisions. In addition, there was consensus among all the parties on the fundamental issues of independence and unification.103 In contrast, the general elections to form a government in the south were problematic, to say the least. Taking place in early March 1959, crises, rivalries, and struggles between and within parties, accusations of corruption, individuals and groups expelled from parties and then splits from parties, and much more characterized the scramble for political power. Among the intrigues, resignations, intimidations, and disputes, the 1959 general election resulted in only three parties taking part, the other three main parties having boycotted the election. The elections nevertheless went ahead, and the Somali Youth League overwhelmingly won, taking eighty-three of ninety possible seats. Such was the nature of the internal quarrels that it took more than three months to actually form the government. Once it was formed, numerous problems continued in the runup to unification, including the various irregularities reported in the previously mentioned appeals to the UN’s Trusteeship Council. Even in the years previous to 1959, the relentless political feuding and rivalry seemed to go well beyond the usual infighting, competition and even antagonism often observed in power struggles. The problems in the south were so persistent that little appeared to be proceeding smoothly. This was not an auspicious beginning, particularly considering the foundational role it was playing for future politics. 104 Unfortunately, more of the same was to come. It was in April 1960, just seven weeks after the north’s general elections, that the newly elected Legislative Council made the procedural decision for independence and unification.105 This prompted hasty arrangements for a north-south conference in Mogadishu to decide on some basic details of how and when actual unification would take place. Laitin and Samatar significantly point out: Their task was formidable. Somali leaders only had a few months to fashion the agreement, yet they were fully engaged in working out the

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transfer of authority from the British and the Italians in their own territories. To further complicate matters, no individual or body had any official responsibility for laying the foundation of the union. 106

And so, most remarkably, after years of preparation, and yet with no individuals or bodies in charge of “laying the foundation of the union”, and with little time to prepare, no previous model to follow or experience to guide them, in late June 1960 both territories gained separate independence, and only a few days later, they underwent unification.107 The north’s protectorate status ended June 26, with Italian Somalia’s independence and north-south unification taking place only four days later, on July 1. The new united Somali government was a coalition between the south’s Somali Youth League and the north’s Somali National League. Somalia began its statehood without a constitution. Once the constitution had been drafted in 1961, it was put before the people in a referendum. In the north, only approximately 100,000 voters out of a total population of 650,000 participated in the referendum, and more than half of those voted against the constitution. In the south, the results were quite the opposite: the number of people reporting to have voted in favor of the constitution not only exceeded the total number of available voters in the region, but was higher than the total overall population of the area – a stunning 1,711,013 yes votes out of a population of only 1,300,000.108 Although this problematic figure is explained by Touval as “the tendency of tribes … to exaggerate their numerical strength,”109 it is difficult to understand how it could have been so exaggerated and, most important, blatantly accepted and never questioned. There was a particular irony to this when less than a year later Somali President Adan Abdulla Osman commented on the strictly democratic nature of his country and his people and how “we are proud to be exercising the same democratic ideals as we inherited from our forefathers.”110 The demise of the new government and the rise of Siad Barre took place quickly, and this along with Barre’s fall have been thoroughly covered elsewhere. To only briefly review, then, the people in general did not receive much visible social assistance from the new government, even when famine and drought took place during the initial nine year period, in 1964 and 1966-1967. The government’s commitment to or interest in such concerns as education and freedom of the press was also in doubt: by December 1965 the population was estimated to still be 9599 percent illiterate, and there were no daily newspapers or news agencies, and the two radio stations were both government-run.111 Somali leadership did not focus on substantive social or infrastructure

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improvements,112 and towards the end of the decade, after accusations of corruption, “ragged elections, [and] misuse of public funds,” it was clear “the elected government reigned, but could not rule.”113 Writing in 1965 quite correctly about the troubling political developments of the trusteeship period and then more worrying changes after independence, Gilbert Ware commented: “Nationalism in the Horn of Africa may not augur well for world peace.”114 In 1969, in the midst of the myriad problems of the unified Somali state and the disillusionment that came with it, the new state then experienced the twin traumas of the assassination of President Shermaarke and then, in the political vacuum that followed, a military coup led by Major General Mohammad Siad Barre. A welcome change at first, Barre immediately abolished the National Assembly and established the Supreme Revolutionary Council, which primarily consisted of members of the military and police, all of them appointed. To his credit, his reign began with an attack on corruption in government and efforts to move the Somali people beyond clan loyalties. One year after his rise to power he introduced the ideological program of “scientific socialism,” which, along with his military ambitions, was to be heavily financed by the Soviet Union. People were to address each other as comrade or “jaalle” in order to diminish or replace traditional references to kinship, and traditional tribal ceremonies now took place in community centers. Barre also initiated an admirable and intensive literacy campaign, with the literacy rate leaping from 5 percent in 1970 to 55 percent in 1975.115 In addition, the unemployed were assigned to public works projects, school enrolment surged,116 clan leaders were re-named “peace-seekers,” the status of women was advanced, and homeless children were recruited into the Revolutionary Youth Centre, receiving food, clothing, and political education.117 These were undoubtedly positive developments, although Barre’s intention to almost entirely eradicate tribal affiliation was not welcomed by all. There were darker developments as well. In order to address political opposition, Barre’s Supreme Revolutionary Council passed the National Security Law in 1970; this essentially legitimized the death penalty for any political activities that opposed the regime. The National Security Service and the National Security Court came into being at this time in relation to the National Security Law. Other internal security organs also came into existence, all of them eventually dominated by Barre’s own clan, an ironic twist to his efforts to eradicate clan affiliation. As time went on, Barre’s tactics against possible political

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opponents became increasingly severe, and the regime became welldocumented for arbitrary imprisonment, torture, and murder, In this increasingly oppressive environment, Barre then attempted in 1977 to win back the Ogaden from Ethiopia. After a year of fighting, Somalia suffered a humiliating military defeat, and more than a million Ogaden Somali refugees poured into Somalia. Rather ironically, nine years after coming to power, now Barre’s leadership came under threat. Illegal opposition movements formed and a series of attempted armed campaigns against the government began. In 1978 a coup was attempted by Majeerteen colonels from the northeast, and in the early 1980s the Somali National Movement from the northwest and the Somali Salvation Democratic Front originating from the northeast began to engage in anti-government acts. A 1988 attack by the Somali National Movement on government installations resulted in government retaliation on the northwest city of Hargeisa, where 50,000 people were killed, more than 200,000 forced to evacuate the city, and the city itself left in ruins.118 In the midst of all this, Barre became increasingly suspicious of those around him, relying more on his own close clan affiliations and therefore hostile towards those clans to which he had no ties of kinship. In doing so, he only increased the significance of clan identity, and clan-based militias developed partly as a response to this. In the late 1980s, opposition to the Barre regime grew and increasingly took control of limited amounts of territory. By October 1990, a coalition of opposition forces had approached the capital, Mogadishu, and by January of 1991 Barre was forced to flee the country. By the end of 1992, approximately thirty separate militia groups had formed in the Mogadishu area alone, each with its own territory and shifting alliances,119 their fighting the cause of 40,000 casualties. Barre’s eventual expulsion led to the emergence of the three main territories we see today. House of Cards

For the north, the period from 1941-1960 represents nineteen years of uneven activity, showing, for example, a slight increase in feuding, but not so much that it arrested trade and what quiet political progress had been made. Positive efforts on the part of British individuals seemed to be balanced out by negative policy developments, and much of any headway made occurred in spite of British involvement. It was a time of exceptionally rapid and substantive changes for the south, a sort of mixed blessing. The explosion of political clubs and political parties in the south was an immense leap in a very short time. Once the British

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took control of Italian Somalia in 1941, the apartheid-like exclusionary laws of Fascist Italy simply crumbled and were replaced immediately with a social and political environment that was a complete turnaround from what the southern Somalis had been living with. It was an environment that presented the novelty of open discussions about what had never been asked: what the Somali people wanted for themselves. Although this changed their lives in ways in which there was no turning back and was utterly unprecedented, it was not to be a smooth ride. In contrast, the slow pace of political development in the north also provided problems and frustrations, but of a different kind. Restrictions on the political activity of Somali civil servants, the betrayal of the Ogaden, prohibition of formal political parties until late in the trusteeship, and the generally poor progress in development of infrastructure were among the key grievances for the period. In the immediate post-war period, however, there was some autonomous political initiative, and also notable autonomy and activity in social and commercial decisions. Something similar can be said of equality/hierarchy for this period in the north as well. With the protectorate having settled down and time passed since the fall of Mohammad Abdul Hassan, there were few signs of more turbulence of any significance on the horizon. The primary hierarchy that existed was between the Somalis and British, with perhaps a slowly budding Somali middle class of civil servants and businessmen or merchants. With the protectorate estimated to be 90 percent pastoral, this middle class was numerically tiny but it was highly visible and socially and politically significant. However, due to the nominal involvement the British had in the protectorate, as well as the nature of pastoralism, the division between pastoralists and British was not nearly as entrenched, pervasive, or immediately constant as it would have been in a more typically British colonial state. The daily reminders, the continual presence, and the sheer numbers simply did not exist at levels comparable to those in other British colonies. So although a hierarchy clearly was in place, it was a rather diluted and simple hierarchy when compared to other contemporary colonies, whether British or otherwise. When Italy invaded British Somaliland in 1940, its influence and impact had to have been limited: with most of the population living as pastoralists and the remainder divided among various mostly coastal towns, there were, relatively speaking, not that many Somalis within the Italians’ reach to actually control. Moreover, there was no agriculturally rich inter-riverine area, no modern state economy, and with World War II now well underway, limited resources to invest in the area and little time to do it in.120 Six months after the Italians appeared, they were

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driven out by the returning British, who also, in the coming months, took over all of Italian Somalia. Within the course of less than a year the Somalis in the north watched their former administrators return to reclaim the protectorate and then move on to take control of Italian Somalia. Whatever new sedimentary deposits might have begun to be laid by the Italians during their short time in the north were soon overlayed by not just the return of the British, but by the new and overwhelming post-war world and the new context it brought. Due to preoccupation with the war and lack of resources, the interim period in the north appeared politically backward and uneventful, though there was an undercurrent of adaptation, resourcefulness, and new movement. The political autonomy the north experienced was limited due to postwar circumstances, and the hierarchy they lived with was not very different from what existed before. Nevertheless, the Somalis in the north were in fact becoming increasingly politicized, and in spite of being unable to openly act on it as well as being the most neglected British territory in east and central Africa, they still managed to find ways to express themselves. This continued into 1950 and beyond, as the frameworks for their participation in government gradually expanded in size and inclusiveness as well as remit, and shifted from appointed to elected positions. The Somali relationship with autonomy expanded, and the old British-Somali hierarchy began to ebb. Even though it was not as accelerated or dynamic as southern developments, it also was not as rife with internal conflict. Perhaps in keeping conflict to a minimum, the space was created for some degree of cohesiveness to slowly inch forward. Of course with pastoralism still predominant and a much smaller population in general, perhaps this was the best that could be achieved under those conditions. In retrospect, it seems to have served them well. The period leading into the trusteeship era in the south was notably different; it began with a bang of frantic political activity, and ended with violent outbreaks. Having just come from decades of living under arbitrary and punitive laws, the Somalis in the south must have entered the post-Italian period with some degree of astonishment at the political encouragement they were receiving. Compared to the north, change came in the form of almost instant transformation, a switch from an enforced political void to a hub of intense political organizing. Likewise, equality/hierarchy also underwent quite a turnaround during this time. Leaping from a structure consisting of several rungs on the long hierarchical ladder to one where a more level playing field was required, no time was lost creating large and small political groups. Eventually

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these groups among themselves established their own internal hierarchy, but they did not replicate the conditions that existed before. Moving into the trusteeship decade, economic development was still poor in both areas, though politically they were profoundly different. The north was characterized by remarkably sluggish political changes, and although their extant autonomy was not reduced, it did not appear to expand much at all either, until eleventh-hour elections. This also applies to issues of equality/hierarchy, where the small number of British administrators and their limited involvement hardly seemed like much of a hierarchical challenge to begin with. In the south the future might have appeared promising, but cracks began to appear in the form of infighting, voting irregularities, intimidation, and more. Positive and progressive as some of the political changes had been, they were overshadowed by the upheavals brought about by rapid change. The composition of their sedimentary deposit was mixed, and some of the more habituated practices of the past still managed to seep through and gain ground within a completely new context. In an environment where autonomy and equality were openly promoted, the old habits of coercion and hierarchy found fertile ground for expression too.121 The results of the south’s municipal and general elections and the constitutional referendum inconsistencies that followed were regrettable, and pointed the way towards inevitable and continuing problems. Upon statehood both trustees stepped away and almost vanished, leaving few remnants of an external hierarchy, not even lingering to procedurally assist with a smooth transition to unification. To some, it might have seemed like a peculiar departure. The new Somali Republic was to last only nine short years, a further downturn for the Somali people instead of the intended improvement. Given the practices in the pre-independence era, the failure of the new state might have been predicted. What was essentially a breakdown of the new state was only exacerbated by Barre’s coup and then twenty years in power, where all pretence of autonomy and equality was abandoned and a dictatorship was in place. What social gains Barre orchestrated in his early years were offset by his later years, during which he seemed to alienate the people even more through internal security measures and an eventual preoccupation with clan loyalty. Eventually it was an atmosphere of hierarchy and coercion that predominated and thrived, as had been so for generations. Indeed, in the years before Barre was overthrown, that atmosphere took on a new and sinister direction, and the Somali state would prove itself to be a house of cards.

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Notes 1

Tripodi, p. 49. Millman, p. 179. 3 One Somali remarked to me that the path to independence was like a camel with legs on either side moving uncoordinated with each other, but moving forward just the same. 4 Turton, p. 137. 5 Touval, pp. 64-65. 6 Millman, p. 125. 7 Ibid, pp. 128-129. 8 Ibid, p. 32. 9 Ibid, p. 128. It was not long before the Army began to offer nightly English lessons on shortwave radio; p. 169. 10 Geshekter, p. 25. Geshekter also quotes a source who commented there was “not even enough cloth to bury the dead.” 11 Ibid. 12 Millman, p. 163. 13 Ibid, p. 165. 14 The British Territories, p. 113. 15 Ibid. 16 The rural Somalis had always been suspicious of efforts to undertake a census, and even in 1958 it was still problematic; see Tripodi, pp. 85-86. In 1944, R. A. Hunt, the protectorate’s agriculturalist, estimated the population in the protectorate to be approximately 500,000 Somalis; in 1947, the Glover Report came up with a higher estimate using the same data, 720,000; Millman, p. 170. 17 Millman, p. 167. 18 Ibid, pp. 166-167. 19 Ibid, p. 164. 20 The British Territories, p. 113. 21 Gandar-Dower, p. 8. To underscore this point, there is an additional comment, that “anyone industrially minded will still say, ‘What a hole”’ – an interesting coincidence to the 1999 UN report’s reference to Somalia as a “black hole” in Chapter 1. 22 The British Territories, pp. 5, 84, 5. 23 Millan, p. 178. 24 Ibid, p. 160, Figure 6.1. The northern protectorate and southern Somalia together were the poor children of the empire compared to other British-run African territories, as can be seen in British expenditures and revenues related to the territories in the post-World War II period. In 1948, for example, the British government spent more than 6 million pounds sterling on development and welfare projects in Uganda, Tanganyika, and Northern Rhodesia (with revenues from those three territories amounting to at least 7 percent above expenditures). Expenditures on projects in the Somali Protectorate were generally less than 10 perecent of that amount. In addition, beginning in 1945 expenditures increased every year for all the territories except the Somali Protectorate, where the 1948 expenditure was in fact lowered to wartime levels. The one exception in this 2

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trend was 1949, the year before British trusteeship in the north was formalized, though the figures are approximate; see The British Territories, p. 146. 25 Gesheketer, p. 31. 26 Geshekter refers to them as the Somali petit-bourgeoisie and includes among them truck owners, traders, clerks, teachers, drivers, and livestock brokers; p. 31. 27 Ibid, p. 20. 28 Ibid, p. 25. 29 Ibid, p. 24. 30 Millman, p. 248. 31 Ibid, p. 168. 32 From Millman, citing several official reports from British Somaliland, pp. 161-162, fn. 8; also Mohamed, p. 549. 33 Millman, p. 162. 34 Geshekter, p. 23, from Somaliland Protectorate, Annual Colonial Reports. 35 The British Territories, pp. 25-26. 36 Millman, pp. 140-141. 37 Ibid, p. 142. 38 Ibid, p. 132. 39 Millman explains the complexities, including Somali sensitivities, behind the mutiny; pp. 135-136. 40 Ibid, p. 35; the number 450 is derived from Millman’s suggested total of 500, with about ten percent likely to have been British officers. 41 Geshekter, p. 29. 42 Ibid, p. 31. 43 Ibid, pp. 30-31. 44 The British Territories, p. 10. Nomadic pastoralism was based on migrating in search of grazing land and water for livestock, efforts were made to dig artificial ponds and drill for water, though with little success. See The British Territories, p. 59. 45 Ibid, p. 10. 46 Ibid, p. 31. 47 Touval, p. 107. 48 In fact, the Colonial Office reported that the British troops defending British Somaliland consisted of “a single brigade, comprising a battalion each of the Black Watch, Northern Rhodesia Regiment, and King’s African Rifles, two companies of Punjabis, an East African Light Battery, and the Somaliland Camel Corps.” It is little wonder they withdrew, as they were “outnumbered ten to one, outgunned by six to one, with no armour and virtually no air support”; The British Territories, p. 6. 49 The Italian troops fled Italian Somalia in haste, leaving behind some evidence of the nature of Italian rule. 50 The Reserved Area did eventually return to Ethiopian jurisdiction, though this is not of immediate concern to this discussion. 51 Gandar-Dower, p. 11. 52 Ibid, p. 50. 53 Tripodi, p. 52. 54 Gandar-Dower , p. 13. 55 Ibid, pp. 49-50.

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56

Ibid, p. 15. The British Territories, pp. 5, 10. 58 Laitin and Samatar, p. 63. 59 Ibid. 60 Touval, pp 76-78. 61 Touval provides evidence that the SYC was at least in part encouraged and supported by personnel within the British Military Administration; see endnote 2 for p. 86. 62 The Four Powers’ Commission of Investigation was created in 1946 by the post-war Council of Foreign Ministers, comprising the United States, Great Britain, the USSR, and France. Its purpose was to decide the future of the former Italian colonies. 63 Touval claims that ‘resentment against Italian rule was probably the most important factor behind the awakening of national consciousness’; Touval, p. 71. There were approximately 250 Italian colonists remaining when the British arrived in 1941; First, p. 8. 64 Ibid, p. 87. 65 Tripodi, pp. 49-50. 66 Touval, pp. 80-81, 87. 67 At this time there were about 3,000 Italians still residing in southern Somalia; the previous year, the Arab community in Mogadishu had also been attacked, though with no reported deaths; Tripodi, p. 45. 68 Ibid, p.46. 69 S. Pankhurst, pp. 225-226. 70 Tripodi, pp. 46-7. 71 Hess, Italian Colonialism, pp. 169-170. 72 Ibid, p. 170; Touval, p. 82. 73 Touval, p. 82. 74 Hess, Italian Colonialism, pp. 169-170. 75 Trusteeship Agreement. 76 Touval, p. 14. 77 Ibid, p. 82. 78 Tripodi, p.75. 79 Touval provides a useful list of sources by the UN Advisory Council; see. p.196, fn. 37. 80 C. Jeffries, NA CO 877/24/2, “Job Analysis for the Colonial Service,” Sir Charles Jeffries, September 1945, cited in Millman, p. 185. 81 Mohamed, p. 549. 82 During this period, it is notable that Somali xeer had been adapted to coordinate, when applicable, with the more formal juridical system within the protectorate. The details of xeer in clan treaties or agreements were kept on record with the administration, and applied accordingly in legal disputes, thus becoming a source of law; Lewis, “Clanship and Contract in Northern Somaliland,” p. 286. 83 Lewis, “Modern Political Movements in Somaliand. II,” p. 348. 84 Tripodi, p. 45. 85 Ibid, pp. 52-53. 86 S.E. Pankhurst, p. 433. Tripodi notes that Lewis made the same observation at a later date; Tripodi, p. 53. 57

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S.E. Pankhurst, p. 433. Menkhaus provides a fascinating and detailed account of organized violence within Somali politics, beginning in 1950 and ending in 1980. Developing a typology of this political violence, he lays the foundation for further work in the this area and calls attention to the culture of coercion that existed in the south; see Menkhaus, “Calm Between the Storms.” 89 Tripodi, pp. 52-70. 90 Ibid, p. 65. 91 Ibid, pp. 59-60. 92 Touval, p. 89. 93 Tripodi, p. 66. 94 Report of the United Nations Advisory Council for the Trust Territory of Somaliland under Italian Administration, from 1 April 1958 to 31 March 1959 (U.N. Doc. T/1444) pars. 103-142 and annex V, from Touval, p. 88. 95 Women were not allowed to vote until the 1958 and 1959 elections; Touval, p. 87. The number 614,000 represents only males, and specifically only males of voting age. It is difficult to grasp how 49 percent of a total population could consist only of voting-age males, with the remainder being women, children, and those males who did not vote. The seriousness of these voting irregularities were also noted by one other author; see Ware, “Somalia: From Trust Territory to Nation,” p. 178. http://africanelections.tripod.com/so.html. 96 Laitin and Samatar, p. 65. Touval provides a detailed table of election results for 1954, 1956, 1958, and 1959, p. 88. 97 Hess, p. 194. 98 Tripodi, p. 89; Laitin and Samatar, p. 66. 99 Turton observed that there was sufficient unrest at this time to result in “inflammatory broadcasts” from Mogadishu in the late 1950s; Turton (1972), p. 138. 100 United Nations Trusteeship Council, Official Records, pp. 389-93. 101 Although the initial membership of the UN was dominated by the victors of WWII, as the number of smaller and sometimes former colonial states gained membership, momentum for what became Resolution 1514 increased. Between 1946 and the passing of Resolution 1514 in 1960, twenty-four of the thirty-seven newly created states were African. 102 Touval, p. 81. 103 Ibid, pp. 103-107; see especially Table 5, p. 106. 104 For details of the various problems, see Touval, pp. 78-100; see also Laitin and Samatar, pp. 65-68. 105 It was seven weeks between the general elections, which took place on 17 February, and the decision for independence and unification on 6 April. Also, Laitin and Samatar comment that in April “the British made a surprise and sudden decision to permit their territory to become independent within days of Italian Somalia’s independence”; p 67. However, the record is clear that the British were supportive of independence all along, and it is likely that the Legislative Council first had to be in place and then required some preparation before formally proceeding with this move. 106 Laitin and Samatar, p. 67. 107 Laitin and Samatar note that no overseeing body was created to help with unification immediately prior to unification, although efforts were made about four months after unification. In October 1960, a body called the 88

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Consultative Commission was established by presidential decree. It consisted of a president and four members: Paolo Contini, a UN legal counsellor (president); P. O’Donoghue, attorney general and legal advisor for Somaliland; Mario Tucci, state attorney for the Somali Government; Auod Haggi Mussa, a government official with the presidency of Council; and Yusf Jama Ali, another government official. See “Integration Commission in Somali Republic,” Journal of African Law, Vol. 5, No. 1 (Spring 1961), pp. 2-3. 108 Agence France Press, June 28, 1961; www.somalilandlaw.com. 109 Touval, p. 121. 110 Drysdale, p. 22; the speech is dated August 16, 1962. 111 In education as well as in government, since there was no developed Somali alphabet, what script to use for the Somali language was not decided, even after several years. As a result, teaching and government documents had no uniformity. 112 Somali leadership was more concerned with expanding their army, and as early as 1962 borrowed $52 million from the Soviet Union to create a 14,000 troop army. This was followed by 300 Soviet advisors in Somalia and 500 Somalia personnel training in the Soviet Union; Laitin and Samatar, p. 75. 113 Ibid, p. 76. 114 Ware, p. 184. 115 Ibid, p. 82. 116 By 1974 almost 140,000 students were enrolled in primary and secondary schools, an increase from approximately 40,000 at the end of 1969; UNESCO Statistical Yearbook 1969, 1974. 117 Life and Peace Institute, pp. 8-9. 118 Bradbury, p. 12, referring to an Africa Watch report from 1990. In 1997 Somaliland police discovered several mass graves in the Hargeisa area in which a total of 200 skulls were found. The bodies were found in groups of 10 to 15 individuals, bound at the wrists, and were believed to have been antigovernment troops, killed by Barre’s government forces at the time of the bombing of Hargeisa; “Somaliland police find 200 skulls in mass graves,” Reuters, June 16, 1997. 119 Bradbury, p. 16. 120 Millman provides some fascinating statements and correspondence on this; see pp. 176-179. 121 Turton also observed how constant and entrenched these habits were, even when challenged by religious cohesion: “Islam never provided a unifying factor strong enough to overcome inter-clan hostilities which were based on political and economic factors”; Turton, p. 141.

6 The Legacy of Political Culture

[T]here is a reasonable approximation between pre- and post-colonial states both in terms of existing political cultures and geographical boundaries.1

The Somali Democratic Republic dividing into three separate regions in the early 1990s and then persistently maintaining markedly different political outcomes in each is one of the most fascinating political developments in the world today. There has been limited comparative inquiry into this development in spite of the fact that it is a case well suited to a comparative approach. The possible role political culture might have played as a contributing factor, as well as the varied histories of the three regions, has also attracted limited attention. The resulting political cultures were characterized by relative peace and consensus in the two northern entities, Somaliland and Puntland, and chronic, violent political upheaval in the south. A closer look has revealed that the Somali cerberus has followed some interesting paths, all of them observable, some of them sequential. When observing through the lens of two sets of political culture markers, or paired themes, patterns or trends can be detected over time, and reviewing the past becomes something very different from a simple review of history. Diamond’s analogy of history to geological sedimentary layers is applied here, the sedimentary deposits from the oldest selected layer or time period reaching through to the next, with new elements slowly filtering in, but yet never completely replacing all the elements from the previous layer. Reviewing the development of political culture in each case from the early nineteenth century to the present allows a perspective of the great sweep of history, and how the past can cohere with the present and even the future.

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Somaliland, Puntland, and the South

Today’s Somaliland traces back to the nineteenth century as a place that was by and large economically bustling, from the coastline to the hinterland, primarily due to an active international port trade. In the nineteenth century Berbera and Zeila were the two busiest ports, though they were certainly not the only ports, and drew ships from literally around the world. This coastal trade was supplied by caravans with goods from both coastal and inland Somalis, as well as inland Africa. The marketplace was something that people from all clans could participate in and benefit from to various degrees, and it directly and indrectly brought them into closer contact with the larger world, both beyond the sea, and in the depths of the African continent. There was never any overarching, continuous, centralized political authority to rule them, and what tenuous political controls did exist throughout the century were fleeting, largely non-interfering, and quite localized. The Somali clans, partly through their own clan structures remaining intact, essentially ruled themselves, but they did much more than this. They were engaged in all the myriad details of the markets, from organizing the market layout to establishing rules of the marketplace, from the reception of caravans large and small to arranging for the transfer of goods off large ships anchored offshore, from negotiating with the many abaan to negotiating in the marketplace itself, and from the raising of livestock for export to the production of ghee and other native products to sell in the marketplace. Those clans that did not dominate directly in trade were engaged in it nonetheless. Overall, these were a busy, engaged, industrious people, both coastal and inland, who were involved in activities that stretched their capacities and expanded their political and social culture and their pastoral lifestyle. As time passed, and in spite of occasional inter-clan conflict, they stubbornly continued on this path, becoming caught up in the increase in global trade and yet being more or less left to their own devices. They seemed to go from strength to strength, year by year and decade by decade, exports increased and the great market at Berbera expanded. The progress made in northwest Somalia in the nineteenth century flourished to the point where it spanned generations, so much so that the habits and practices born out of the influences of the ever expanding marketplace became still more firmly entrenched. Passed down through individual and clan, this trend of autonomous living and relative political freedom, of commercial interactions that had little place for rank or social status, continued almost unabated for more than eight decades. The occasional internal strife or environmental crises were never threatening enough to

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bring a lasting halt to the flow of trade: what interruptions did take place did not last for long. The combination of their accident of geography in relation to trade and the fact that they were left to more or less manage themselves within their own unaffected culture resulted in the Somalis of this region establishing firm and durable foundations for continued progress, even as the world around them began to expand and transform. As the twentieth century approached and the British presence increased and became more formal and more entrenched, the lessons learned and habits acquired along the way led the Somalis to new strengths. Their skill at stocking and running the markets and the increased autonomy that came with it, as well as the British lack of interest in developing the region as a colonial possession provided them with sufficient leeway to maintain the ground they had gained in the previous century and to prepare them for future political progress. Considering the overall context in which this took place makes the accomplishments of the nineteenth century all the more remarkable. These accomplishments were to serve the Somalis of the northwest well for the next fifty years, from the closing years of the nineteenth century and throughout the colonial period. Aside from Mohammad Abdullah Hassan’s prolonged and religion-based revolt, what restrictions did exist on the Somalis’ relative autonomy and sense of equality were never so great that they led to sustained, violent uprisings, nor did those restrictions prevent them from eventually asserting concerns, forming associations, and practicing other fundamental liberal elements. The trends that emerged in the immediate precolonial period continued well into the colonial period, where the nature of protectorate versus colony status inadvertently allowed for continued conditions of relative autonomy and minimal hierarchy. Somalis were sparingly included in the administration and security of British Somaliland, though they continued to manage the markets and thus hone such skills of the marketplace as communication, negotiation and compromise, collaboration, and delegation. The rise and then reach of the politicalreligious campaigns of Mohammad Abdul Hassan, which took on only a limited and inconsistent number of followers, served three somewhat conflicting purposes: 1) Hassan interfered with the flow of trade and pastoral movement and thus the wellbeing of many Somalis; 2) he alienated a significant portion of the population with his severe demands; and yet 3) he instilled in most people a lasting awareness of the dangers of foreign intervention. There is no doubt that even though Hassan did not enjoy legions of followers, he left the Somalis with the idea and spirit of resistance to foreign intruders. He also showed them that the infidels were not necessarily invincible. In doing so, any sense

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of hierarchy between the Somali people and the British was becoming increasingly diminished, and this took place amidst a growing sense of autonomy. It was not and could not be the same sense of autonomy that they had experienced in the precolonial period; however, it was an autonomy they were not willing to relinquish to either Hassan or the British. The long period of limited interference in the nascent political culture was crucial, as it led to the durability of that culture. A pattern of building on previous strengths and skills had become clearly established as the Somalis moved from one challenge to the next. Put another way, any degree of coercion and hierarchy they experienced during the colonial era was never so great or lasting that it impinged on their ability to move forward. Neither British over-administration and attempted interference nor periodic clashes among the Somali clans nor Hassan’s demands were able to significantly dampen what was becoming more than a century of autonomous living, including commercial life. The experiences of the coastal versus inland Somalis with British rule were somewhat different, but the result was about the same. By the time the British successfully retook British Somaliland and then took over Italian Somaliland in 1941, the Somalis in the northwest had already been continuously exposed to increasing levels of limited self-rule and the decision-making that came with it. This seems to have prepared them well for the pre-independence and independence periods to come. During the interim and trusteeship periods in the 1940s and 1950s, it was clear that the constrained political progess made by the Somalis in the northwest was built upon previous strengths. Their progress took place at a painfully slow rate due to the underfunded, moderate, and piecemeal approach taken by their British trustees. But in the long run this appears not to have interfered with their ultimate aims; and although the slow place must have been frustrating for those Somalis directly involved at the time, it was probably less so for the still largely pastoral population. This was a new era for them as it was for all Somalis, thinking about themselves in a way never envisioned before, sharing a larger vision with all Somalis and being enabled and encouraged to express it. An increase in the sense and practice of autonomy was obvious in their giving voice to and acting on various matters from the interim period all the way to independence, and doing so in an atmosphere that limited violent conflict. There were fewer and fewer violent outbursts as time went on, and this was mirrored by the gradual dissolving of any sense of an already watered-down hierarchy between the Somalis themselves and their British administrators. These changes

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were all taking place in a context of building a framework for an independent govenment. When independence came, despite the best of intentions, the differences and divisions between north and south were readily apparent, from differences in accepting the new constitution to preexisting divisions in experiences and addressing disputes. The failure of the new government to provide for its people sparked the rise of Siad Barre, though within ten years after his coup, Somalis in both the northwest and the northeast organized resistance to him. After Barre’s departure, the northwestern Somalis’ ability to rebuild their lives based on a model from past generations was not, after all, surprising. From a political culture perspective, the eventual emergence of Puntland was also not unpredictable considering the Puntland Somalis’ own appreciable autonomy, with limited interference in their lives, for much of the nineteenth century. With a remarkable capacity for being both resourceful and industrious within a bleak landscape and without the use of slaves, their starting point at the beginning of the nineteenth century was to exploit whatever they could access, from distribution of shipwreck loot to harvesting acacia trees in rock crevices to the grazing of livestock and more. As in other environments where life is fragile and survival is difficult, their tenuous subsistence lifestyle could only function in an atmosphere of pragmatic cooperation and restrained infighting. However, this centuries-old adaptation to the environment was interrupted when the port of Aden, just one day’s sailing across the Gulf of Aden, became a British fueling station and garrison in 1839. Within a few short years, the resourceful and industrious northeastern Somali clans placed their energies into providing for Aden, but under the export demands created by their leadership it was done with abandon, eventually destroying the carefully balanced way of life they had developed over the centuries. Land once widely accessible became a precious commodity to be seized and paid for or fought over, whether it was used for grazing thousands of livestock for live export and skins or was simply the location of acacia trees. As the environment became increasingly overstretched and abused in all ways, social and economic changes came as well. By the late 1860s the cycle of drought and famine, accompanied by unprecedented levels of violent conflict among the clans, completely took hold for about twelve long years. Life in the northeast corner was now substantively as different from the northwest as it was from the south. Buckling under the environmental strains that commercial interests had exacted on its resources, it enjoyed none of the relative bustling commercial and political autonomy of their neighbours

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to the west, and yet shared little with the south, which was still living under Zanzibar’s thumb, increasingly embedded in a slave-based economy. Moreover, the period from 1840 to 1880 saw a complete departure from the centuries of survival tactics that had gone before, an aberration from long generations of adaptive Somali living. There was some return to a less ambitious and less contentious atmosphere following a questionable peace conference in 1880, but there was never a complete return to resourceful subsistence living – after all, not only their immediate environment but the world around them had substantively changed, the latter often upon their doorstep. To a degree, some balance returned to their lives and trade continued, though during the 1890s some clan leaders in the northeast signed agreements of Italian “protection.” However, until the 1920s the Italians had limited interest in the northeast, as it had little to offer in terms of resources or geography. As a result, for several decades the Somalis here enjoyed a level of limited Italian rule that did not exist in the south, and with a limited hierarchy that only existed among themselves. There were complications and some conflict with Mohammad Abdul Hassan’s efforts to infiltrate the area and demand allegiance, as well as his erratic relationship with the Italians. In spite of these debilitating influences, however, some restricted semblance of autonomy and reduced hierarchy was still apparent in their lives. They continued to live in a middling zone of autonomy/coercion and equality/hierarchy for several decades from the late nineteenth to early twentieth century. This changed somewhat in 1923 when Italian Facism arrived in the northeast, and it was decided that the northeastern Somalis should be disarmed. Organized resistance took place initially, but resistance soon proved futile when Italy occupied the northeast in 1925. Although the northeast was under Fascist control until 1941, Fascist presence was not as intense when compared to the active colonization of the south, and the Somalis continued to experience the fragmented autonomy and hierarchy they had been living with previously. From the onset of the interim period and thereafter, the happenstance of the northeast’s relative remoteness kept them out of the immediate orbit of more harsh influences from the southern political environment. The departure of the Facists reduced the hierarchy and coercion the northeast had been living under, thus encouraging an increase in autonomy, a link to the very autonomy they exhibit today. The nineteenth century in southern Somalia was one of internal conflicts and external intrusions, the former among the Somalis themselves and the latter taking a range of forms, from Zanzibar’s

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attempts to keep Mogadishu and environs under its thumb to Arab and Indian merchants dominating the lucrative port trade. In such a controlling and restrictive atmosphere, it is difficult to find many glimmers of autonomy or any sense of equality within the first half of the century, which brought widespread instability, both man-made and naturally occurring, and a fast-growing slave culture serving as the backdrop. The trauma of the first half of the century was very tangible, and recalls Pye’s reference to how a change in political culture “involves true trauma.” It is a trauma that should not be underestimated, and in terms of its impact on a developing political culture, the Somalis in the south were certainly not off to a promising start. Even at this early stage, the fundamental differences in political or pre-political culture conditions of the northern and southern Somalis were significant. Problems among the southern clans were often significant and extensive, and almost as often solved with open conflict. With trade and commerce along the coast monopolized by Zanzibar Arabs and Indian merchants, the only involvement most southern Somalis had with practicing the skills and habits of the marketplace was in a somewhat diminished capacity along the inland caravan routes and in the running of small enterprises in the towns. It should be kept in mind that the caravans in the south were not enroute to markets similar to the great and lively spectacles of the northern coastline, but rather to more modest and controlled versions of them along the Indian Ocean coast, so minor that there is little mention of them at all. In spite of Mogadishu’s predicted demise and a host of almost extraordinary and relentless internal conflict, the south began to gain strength towards the middle of the century as exports of their agricultural products increased. In order to meet the export demand, their agricultural yield needed to increase as did the number of slaves working the land, thus further entrenching the hierarchical context that was already in place. The slave trade was very active in these markets, and notably so as imports, not exports. Slavery increased dramatically as the nineteenth century wore on and agricultural development increased, particularly since the Somalis of the south felt manual labor was beneath them and should only be done by slaves. In this environment, slavery was the embodiment of coercion and hierarchy, both of which flourished and were ever-present. After the Berlin Conference, life changed rapidly for the Somalis of the south as the colonial period progressed, and it did so in a range of ways. In spite of Filonardi’s initial but brief positive start, as time wore on and Italy became more entrenched in southern Somalia, even more restrictions and oppression took an even stronger foothold. Along the

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coast, trade was increasingly controlled by Italy and the Benadir Company, which were continually and publicly faulted for their lax attitude towards slavery. Mohammad Abdul Hassan’s campaign no doubt appealed to some, but it came with strident demands that threatened what limited autonomy the Somalis had, amounting to yet another source of coercion and hierarchy. When Fascist ideology later began to prevail, this was even more the case, and despite possible economic benefits for a small number of Somalis, the future, particularly the political future, looked quite bleak. Although it can be claimed that the lack of open resistance to Italian rule was evidence of Italian leniency in applying the more punitive laws, and thus life for the Somalis was better than it appeared, it is also likely that there simply was no opportunity for collaborating and then organizing and carrying out any sustained open resistance. The apartheid-like system established and then maintained by speculators, the government, and then the Fascists was fast-approaching the epitome of a coercive and hierarchical environment. It was a system that by its very design did not allow room for dissent of any kind and encouraged division among the Somalis, resulting in it being impossible on the part of most Somalis to change their lives for the better. It is here that the influence of Muhammad Abdul Hassan seems to have been a saving grace, as his twenty-year opposition to any foreign presence remained alive within the Somali mindset, and would be remembered in years to come. In 1941, the changes that accompanied the departure of the Italians and the arrival of the British must have seemed for many Somalis to be a turning of the night into day. The interim period arrived with sudden encouragement and support to organize politically, to voice political aims, to walk away from the extremes of coercion and hierarchy they had lived with for so long. After decades – indeed, more than a generation – of living under increasingly oppressive rule, within days the lives of the southern Somalis had completely and utterly changed. Even though there were those who remembered what life had been like before Italian colonization, there were also many who had grown up in the midst of the Italian presence and never known anything else. Both older and younger Somalis became involved in the new political processes at a time when clan culture had begun to show signs of decline. And as the trusteeship period approached, southern Somalia was bustling with political change. The interim period was worryingly punctuated with violent flareups, as well. This conflictual trend and other irregularities continued into the trusteeship period beginning in 1950 and carried through to independence and into the birth of the state. Looking back on the trends

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of the previous nineteen years and then the experiences learned from the decades before that, it is difficult to find any sign of a culture that was experiencing any of the hard or even practical lessons of self-rule. Despite formal unification from 1960 onwards, small fissures began to appear almost immediately, and these proved to be at least partly emblematic of long-term divisions and not just predictable or simple problems in the unification process. Consequently, the brevity of the Somali Republic’s fragile life before Barre hardly comes as a surprise. And Barre’s dictatorship contributed little in providing the people with skills for self-government, except what skills were needed to organize opposition to him. Taking this into consideration, the circumstances of the south’s post-Barre years are not unexpected, with the more unfortunate habits, attitudes, and practices of the past re-emerging. Overall, the three territories experienced quite different histories and thus political histories from at least the early nineteenth century. Assumptions about homogeneity, of shared experience and common culture serve little purpose when considering the different paths taken. Although clan culture was a constant throughout and was leaned on when needed, it was not uniform, and its regional and local variants were prone to change as the political environment changed. This all became apparent after 1960. A Comparative View

In looking back at the north and south over a two-hundred-year-period, it is difficult to find many shared intervals of widespread cooperation, common ethos, and common experience, the foundations of a shared political culture. Moreover, the regions could be argued to be as different from each other today as they were fifty, one hundred, and even two hundred years ago. With that in mind, it would be illogical to expect their political cultures to have much parity. Of course, grounding this exploration in the concept of political culture has not been without problems. Like any popular concept, it became at various times misused and overused, diluted and disparaged, so any discussion involving the concept must be clear about how it is to be used. For the present investigation, it especially needed to be theoretically grounded and systematically explored. To that end, I adopted Pye’s themes of equality/hierarchy and liberty/coercion as indicators or markers of political culture. Looking for continuity or patterns over time and using Diamond’s idea of political culture leaving sedimentary deposits also has been important.2 I sought indications of the paired themes over time within the three cases.

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A study of the precolonial period revealed that three distinct sets of circumstances and three distinct political or perhaps pre-political cultures can be characterized quite independently from each other. The northwest experienced about eighty years of being more or less consistently left alone to organize the great coastal markets and the commerce that supported them. During those same eighty years, the northeast literally leaped from forty years of a modest and unique subsistence economy and equally modest commerce to forty years of rapid changes with disastrous consequences. Although they recovered, times had changed and there was more of an adaptation of their former way of life than a return to it. As for the south, those eighty years saw constant adversity, and it would be difficult to find a four-or five-year period where trauma of one kind or another did not affect the majority of the people. With the northwest characterized by conditions of relative autonomy as well as limited hierarchy, the early decades in the northeast were slightly different, the resourcefulness in developing a carefully balanced subsistence economy divulging a different kind of autonomy and a pragmatic, clan-based hierarchy. Once trade with the outside world dramatically expanded after 1840, the resultant environmental and conflictual problems were accompanied by a more coercive and hierarchical shift as well. The northwest, however, more or less continued as it had been. The south stood in sharp contrast to both northern areas throughout the nineteenth century, existing in a state of almost constant coercion, both external and internal, as well as repeated attempts to control them; limited access to port trade and commerce; and periodic environmental adversity. Slavery was widespread and contributed to the hierarchy of the south. During the colonial era, the continuation of three distinct sets of circumstances and three emergent but distinct political cultures occurred in each of the cases. The regions all clearly experienced changes in context as they moved from one era to the next, but in terms of political culture, they all appeared to be continuing on the same respective paths they were already on. The northwest, for example, with a relatively uninterrupted century of autonomous enterprise and coordinated efforts behind it, now entered a period of limited governing and political structure by the British; the Somalis there were affected by that change, yet at the same time left to themselves to a large degree. From continued commerce at the ports to positions as civil servants, and from having a role in Akil Courts to serving in the Camel Corps, a new era was at hand. Reflected both in their British Somaliland and in their expressing their grievances against their British administrators, this period can be seen as a furthering of their political capacities. Albeit not ideal and

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hardly acceptable in contemporary terms, it nevertheless was a time that took them a step closer towards self-rule. The northeast initially experienced several decades of sporadic internal cohesion in addition to external demands and provocations. The final twenty years of Facist rule in the northeast were somewhat mitigated by the region’s relative remoteness and lack of resources; it had little to offer and therefore was of limited interest to the Italians. Overall, the self-reliance, resourcefulness and entrepreneurial spirit of the northeast Somalis were never so great that they could overcome any formidable obstacles that came their way, but neither were these qualities so fragile that they did not survive to repeatedly resurface and guide them through their troubles. This forwarding of the past into the next era also can be seen in the south, where coercion, conflict, and deeply entrenched hierarchies were first only magnified by the colonial designs of individual Italians and the Italian government, and then exacerbated by the rise of Italian Facism, with a heavy reliance on slaves throughout. While autonomy and decreasing hierarchy predominated in the northwest, and a rather weak autonomy and decreasing hierarchy ran as an undercurrent in the northeast, the south was steeped in coercive rule and a growing hierarchy. For the south, the precolonial and colonial periods together represent about one hundred and forty years of what boils down to almost unbroken trends of coercion and life at the bottom rungs of the hierarchical ladder. The continuity of these patterns held for more than three generations. It was a continuity of traumas, including the slow demise of their own indigenous political ordering and practices. During the trusteeship era, some of the galloping political developments taking place in the south were disturbing, and stood out in comparison to the politically dull, gray plodding northwest and the detached stasis of the northeast. Considering the south’s coercive actions and at times violent outbreaks, it is remarkable that documented warnings clearly expressed at the time went completely unheeded. The constant uncertainties of the largest political party and the range of accusations made against it could of course have been understood as growing pains typical of any nascent political group; but when these resulted in three political parties boycotting the final general election before statehood, no guidance was given nor action taken. These sorts of events did little to contribute to a healthy political future and a healthy political climate, and in fact threatened it. Nevertheless, statehood and unification went ahead as planned in 1960. Given the nature of the shortcomings of the previous twenty years and the irregularities of the birthing of the new state, the failure of the

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Somali Republic is not surprising. Although the Somalis of the south had become quite politicized, it did not appear that the skills necessary for self-rule had been sufficiently developed; becoming heavily politicized in a short span of time was not equivalent to being functionally autonomous. There was an irony to the accelerated, perhaps over-enthusiastic politicization of the south, and the reluctant, piecemeal, protracted politicization of the northwest. Those who came to power in the south did not seem sufficiently cognizant of what was upon them, while those in northwest had the advantage of a long history – an unbroken chain – of varying degrees of autonomy, with a social and political legacy which seemed to provide them with a foundational safety net. In the south, damage and trauma had been inflicted on the population, robbing them of benefits that might have accrued from a less turbulent past. After Siad Barre came to power in 1969, these northsouth differences became even more apparent as the next twenty years proceeded. It is important to keep in mind that the period from formal preparation for statehood in 1950 to the dissolution of the state in 1991 was very brief, especially if compared with the colonial or precolonial periods, which together total about 140 years. In just over forty years, profound social and political changes took place, and the southern Somalis in particular experienced a continuation of past insecurities and uncertainties, and a relatively unbroken chain of disruptions to their lives. The first part of these forty years comprised the groundwork laid for independence by the trusteeship system (1950-1960), and the following two intervals consist of the years when Somalia was recognized and acted as an independent and sovereign state under two separate regimes: 1960 -1969 and 1970-1991. Somalia experienced only nine years as a fledgling democracy and then twenty-two years of autocratic rule under Siad Barre. With that in mind, it is little wonder that Siad Barre was able to successfully come to power in 1969, and with Barre’s prompting, little wonder still that within ten years, the very different experiences between north and south would begin to resurface (if indeed they had ever really submerged at all). In 1988, Barre’s bombing of Hargeisa marked an important turning point from which, for the people in the north, there was no turning back. Once Barre was no longer in power, the north and south appeared to have picked up where they last left off: intense power struggles in the south, and, with some growing pains, a rather moderate return to the habit of autonomous politics in the north. The skills learned over many generations – communication, negotiation and compromise, and delegation – were still in the memory of many in the north, and they

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simply set about reapplying them. Those in the northeast, though with not as deep an experience with those skills, set about trying to do much the same. They tried and failed several times, but they always regrouped to try again, never resorting to the extremes of the south. Certainly, to note these political culture themes or markers does not at all imply that people are prisoners of their past. Rather, I agree that, as a result of understanding these patterns, some that are destructive be avoided or transformed and others that are beneficial can be fostered and encouraged. In viewing the path of political culture themes this way, one finds some interesting implications for both future considerations of political culture and future discussions on the three Somalias. Implications of Political Culture

Of course, a historical political culture approach is not at all intended to provide a singular explantion for contemporary events, but instead should be considered along with other contributing factors. The legacy of political culture extends or expands what is already known, and so works in tandem with other explanations. It does is not lend support to historical determinism, but rather contributes to a more informed understanding, which in turn can lead to more meaningful policy decision making in the areas of of foreign policy and development aid. A more informed understanding of Somalia through a historical political culture approach identifies the roots of actions in which the three territories are engaged today. It lends credence to Diamond’s ideas on political culture’s sedimentary layering, and suggests that when George refers to “patterns of behavior through time,” he might just as well be referring to layers of patterns - political culture patterns through time. Returning to an earlier point, it would be simplistic to jump to the conclusion that historically tracing political culture means that a people cannot escape their history and that history only repeats itself. If such a line of thought is followed, then the southern region is condemned to eternal conflict and the north as a whole is destined to autonomy and successful commerce. However, this is a leap, and it is not the political culture argument. When interpreting and understanding the present and future through a political culture approach, one would look for indications of opportunities or conditions for the continuation of such political culture development in the north. In the south, the focus would be on an analysis of the current conditions in the south, the likelihood of their continuation, and weaknesses or openings in their political culture that would create opportunities for an alternate political culture to

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develop. This last point is made since it is clear that in the south there has been a predominance of the more negative political culture indicators – hierarchy and coercion – for the better part of two centuries, and so there has not been a sufficiently sizable, strong, observable, or dormant alternate political culture that has been able to rise and predominate over the current long-standing one, even with multiple and varied attempts with significant external assistance. This leads to considerations on the utility of external assistance and if it should have any role at all. Walls and Kibble offer some thoughts on the matter in regard to Somaliland: Looking again at Somaliland, they have indeed achieved much in building on local initiative and resources. Conversely, it is hard to argue that external interventions in the south have served as anything other than a cumulatively malign influence over the long term. But it is not sufficient to conclude that ‘Somalis will succeed if only they are left to themselves’. Reality is far more complex and nuanced than formalistic readings allow. In reality external intervention has, on occasion, achieved significant success in breaking through roadblocks where local negotiations have stalled. In fact, Somali custom explicitly creates space in which outsiders may assume constructive roles, with such activities periodically playing a decisive part in resolving significant difficulties. Indeed, it is notable that, as successful as they have been, the indigenous patterns that provided the basis for both Puntland’s and Somaliland’s achievements remain incomplete and, despite mythologies to the contrary, continue to rely on external inputs from both non-Somali and diasporic agents.3

This does not negate the influential undercurrent of positive and quite indigenous commerical developments in the south that have been tenaciously appearing and reappearing along with efforts to form a lasting government. However, it does suggest that continued and expanded contextual opportunities for further growth must be more actively fostered in order for this undercurrent political culture to further emerge and predominate. Put another way, a new government and hence a new and predominant political culture in southern Somalia can be built on a previously existing sub-culture that managed to survive but that rarely or never prevailed. Considering contextual conditions can help reveal just how durable or entrenched certain patterns of behavior through time really are, especially regarding which conditions tend to coincide with autonomy and equality, as opposed to those that coincide with coercion and hierarchy. The contextual conditions that have long been associated with and helped to sustain any residual culture of violence can intentionally be weakened. Although efforts may be put in

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place to foster forms of autonomy and equality, for example, the contextual conditions might still be leaning more towards fostering coercion and hierarchy. And in terms of promoting autonomy, a group of small business owners wanting to form a special interest group to represent them in political matters cannot do so if forming such groups is discouraged, or if there is no way to register such a group, or if or registering such a group is prohibitively costly. The same holds true for promoting equality, no matter if it involves discriminatory laws or tacit acceptance of exclusionary practices and cultural custom. There is also something to be said about proportionality between the longevity of predominating political culture patterns as opposed to the longevity of the adverse contexts: that although contexts can and do change over time, dominant political culture patterns are more likely to survive adverse contexts and re-emerge in spite of countering conditions, almost as if they have been in hibernation. The extent to which those political culture patterns remain dormant, dominant, or at the surface level are proportionate to the intensity and durability of an adverse context. Identifying and characterizing dominant versus minor or secondary political culture patterns also holds implications in assessing some conflicts and their management or resolution. For example, the tendency to perceive conflict and solutions to conflict as purely contemporary problems with contemporary remedies is worth reconsidering. This is not only because some conflicts have their roots in past injuries and injustices, but also because the nature of any reflexive reactions to those injuries and injustices are a reflection of the political culture of the time and are just as important to know as the nature of the injuries themselves. Although there is an understandable aversion to examining the past since doing so is likely to reopen old wounds and point fingers of blame, a systematic historical look back would also reveal the length and depth of the problem and contribute to more informed strategies for the present. Just as a doctor needs to know the medical history of a patient, so the political culture history provides a window into the political past. In conflict situations, knowing previously attempted strategies and treatments – which ones failed and which ones had nearsuccess – and grasping the political culture context of the time can be revealing. Knowing, for example, when the near-successful attempts took place, as well as when there were periods without open conflict, could foster a better understanding of the nature of political culture at those times and their strategies for encouraging or recreating those contexts. This is especially applicable and important in cases where traumas of the past still play a role in a people’s daily life and overall culture. In the case of former British Somaliland, the combination of the

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limited interest and involvement of the British and the pastoral lifestyle of the majority of the Somalis might have paved the way for the people as a whole to further develop their own mechanisms for cooperation; this offers some ideas about the important role of indigenous resources and capabilities. Returning to the influence and involvement of outside assistance, having a grasp of indigenous resources and capabilities can figure into policy decision-making. The nature of aid that is offered, as well as the amount of it, the length of time it is made available, and how it is made available can all be strongly influenced by grasping the strengths and weaknesses of a people’s past and present political culture. Likewise, being able to identify that a state has a burgeoning political culture of equality among the general populace, but a political sub-culture of elites that maintains formal hierarchical institutions within a coercive atmosphere, will result in diplomatic and policy considerations far different from those involved when dealing with a state in which there are clear signs of increasing autonomy and equality within most of its primary political culture and political sub-cultures. Knowing that the political culture of a significant amount of the general populace is not developed enough or has not been in place long enough to initiate a change in government nor stand up to repression from a ruling elite can go a long way in determining what next steps to take, be it in the form of direct development aid, contribution to peace-keeping forces, refugee policy, or formal diplomatic relations. This is just the beginning of trying to grasp the nature of the unique political culture that has resulted in the remarkable territories of Somaliland and Puntland. As we look back over time, it is clear that in the south there was never really any length of time that it was a highfunctioning, non-coercive state. To not see that is to discount the past there, to overlook how it has been a sort of epicenter of violent coercion and encompassing hierarchy. This does not mean that nothing positive at all has survived, but it does mean that it is not the positive that has predominated. Overall, the Somalis in southern Somalia lived for decades under conditions of extreme coercion and perhaps ultimate hierarchy, while the Somalis in British Somaliland and northeastern Italian Somaliland experienced significantly lessened degrees of coercion and hierarchy. Admittedly this is only painting wide brush strokes and offering general impressions, but it can also be said that this more panoramic view serves a purpose. Although the end of the colonial era and the years running up to independence can be understood as one of slight changes in the composition of Somali political culture development, it is also possible

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that independence itself might be understood as a type of trauma, with the subsequent abuses of the new government and the assassination of the president considered as part of that trauma. Barre’s military coup, his internal security measures, the failed attempt to reclaim the Ogaden, and the devastating famines and droughts all clearly were assaults on the Somali people. The post-Barre conflicts between the militia groups can also be seen as trauma, for the proportions and intensity of it are unprecedented in Somali history. The reasons for differences between the north and south might have changed with time, but the fact that there have been differences at all is what matters – and these differences seemed to hold over from the previous period, which were held over from the period before that, and then the period before that. This leads to speculation about the current development of political culture in Somaliland and Puntland. If what they are doing now is only what they have been doing for almost two centuries, but in a modern context, could the key difference between “then” and “now” be that they finally are able, with no infringements, to practice something they have been capable of all along? Of course, perhaps the self-government they are practicing now is the result of a political maturity that has slowly been building. Barring any serious and extended traumas and based on the past twenty years or even past two hundred years, there is a good argument in claiming that, unless some significant change or trauma takes place, they will continue on the same path as they have been. Despite whatever shortcomings Somaliland or Puntland might have, those with an interest in political culture would do well to consider the two as models to examine and possibly follow, for their combined outlook is encouraging. It is interesting, for example, that neither al-Shabaab nor ISIS have managed to gain much of a toehold in either place. Although there is some al-Shabaab presence in Burao, Somaliland, al-Shabaab’s extreme interpretation of Islam does not “resonate with most Somalilanders.”4 In regard to the south, how can a political culture approach speak to the continuous violence, the numerous failed peace negotiations, the many efforts at establishing a new government, the once wellentrenched warlord economy, and indeed, despite repeated democratic attempts, warlord or al-Shabaab politics? A political culture approach certainly does not have the ability to instantly remedy all these problems, but it can contribute to a deeper understanding of them. From there, a reasonable prediction can be made about the future, and that would be a future with continued attempts at coercive rule by one group or another and a growing opposition to such rule – the latter being the vestiges of a political subculture which has survived through time but

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never prevailed. As mentioned earlier, how to foster conditions for the rise of such opposition and simultaneously the decline of more coercive elements could be informed by a political culture approach. The most recent sedimentary layer of political culture in southern Somalia is a very thin one, a fragile layer struggling against previous particularly coercive layers. These coercive layers stand in contrast not only to circumstances in the north today, but also to its own past. At the time of this writing, Somaliland and Puntland, in the midst of all their imperfections, have seen more stability and less violence since 1991 than they have since independence in 1960. In contrast, no matter the degree to which coercion and hierarchy predominated in the south historically, none of it ever led to to the extremes of violence carried out in the past twenty-three years. The present imperative is to continue to foster the thin, fragile sedimentary layer that has begun to accrue, and to do so in the widest range of ways possible. This must be done to prevent the aberrant extreme from gaining more ground and becoming an unprecedented and particularly entrenched form of Somali political culture.

Notes 1

Englebert, “Pre-Colonial Institution,” p. 13; there is some theoretical linkage between this political culture approach and Englebert’s work on accounting for underdevelopment in the form of poor governance and weak state capacity in some African states. 2 Geshekter also stresses the importance of noting historical breaks, transitions, and continuities; p. 3. 3 Walls and Kibble, pp. 1-2. 4 Somaliland Security, p. 22.

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Index

Berbera, 10, 14, 47-58, 63, 69, 73, 97-98, 100-101, 109, 109, 114116, 120, 122, 155, 169, 182 Berlin Conference, 8, 62, 93, 95, 100, 111, 132, 145-146 Besteman, Catherine, 73, 80, 161 (n58) Bevin, Ernest, 166 Biimaal clan, 74, 139-141 black ivory, 70, 73 Bogor, Herzi, 156-157 Bosasso, 55, 61, 154-155 Boutros-Ghali, Boutros, 14 BRAC (Bari Region Administrative Council), 17-19 British administration, personnel, 97, 112, 120, 125 (n 5), 181-182 British Colonial Office, 102-104, 170, 175, 180, 182 British East Africa Company, 143 British stagnation policy, 97, 113, 115, 168, 170 Bulhar, 57, 94, 98, 100-101, 103, 109, 112, 114 Burao, 10-12, 116, 120, 182, Burton, Sir Richard, 34 (n19), 45-47, 56, 99 cadis, 143-144 Camel Corps, 95, 104, 117-118, 120, 122, 173, 182 Cape Guardafui, 47, 59, 62, 156 capital/corporal punishment, 118-119 caravan trade, 44, 48-51, 53, 54, 57, 63-66, 70, 72, 75, 99, 101, 109, 111, 123, 137, 155, 171, 207 Cecchi, Antonio, 70, 137 Chiesi, Gustavo (with Travelli, Gustavo), 145-146, 148 China, 13-14

Abaan, 54, 63, 72, 77-78, 84(n53), 96, 202 acacia trees, 61, 205 Aden, 45-46, 48, 49, 52, 57, 60-61, 94, 96, 120, 155, 171, 205; population, 60 Aden, Gulf of, 8, 15, 43, 45-46, 52, 55, 205 Adowa, 138 Africa Orientale Italiana, 152 African Union (AU), 14, 23 agriculture, 59-60, 70, 73, 80, 114, 136, 142-144, 148, 151, 162 (n 77), 170, 181, 186 agricultural labor, 60, 69-70, 73-74, 139, 141, 146-150, 153 agro-pastoralism, 63, 144, 181 akil courts, 124, 172, 210 akils, 102, 103, 114-115, 172 Alpers, E. A., 63, 75-76, 79 Al-Qaeda, 23 al-Shabaab, 23, 25, 111, 217 Annan, Kofi, 14 autonomy, 31, 48-50, 77-80, 93-94, 96, 97, 104, 106, 111-112, 121124, 137, 141, 153, 157-158, 166, 193-195, 203-208, 210-215; understood as, 28 Bahadir clan, 154, 162 (n95) Bagaren clan, 154, 162 (n95) Baraawe, 63, 66, 68, 73 Bardera jihad, 66-69, 79 Barghash bin Said (Sayyid Barghash),134 Barre, Siad, 10-11, 16-17, 19, 21-22, 24, 31-32, 190-192, 195, 205, 209, 212, 217 Benaadir Chartered Society, 146 Benaadir, 63-66, 68, 69, 74-75, 131, 134-135, 139, 145

231

232

Index

Christian missionaries, 44, 101, 104105, 116, 168 citizens, vs native individual / subjects, 142, 152 civil servants, Somali, 117, 167, 170171, 175, 181, 186, 193, 210 clan culture, overview, 4-7; influence of, 5, 10, 30, 123, 181, 183, 208-209 clubs (associations), 116-117, 120, 122, 166-167, 174, 178-179, 189, 203 coercion, 28, 29, 78-81, 122-123, 134, 157-158, 181, 195, 204, 206211, 214-216, 218 colonia system, 149 concessionaires / concessions, 134, 140-141, 147-148, 150-151 constitutions, 12, 31, 184, 187-188, 190, 195, 205 courts, 114, 122, 134, 172-173. See also Akil Courts crime, 102, 118, 143, 147, 172 Darod clan, 5, 17 Decree 2096, 144 De Vecchi, Cessare Maria, 148-150, 155-156 dervishes, 100, 105-106, 109, 139, 159 development aid, 13-14, 213 Diamond, Larry, 26-27, 201, 209, 213 Digil clan, 5, 41 (n133) dillaal, 53, 77 Dir clan, 5, 11, 34 (n19), 35 (n33) disarming Somalis, 120-121, 156157, 206 Dishiishe clan, 154, 162 (n95) District Advisory Councils, 184-185 Djama, Marcel, 49 drought, 59, 61-62, 66-67, 74, 79, 109, 111, 113-114, 116, 122, 131, 172, 182, 190, 205, 217 Dulbahante clan, 58, 62, 126 (n46), 127 (n71) education, 12, 22-23, 25, 14, 115116, 120, 150, 168-170, 177, 180182, 185-186, 190-191 Egyptian presence, 47, 56-57, 83 (n 44), 94, 102 El Bur incident, 156

elections, 3, 10-12, 19, 178, 181, 186-189, 191, 195, 211 employment, 16, 18, 54, 151-152, 168, 171, 181 environment; 22, 61-62, 79, 114, 122, 202, 205, 210 equality, 28, 76, 78, 80, 104, 121124, 137, 158, 181, 193-195, 203, 206-207, 209, 214-216 Ethiopia, 23, 50, 53, 72, 75, 91, 93, 99-101, 105, 108-110, 112, 117118, 120, 131-133, 138, 143, 151152, 175, 181, 183, 192 European Union (EU), 18 expenditure on protectorate, export quantities, exports, 18, 49-70, 74-81, 93, 98, 100-101, 103, 109, 111-114, 120, 146, 155, 172, 185, 202 famine, 24, 59, 61-62, 66, 74, 79, 99, 109, 111, 114, 116, 122, 131, 135, 182, 190, 205, 217 Fascism, Fascists, 133, 148, 150, 152, 158, 180, 183, 185, 193, 206, 208 Federal Government of Somalia (FGS), 1, 17, 23-25 Filonardi Society, 134 Filonardi, Vincenzo, 134-138, 140, 142, 207 forbidden relations, Italy, 150, 152 forced marriage, 149 Four Powers Commission, 10, 166, 178, 183 Gadabursi clan, 84 (n53), 97 Geledi, 68, 69, 79 Geledi, sultan of. See Muhammad, Yusuf) General Act of Brussels, 145-146 Geshekter, Charles, 120, 171, 173, 196 (n 10), 197 (n 26) gurti, 7 Haarti clan, 62, 58 Habr Awal/Owul clan, 83 (n45), 84 (n53), 84 (n69), 97, 126 (n46) Habr Gedir clan, 156 Habr Gerhajis clan, 95, 97, 126 (n46) Habr Toljaala clan, 84 (n53), 97, 126 (n46), 189 Harar, 55, 99-101

Index 233

Hargeisa, 10, 14, 99, 116, 120, 192, 212 Hassan, Mohamed Abdullah; 91, 93, 110, 100-116, 122-124, 133, 136, 139, 154, 159, 168, 177, 193, 203-204, 208 Haud, 100-101, 105, 109, 171, 183 Hawiye clan, 5, 156 health care, 12, 22-23, 170-171, 176 hierarchy, 28-29, 78, 80, 123, 143, 157-158, 193-195, 203-204, 206211, 214-216, 218 illaloe, 129 (n 120), 173 imprisonment, See prison indentured labor/serfdom,146-147, 149 independence, 10, 32, 165-168, 173, 175, 181, 184, 186-191, 199 (n 105), 204-205, 208, 212, 218 Indian merchants, 48, ,50, 53, 61, 64, 70, 79, 98, 104, 131, 207 Institute of Social Science, Law and Economics, 186 international commerce, 48, 53, 55, 65 Isa clan, 95, 97, 99 Isaaq clan, 5, 11, 34 (n11), 107, 117, 188, 189 Islam, 5-6, 22, 25, 30, 44, 63, 66, 71, 93, 99, 105, 106, 108, 110, 112, 115, 133, 168, 186, 217; Qadiriyya Islam, 97, 105; Salihiyya Islam, 105, 106, 108; and slavery, 71-74 Islamic Courts Union (ICU), 23 Italian colonial law, 143-144; race laws,152-153. See also Treaties Italo-Ethiopian War, 152 Jiddah, 55 Jijiga, 100, 105, 110 Kismayu, 62, 65, 75, 148, 176 labor-intensive products, 55, 69, 70, 76. 78, 100, 11, 113, 155 Lafoole Massacre, 138 Laitin, David (with Said Samatar), 62 (n 92), S., 6, 99, 153, 177, 189, 199 (n 105, 107), 200 (n, 112) Lamu, 62, 68, 75 land, 70, 134-139, 141-142, 144

land laws; Law No. 161 of 1908, 141; Royal Decree No. 695, 142-143 Legislative Assembly, 187 Legislative Council, 174-175, 184, 188-189, 199(n 105) Lewis, I. M., 7, 46, 49, 99, 153, 184 liberty. See autonomy Lij Iyasu, 110 literacy, 10, 141, 186, 191 Luling, 71, 74, 76, 151 Luuq (Lugh), 66, 73, 137, 145 Mahmud, Osman, 154, 156-157 Majeerteen clan, 18-19, 49-51, 57-62, 95, 104, 134, 153-157, 192 Mareehaun clan, 58 Mary Anne, 51-52 Menelik, 99, 110 Menkhaus, 20, 25 Merka 63, 68, 136, 139, 151 Mirifle clan, 5, 41 (n133) missionaries, 44, 101, 105-106, 116, 126 (n117) Mogadishu, 8, 10, 17-18, 21-24, 35 (n 22), 43, 44, 63-69, 185-186, 192, 207; divided, 67, 135; population of, 76, 145, 148, 176 Mohammed, Jama, 182 money transfer, 13, 24-25 Mossyllum, 44 motor vehicles, 119, 151-152, 171, 173 Muhammad, Yusuf, 67-68, 86 (n129) National Assembly, 191 National Security Service, 191 National United Front, 167, 183, 188 National Security Court, 191 National Security Law, 191 natural resources, 92, 122, 141, 170 Nogal, 93, 102, 126 (n47), 139, 154157 northeast, precolonial, 58-62 northwest, precolonial, 46-58 Obbia, 104, 108, 134, 153-154, 156 Ogaden, 43, 81 (n 3), 99-101, 105, 110, 133, 152, 168, 171, 175 oil, 15, 21 Omani Arabs, 43, 64-65, 67, 70, 131 Onor, Romolo, 140 Oromo, 75, 88 (n165), 99, 144 Osmania, 141, 152

234

Index

pastoralism, 57, 59, 146, 152, 170, 174, 181,193-194, 197 (n44) piracy, 3, 17, 20, 23-24 political culture, 24- 31; geological layers, 27; as process, 27; indicators, 28-29; understood as, 26; See also trauma political parties, 166, 178, 181-188 population discrepancies, 17 (n70), 21 (n85, 87), 31-32, 190 Portuguese, 8, 44, 82 (n10) poverty, 65, 102, 122, 138, 154-155 prison, 115, 118-119, 138, 145-146, 152, 176, 192 Protectorate Advisory Council, 172, 174 Provisional Regulations, 1895, 139, 142 Puntland (contemporary), 16-21 Putnam, Robert, 26, 29 Pye, Lucien, 27-28, 79, 207, 209 Qadiriyya. See Islam qadis, 115, 172 Qardho, 19 Ras Tafari, 110 relief centers, 114, 116, 122, 172, 182 rentiers, 60 Reserved Area, 100, 183 resistance, 16, 103, 106, 112, 129 (n114), 132, 137-139, 141, 147, 153, 156-159, 160 (n29), 168, 203, 205-206, 208 rinderpest, 96, 125 (n 14), 131 Royal Italian Government, 135 Salihiyya. See Islam Samatar, Abdi, 24 Samatar, Ahmed I., 7, 27-28, 113 Samatar, Said, See Laitin, David Saudi Arabia/Arabia, 5, 18, 59, 69, 74 sawaaq, 96, 111 Sayyid Said, 47, 68, School of Political and Administrative Preparation, 186 schools, See education scientific socialism, 10, 191 self-rule, 7, 31, 117, 122, 167-168, 204, 209, 211-212 Sharia, 22, 34 (n 13), 71, 114-115 Shidle tribe, 151

Shingaani, 67, 135 shipwreck economy, 59, 62, 205 shir,7 Shirmarke (Sharmarke), Haji, 51-52, 83 (n 44) slavery/slaves: agriculture, 70, 72-74, 138; anti-slavery, communities, 144, 147; cruelty, 145-147, 149150, 157; demise of slave trade, 8, 45, 56-57, 73-74, 94, 138-139, 141, 146, 148-149; exports, 50, 53-55, 64; manumission, 139, 146-147; markets, 50, 53-55, 145; numbers / populations, 50, 75-76, 145; slave trade, 50, 53-55, 60, 64-65, 71-73, 75, 80, 145; urban, 74, 145, 147; See also indentured labor; Islam and slavery; treaties; women Societa Agricola Italo-Somala (SAIS), 148, 150-151 Somali attitudes, 147, 173-174, 207 Somali culture overview, 4-7 Somali Legislative Council, 175 Somali/Somaliland National League, 167, 173 Somali National Movement, 11, 192 Somali Officials’ Union, 117, 167 Somali origins, 5-6 Somali Republic, 10-11, 33 (n2), 195, 209, 212 Somali police, soldiers, 15, 38 (n97), 95, 107, 117, 119, 129 (n120), 143-144, 173, 175-176, 185, 187, 191 Somali Salvation Democratic Front (SSDF), 17-18 Somali social changes, 60, 64, 66, 70, 81, 91, 93, 97, 101-102, 119, 122, 132-133, 139, 141, 151, 162 (n94), 171-172, 180, 192-212 Somali Youth League (SYL), 167, 178-179, 185-187 Somaliland (contemporary), 11-16 oil, 15, 21 Somaliland armed forces, 14-15 Somaliland National Society, 173 Somaliland Scouts, 173 Somaliland recognition, 12-16

Index 235

Somalis abroad, 34 (n18), 49, 120, 171 Sool, Sanaag and Cayn region, 15 southern Somalia: contemporary, 2125; precolonial, 63-71 Soviet Union, 191, 200 (n 112) Suez Canal, 8, 48, 52, 113, 171 Supreme Revolutionary Council, 191 tariiqa, 63, 106, 114, 133, 159, 169 taxes, 48, 55, 61, 86 (n 109), 94, 103, 115-116, 134, 140, 149-150, 168, 172, 174, 183,185 Territorial Council, 185, 187 tol, 7 Town Councils, 183 Transitional Federal Government (TFG), 23-25 trauma, 27, 79, 140, 191, 207, 210212, 216-217 Travelli, Ernesto. See Chiesi, Gustavo treaties/treaty, 48, 57, 74, 82 (n 19), 95; of Addis Ababa 1896, 138, 198 (n 82); Anglo-Ethiopian, 100; Anglo-Zanzibar, 74; friendship, 51, 56, 83 (n 45), 87 (n 148), 94, 134-135; General Act of Brussels, 146; Hamerton, 74, 87 (n 153); Ilig, 102; Moresby, 74; Uccialli, 132, 134, 138, 159 (n 6) tribalism, 181, 183. See also clan culture troop numbers; British, 85 (n 82), 175, 197 (n 48); Italian, 152, 156, 184 trusteeship, 165-166, 175, 178-181, 184-187 Trusteeship Council, 181, 187; appeals to, 189 UN Advisory Council, 182, 184, 186 United Nations mission 1948, 179 United Nations Resolution 1514, 188, 199 (n 101) unemployment, 16, 102, 119, 122, 147, 169 United Somali Party, 188-189 unity, 10, 22, 110, 131, 157-158, 177-178

UNOSOM I, II / UNITAF, 21, 38 (n89) violence, inter clan, 1, 11, 17, 19, 21, 78, 123, 140, 154, 172, 177, 179, 186, 187, 194, 203-205, 208, 211 voting . See elections Walls, Michael (with Steve Kibble), 15, 214 warrant chiefs, 143 Warsangali clan, 58, 62, 97, 109, 153-154 women, girls, 11, 14-15, 56, 73-74, 87 (n 151), 127 (n 70), 149. 153, 162 (n 92), 170, 179, 182, 191, 199 (n 95) Xamarweyn, 67, 86 (n133), 135 xeer, 6-7, 46, 114-115, 118, 143, 172 Zanzibar, 43, 47, 64, 66-70, 74, 7880, 131, 133, 154, 206 Zeila, 50-55, 69, 73, 82 (n7), 97-100, 103, 109, 112

About the Book

The fragmentation of the former Somali Democratic Republic into three distinctive entities, together with the events that have ensued since then, make for a complex political puzzle that raises a plethora of questions. M.J. Fox explores some of the most fundamental of those questions: Have the “three Somalias” of today always been as disparate as they are now? How deeply rooted are those differences? Why has southern Somalia remained steeped in violence while Somaliland and Puntland are relatively peaceful and stable? And does political culture have any role to play in contemporary Somali politics? As she traces the compelling influences of political culture over time, Fox provides a unique comparative analysis of Somaliland, Puntland, and Somalia in the twenty-first century. M.J. Fox is an independent scholar, formerly with the Department of Peace and Conflict Research at Uppsala University.

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