Abdirizak H. Hussein: A Reflection

Three years have gone by since the passing of Abdirizak Haji Hussein, the former prime minister of Somalia. Since then, two books have been written about him: Abdi I. Samatar’s Africa’s First Democrats: Somalia’s Aden A. Osman and Abdirazak H. Hussein, and Abdirizak Haji Hussein: My Role in the Foundation of the Somali Nation-State, a Political Memoir, edited by Abdisalam Issa-Salwe. Both books are important additions to Somali studies because they cover Abdirizak’s early life and his tenure as premier.

Abdirizak, a major historical figure in Somalia, has always generated unusual interest among Somalis. On the one hand, he was an incorruptible politician and a reformist, embodying two traits that have scarcely been found in Somali politics for a long time. Yet, a few still see him as a product of his time, the 1960s, an era during which when clan politics were the norm. My reflection on Abdirizak was partly shaped by my childhood memories, family ties, and a meeting with him at a Somali conference in Europe several years ago.

I grew up in a household in which Abdirizak was neither lionized nor reviled. My mother, a northeasterner, sympathized with former premier and president, Abdirashid Ali Sharmarke, who belonged to her sub-clan. Her lukewarm attitude toward Abdirizak was not accidental. In fact, it was more personal than political. Abdirizak had fired her brother, my beloved uncle Abdi Gurey, when he became prime minister. Abdirizak, the ever-conscious leader of Karti iyo Hufnaan (efficiency and integrity), instituted a mass firing when he took office. Many civil servants, who owed their positions to patronage, lost their jobs. Many were collecting salaries without reporting to work, while others were simply inept. Abdirizak did the taxpayers a favor by eliminating these loafers from the government’s payroll. My uncle, not a man known for his good work ethic, eventually benefited from his firing when he started a new business in rental cars. However, my mother and my uncle never forgot his unfortunate job termination.

In the 1970s, Abdirahman Jama Barre became the foreign minister of Somalia. (Full Disclosure: Abdirahman and I are related through marriage). Abdirizak was at the time serving as Somalia’s Ambassador to the United Nations. Without going into much detail about the relationship between Abdirahman and Abdirizak, it can be said that the two had a deep and visceral loathing for each other; interestingly enough, their feelings dated back to the 1960s. At that time, Abdirizak was premier and Abdirahman a junior bureaucrat in the foreign ministry. They had crossed paths on numerous occasions, and their encounters were formal but mistrustful.  Paradoxically, Siad Barre, Abdirahman’s brother, and at the time head of the armed forces, had an amicable relationship with Abdirizak.

In a reversal of fortune, Siad Barre seized power in 1969 and arrested many politicians including Abdirizak. After three years, Abdirizak was released from prison and retired to his farm in Janale, 95 kilometers (59 miles) south of Mogadishu. Barre, whose secret service operatives were keeping Abdirizak under surveillance, became insecure and wondered what Abdirizak, the man who had refused to endorse his military takeover, was up to in his retirement. Barre decided to name Abdirizak as ambassador to the United Nations; by doing this he could send a potential rival all the way to New York.

Regarding Abdirahman and Abdirizak’s relationship, there were two anecdotes about the genesis of their inimical relationship that are cited by supporters of each man.

Say What?

Members of Abdirahman’s camp tell me about an incident in the mid-1960s when the two men had a minor tiff. Abdirahman, then a junior bureaucrat, had been summoned to Abdirizak’s office and was reprimanded for an administrative mishap. Abdirahman, in a moment of inexplicable anger, gazed at Abdirizak with scorn and said, “War wax yahow,” (you, an inanimate object) and then walked out without uttering another word. Abdirizak, stony-faced, looked at Abdirahman in bewilderment and then went back to his paperwork. Abdirahman was not punished following the incident. This raises some disturbing questions. Was this a case of insubordination on the part of Abdirahman, or was it a manifestation of political realism on the part of Abdirizak?

Normally, Abdirahman’s action would have been classified as an act of insubordination or, at a minimum, ill-mannered behavior. First, one does not talk back to one’s superior. Second, one does not call him “an object.” It is well known that Abdirizak was widely feared in government circles because he was, as author Ismail “Geeldoon” Ali Ismail aptly wrote in his book, Governance, a reformer but nonetheless “a strong leader with a streak of authoritarianism.” Perhaps this incident was one of those moments when Abdirahman was presented as a fearless bureaucrat who did not cower or bow to anyone.

If this incident happened as it was told to me, there are three possible reasons why Abdirizak did not take corrective action against the junior bureaucrat.

First, Abdirizak became prime minister only four years after the country gained its independence. Abdirahman was either the second or third civil servant hired by the new foreign ministry in 1960. He had recently completed university training in political economy in Italy. At the time, Somalia did not have a pool of university graduates and most of the country’s leaders, including Abdirizak, had neither higher education nor extensive experience in administration. Abdirahman was young and fresh out of college. His job in the foreign ministry was the beginning of many years he would spend toiling in the administrative aspect of diplomacy. Being one of a handful of university graduates apparently put him in a unique position to help the nascent country. Abdirizak was a realist, and he did not want to lose an educated civil servant.

Second, it may also have been for purely political and clannish reasons that Abdirizak did not act against Abdirahman. The latter was no ordinary young bureaucrat; he was the brother of the commander of the armed forces, Siad Barre. One might argue that Abdirizak did not want to alienate Siad Barre, a prominent Darod figure and a political ally. When General Daud Abdulle Hirsi, the previous commander of the armed forces, died in 1965, some powerful politicians tried to ensure that his position did not go to his deputy, Siad Barre. “Abdirizak may have lobbied for Mohamed Siyaad Barre’s promotion,” wrote Hussein Bulhan, author of Politics of Cain: One Hundred Years of Crises in Somali Politics and Society (2008) and a diehard seccessionist, “in order to forestall another Hawiye to replace Daarood.” In other words, “Despite Abdirizak’s reputation for promoting people based on merit, he may have chosen in this case to affirm loyalty to another Daarood.” Bulhan could be wrong; Abdirizak could also have wanted to preserve seniority in the armed forces.

Incidentally, Abdirizak was also involved in an eternal power struggle with his rival and fellow Majerteen, Abdirashid Ali Sharmarke, and therefore needed the support of General Siad Barre. It is a known fact that Abdirizak, prime minister at the time, put Sharmarke under twenty-four surveillance, and Sharmarke was not even in the government.  Sharmarke was constantly followed by secret service agents, and his daily activities were reported to Abdirizak. This Nixonian aspect of Abdirizak’s rule is something his fervent supporters would rather not talk about. In his book, The Cost of Dictatorship: The Somali Experience (1993), Jama Mohamd Ghalib, also known as Jama Yare, wrote about Abdirizak’s actions. Jama Yare was then the head of the Special Branch of the Somali police and he said he ended the illegal surveillance.

A third possible explanation for Abdirizak’s lack of response to Abdirahman was an attempt by the prime minister to stay above the fray. He simply might have chosen to take the high road and let the matter slide. Perhaps Abdirizak saw the entire incident as too trivial to merit a response. If he’d wanted to, he could have pulverized Abdirahman, but instead he refused to assign any importance to the matter. This attitude was similar to that of a beleaguered American general who once said, “As a professional soldier, I had been shot at so many times that one more shot from an amateur would not hurt me.”

An incident at Croce Del Sud

Supporters of Abdirizak told me about an incident between Abdirahman and Abdirizak that happened in the 1960s. Siad Barre, then the head of the armed forces, met Abdirizak at the Croce the Del Sud restaurant in Mogadishu in order to ask the premier, as a favor, to give his younger brother, Abdirahman, a plum job. While the two men were drinking coffee, Abdirahman, wearing his signature bow tie, arrived and joined them. Abdirahman was known for brash talk and a tendency to rub people the wrong way, and during the conversation, he said something that miffed the prime minister. Siad Barre was visibly shaken. After Abdirahman had left, he said jokingly, and in an attempt to console the premier, “Cabdirisaaq, haddii uu jiro caqli iib ah, midkan baan u gadi lahaa.” (Abdirizak, if there was a brain for sale, I would have bought it for this [one]).  Abdirizak brushed off the faux pas, or so it seemed.

When in the late 1970s Abdirizak resigned from his diplomatic post in New York, he received a call from Hussein “Koofi Cadde” Mohamoud Mohamed (former head of Somali Airlines and ambassador to Djibouti). Koofi Cadde (a Marehan) reprimanded his old friend Abdirizak for failing to contact President Siad Barre, who at the time was on an official visit to Washington. Koofi Cadde said, “You and the president were long-time friends. Why didn’t you at least call him directly and explain to him about your troubles in the foreign ministry?” Abdirizak told Koofi Cadde that he had suffered enough embarrassment and humiliation working under Abdirahman, the foreign minister, who was “someone whom Siad Barre himself had once implied had no brains.” 

When I met Abdirizak in Europe, he was engaging and forceful in advancing nationalistic sentiments. He gave a powerful speech to Somali politicians, traditional elders, and intellectuals in which he called for transparency, clean governance, and commitment to do what is best for the country. On the side, I asked him about a few issues, including his relationship with Abdirahman. Though critical of Abdirahman’s heavy-handedness and unprofessional conduct in the foreign ministry, Abdirizak was adamant that he had resigned from his post due to serious disagreements with President Siad Barre and the wrong direction the country was headed. Interestingly, Abdirizak had no recollection of the incident between him and Abdirahman when the latter had allegedly offended him in his office. Abdirizak was more interested in talking about the future of Somalia than an obscure moment of bureaucratic bungling that had happened in the 1960s.

In summary, Abdirizak Haji Hussein was a statesman for many with convergent and divergent political views. There are those who fawningly lionize him and want to own his legacy to further their personal careers. There are others who see him as a national hero, but also as a man of obvious flaws in a country that was dominated by clan politics. In a way, he was hamstrung by a system that undermined his true potential. Moreover, he served as premier for only three years. In my humble opinion, however, he will always remain a unique leader whose equal has yet to be found in Somalia. Abdirizak had a rare combination of reform-mindedness, unbridled integrity, and burning nationalism.

A Challenging Transition in Somalia: A Book Review

Book: A Challenging Transition in Somalia
Author: Abdiweli Mohamed Ali
Length: 180 pages
Publisher: The Red Sea Press, Inc. (February 20, 2017)

***

Abdiweli Mohamed Ali “Gaas” was Somalia’s prime minister for 14 months, from June 2011 to October 2012, and is now the head of Puntland regional government. His new book is a memoir of his childhood, his early and later schooling, as well as his tenure as premier. Oddly, the book does not include his years as President of Puntland.

Born in the early 1960s to a nomadic family in the rural area of Galkacayo, Abdiweli grew up in central Somalia and later moved to Dhusamareeb, where he spent his formative years. As a teen, he dabbled in Marxism and “was on the edge of becoming an atheist.” After graduating high school, he attended Mogadishu’s National University, where he majored in economics. After graduation, he worked briefly for the ministry of finance and then won a rare scholarship to attend Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee. He returned to Somalia after finishing his Master’s degree but came back to the United States shortly afterwards to pursue a doctorate. He settled in the Washington D.C. area where he struggled to juggle school, work, and supporting his budding family. He worked as a security guard, a cab driver, and did whatever he could to help his family. Finally, he completed his doctorate at George Mason University and subsequently found a teaching job at Niagara University in Buffalo.

While in Buffalo, he met Mohamed Abdullahi “Farmajo,” Somalia’s current president. In 2010, Farmajo was appointed as prime minister and asked Abdiweli to join his cabinet. Abdiweli was initially reluctant and asked for two days to consult with his wife. Farmajo called him again the next day, but this time he was prepared with a new enticement and a better offer. He asked Abdiweli to serve as his deputy and minister of planning and international cooperation. Abdiweli immediately accepted the position. After seven months, fate again favored Abdiweli when Farmajo was forced out of office. Farmajo then asked Abdiweli to replace him as premier. The once provincial kid from central Somalia, who had never dreamed of becoming prime minister, suddenly rose swiftly to unexpected heights.

This book is well written, thanks to people like Professor Lidwien Kaptejins, who helped the author. It is the story of a young man who excelled in school, received a rare scholarship in America and obtained a Ph.D. in economics. It is a personal story of survival, hard work, ambition, discipline, and being in the right place at the right time.

However, aside from the personal success story, the book lacks insight and forthrightness. Moreover, it is stingy with details. It does not tell us much about Abdiweli’s contributions as a minister of planning and international cooperation (devoting only one and half pages to the topic) and his tenure as prime minister. When he became a minister of planning, he found a computer in his new office, which did not contain a single government file. He said he appointed a capable director general, re-organized the bureaucracy, instituted a system of division of labor, and made sure employees were paid regularly. By the time he left the ministry after seven months, there were “computers, printers, and internet.” That is all Abdiweli said about his experience as a minister of planning and international cooperation. The former college professor found himself preoccupied by the prosaic day-to-day concerns of bureaucracy. In his book, nothing is said about public policy development, socioeconomic planning, statistics management, implementation monitoring, or evaluation.

Abdiweli’s tenure as prime minister was buffeted by an endless power struggle between President Sheikh Sharif and Speaker Sharif Hassan. He was caught between these two powerful figures who made sure he consulted with them in the affairs of his government. The two succeeded in blocking Abdiweli’s first proposed cabinet. After some wrangling, a compromise was reached in which a new cabinet that precluded ministers who had served under Farmajo and Omar Abdirashid was to be appointed. What did Abdiweli do next? His managerial gaffe was so blatant he asked the departing ministers to pick their own replacements. He told them, “Since you are not returning to the cabinet, please give me your recommendations for the right person to replace you.” The department ministers showed their true colors and selected representatives of their own clan.

Conveniently, one glaring cabinet selection by Abdiweli is not mentioned in his book: The man who became his deputy and minister of defense, Hussein Arab Isse. Abdiweli appointed Isse, a man with no known education and no government experience who—until his appointment—had been in the transportation sector in Sacramento, California. Many years later, Isse spoke about that fateful day when he was asked to become a cabinet member. He told an audience in Minneapolis that Abdiweli had called him and asked him to be defense minister. “I was utterly shocked by [Abdiweli’s] offer,” said Isse in a deadpan voice.  

Abdiweli writes extensively about his pioneering work in laying the foundation for the “Roadmap,” which he said was initiated by him and other stakeholders. “The Roadmap was a detailed list of dozens of tasks designed to steer Somalia out of the transition period and toward more permanent political institutions and greater national security and stability.” There were four key areas of the Roadmap (security, political outreach and reconciliation, and good governance and institution, as well as drafting the constitution for adoption by a National Constituent Assembly). By all measures, the implementation of the Roadmap remains incomplete. Security has been a big problem in the country even though Al-Shabaab withdrew from major cities such as Mogadishu, Baidoa, and Kismayo and some smaller towns. However, the militant group still controls a swath of the country. The provisional constitution was adopted and approved by a National Constituent Assembly, but has yet to be approved in a referendum. No genuine reconciliation has taken place in Somalia and the country has consistently been identified among the world’s most corrupted nations in the world.

Abdiweli’s book is full of boasting and bluster. It is littered with pictures of the former prime minister meeting with world and local leaders and there is not a single photo of him with ordinary Somalis. There is insight into Abdiweli’s contentious and debilitating relationship with then-President Sheikh Sharif, Speaker Sharif Hassan, and Abdirahman Farole of Puntland. Farole has been a stubborn problem for Abdiweli and the two have been involved in numerous tiffs. There is no love lost between them.

In 2012, Abdiweli ran for the presidency, but failed miserably. A newcomer, Hassan Sheikh Mohamoud, outwitted him and asked Abdiweli to endorse him in return for keeping his job. When Abdiweli hemmed and hawed, Mohamoud told him bluntly, “Abdiweli, this is Mogadishu, the Hawiye stronghold. All I want is to protect you from the problems of the Hawiye.” Abdiweli ended up backing Mohamoud instead of his boss, President Sheikh Sharif. To his dismay, when Mohamoud became president, he lost his job. Paradoxically, Abdiweli is restrained in talking about his secret agreement with Mohamoud.

In a nutshell, Abdiweli’s book is a good read, but it lacks an honest assessment of his tenure as prime minister. It is unfortunate that a highly educated man with a purview in economics has failed to articulate a clear vision of development under his tenure and, instead, has been busy collecting every trapping of material wealth. Abdiweli’s short tenure as premier represents at best an affirmation, rather than a repudiation, of the status quo.  

Guests of Abdi Iley

Mohamed Ali, better known as Khalif Cadaawe, is angry. He believes he has been a victim of false imprisonment in the Somali region of Ethiopia.

Born and raised in Ethiopia, Cadaawe has been in the U.S. since the mid-1990s. He is a naturalized American citizen and a respected community elder among his Gurre (Dir) clan in the U.S.  A 5’8” man in his early 70s, he speaks softly but authoritatively. Wearing a baseball cap, he sat with me in a café in a major city on the West Coast while visiting his son and grandchildren. He is angry and disappointed with Abdi M. Omar, “Abdi Iley,” the president of the Somali region. In fact, Cadaawe has a painful story to tell.

Cadaawe and five of his colleagues from the Gurre clan were arrested last year in Ethiopia. They were handcuffed, chained like animals, and kept in detention for more than two weeks after they entered Ethiopia through Kenya. 

“I never expected something like that to happen to me,” said Cadaawe. “My right leg still pains me.”

Cadaawe was the victim of political circumstances that left him in bewilderment. He never expected he would be the subject of an international incident for the U.S. State Department, the Ethiopian federal government, and the regional administration of the Somali region. In hindsight, Cadaawe would never have left America to visit his native country had he known what awaited him. “Not at my age,” he said and chuckled, “Are you serious?”

His travails started in the spring of last year when some of the Gurre elders, intellectuals, women, and youth activists met in Minneapolis to discuss what seemed to be a simple grievance on behalf of their people in Ethiopia. They called out the “lack of progress” in the heavily populated Gurre districts in Ethiopia such as Goro-Baqaqsa, Gurre Dhaamole, and, to a lesser extent, Qarsa duula. “We are Ethiopians,” many of them emphasized, and not opposed to the Ethiopian federal government or the administration of the Somali region. The attendees lamented the lack of development in their region—no roads, not enough schools and ambulances, and no palpable economic progress. 

One elderly woman focused on what she called “the allocated budget” for the Gurre districts, which is mismanaged and unfairly distributed. Khalif Adaawe, one of the main speakers of the forum, and other participants highlighted the disenfranchisement of the Gurre as a community and their need for equal rights and free access to federal government resources. “We do not want civil war,” one of the speakers declared, but “are only interested in a peaceful way of addressing our legitimate grievances.”

Members of the Gurre community selected Cadaawe to represent them and he traveled to Kenya first to mobilize the Gurre community on his way to Ethiopia. In Nairobi, he met with members of the Gurre clan and raised money for the Grand Renaissance Dam being built in Ethiopia. On April 15, 2016, the community met with the Ethiopian Ambassador and other officials from the Ethiopian federal government. Speeches were delivered in support of the Ethiopian government, and the Gurre leaders requested that their demands for better services in the Somali region and access to power be honored. Then, Cadaawe presented a check in the sum of $20,000 from his community to the ambassador. Cadaawe told the Ethiopian officials that a delegation consisting of six members, including him, was planning to visit Ethiopia to meet with the Gurre. According to Cadaawe, the ambassador wrote a glowing recommendation letter for them, addressed to Ethiopia’s interior minister, urging the government to facilitate the needs of the delegation.

Abdi Iley was not pleased with Cadaawe and his friends met Embassy officials and complained about him. He considered their meeting with the federal figures to be an affront to his administration. 

Cadaawe and his colleagues planned to cross into Ethiopia through Kenya at the border town of Moyale. A rental bus was waiting for them to take them to Addis Ababa and then to the Gurre territory. However, something else—perhaps even tragedy—awaited them in Moyale.

Immediately after Cadaawe and his group crossed into the Ethiopian side of Moyale, they were met by armed agents of the Liyu police from the Somali region and arrested, handcuffed, and put in chains from their waist to their legs.

Cadaawe and his friends were driven through the vast territory of the Somali region unaware of the reason for their detention. “I was blanketed by shock and horror,” he said. In his mind, questions abounded: “What happened?” “What did he do?” “Was it a case of mistaken identity?” “Was he betrayed by his own people?”

For 24 hours, the detainees and their captors traveled on a long, treacherous, and unpaved road until they finally reached Goday. They were taken out of the police vehicle and he discovered—to his horror—that they were all in chains. “I was paralyzed with a gripping fear,” he said, “I thought we will be shot.” Instead, the detainees were lined up for the mass media to be shown and presented as terrorists and members of Al-Shabaab. 

“Al-Shabaab terrorists!” exclaimed Cadaawe, a hint of amusement in his voice.

As the rumor mill swirled about Cadaawe’s detention among the Gurre, his family in the U.S. became concerned. News about his incarceration finally reached the federal government in Addis Ababa and frantic calls ensued asking Abdi Iley to release the delegation. At first, an official of the Somali region denied the existence of such figures in their custody. Then Cadaawe and his colleagues were secretly whisked away from Goday (and the federal government’s reach) and transferred to a small village in a remote area.

“For all practical purposes, we were kidnapped and spent 17 grueling days in detention,” said Cadaawe. They were given meager food and kept in chains. What bothered him the most was the lack of formal charges being presented against the group and the absence of due process. He said it was more like the law of the jungle.

Relatives of Cadaawe in the U.S. were not to be cowed. They immediately contacted Congressman Keith Ellison of Minnesota and sought his assistance. It was then that the American Embassy in Addis Ababa intervened on behalf of Cadaawe. Two consular officers finally came and visited him after he was transferred to Jigjiga. Additional pressure came from the Ethiopian federal government for Abdi Iley demanding the release of the Gurre delegation. However, Abdi Iley did not look like a leader perturbed and he flew to Australia for an official visit.

Cadaawe has become a target of scorn for some leaders of his clan who were allied with Abdi Iley. They see Cadaawe as a trouble maker from America bent on embarrassing Abdi Iley’s administration. Ugaas Mohamed Ugaas Guled, a Gurre chieftain, chastised Cadaawe in the harshest terms: “He is an old man who represents no one but himself,” the chieftain said. “In fact, Cadaawe is a propagandist and a product of fadhi-ku-dirir (political chatter) in the diaspora.”

In Australia, Abdi Iley finally caved in and called for his subordinates in Jigjiga to release “only the American citizen” among the detained group. American diplomats then collected Cadaawe, who was taken to Addis Ababa. “I was in poor health,” he said, and he could not afford either medical treatment or legal counsel. He later traveled to Nairobi where he spent three months recuperating, resting, and ruminating on what had happened to him in the Somali region. “I was bitter and felt utterly humiliated,” he said.

At times, Cadaawe seemed to articulate the story of his ordeal in a confident voice. Other times, he seemed fearful of the long arm of Abdi Iley. He repeated that he was neither a politician nor someone harboring political ambition. He made a distinction between his grievances of the wrong that had been meted out against him by the Liyu police and his unbridled loyalty to the Ethiopian government.

In a move to mollify the political outcry that resulted from Cadaawe’s detention among the Gurre, Abdi Iley has offered—through intermediaries—to meet with Cadaawe and other members of his community in the diaspora. It is not clear if the supposed meeting will take place anytime soon.

Cadaawe says he has no intention of suing Abdi Iley or his administration. “I am an elderly man and I want to spend the rest of my life in peace,” he said. “However, I would love to visit my relatives one day in the Somali region.”  He said he is still afraid that his next visit to the region will have calamitous consequences.

Cadaawe’s story is one of many untold narratives being told about Abdi Iley’s administration, a regime that has been accused of imposing a reign of terror in the Somali region. If the goal of Cadaawe’s incarceration was to send a message to the Gurre community that no dissension will be tolerated in that region, it was heard loud and clear.

New Cabinet, Old Concerns

Prime Minister Hassan Kheyre, in consultation with President Mohamed Farmajo, nominated his bloated cabinet of 62 members this week. In fairness, the cabinet has aspects that are both commendable and promising, but it also raises some old concerns about politics in Somalia.

There are new ministers that hopefully will energize the new government and perhaps bring fresh ideas to the table. The appointment of Abdi Hosh Jibril as constitutional minister is a plus for the new government. It shows that the government is committed to reviewing the provisional constitution, a dormant document since its adoption in 2012. Hosh was the minister of constitutional affairs during its initial debate and approval. His appointment gives hope that the unfinished business of this important document will be completed.

Moreover, as a former legislator from 2012 to 2016, Hosh, along with Abdullahi Godax Barre, played roles in the defeat of former president Hassan S. Mohamoud (HSM) during the recent presidential elections. Hosh was initially an ally of HSM, but he remedied his earlier blemishes by turning against him. His relentless campaign to expose HSM’s corruption in addition to his working behind the scenes with the newly installed parliament not to select the former president were heroic. Farmajo benefitted from Hosh’s tireless work, and he ultimately was selected as president.

The new cabinet has some new, bright faces such as Dr. Fawsia Abikar Nur as health minister. She has a doctorate in public health education from Italy and, from what I have heard about her, is an intelligent woman with great leadership skills. It is ironic that a few male legislators from her clan (Hawiye-Gaal Jecel) have complained to Farmajo and Kheyre for selecting “a woman instead of a man” from their community. Kudos to the prime minster for this bold selection and for defying these male anachronistic chauvinists. Fowsia has a huge task before her as she must tackle the prevalence of unregulated medicine (many expired) in the country and the spread of so-called pharmacies in every neighborhood in Mogadishu. The establishment of a medical board to certify doctors, nurses, hospitals, clinics, and the importation of medicine is a gargantuan job.

 However, Farmajo and Kheyre nominated six female ministers out of 27 (22%); no female state ministers out of 15, and only two women out of 20 deputy ministers (4%). This low representation of women in the cabinet is embarrassing for the new government and demonstrates sheer regression for the progress the country has made over the last few years. In short, it is a black mark for the new government.

The preponderance of legislators in the new cabinet (11 ministers, nine state ministers, and 17 deputy ministers) is a major concern. It erodes the function of parliament to check and balance the executive branch. Perhaps, these newly appointed ministers, in the interest of accountability and the appearance of conflict of interest, should resign from parliament.  

A major concern of the new cabinet is that it reeks from the influence of Sharif Hassan, the controversial leader of the South West (SW) state. The Digil/Mirifle cabinet members in the new cabinet unfortunately have few qualifications as they were essentially chosen by Sharif Hassan and his nephew, Mohamed Mursal. They are all allies of the South West leader and Mursal’s wife, Samro Ibrahim Omar, a new legislator, is now also a deputy minister.

How did Sharif Hassan succeed in having his friends in the cabinet?  He and Speaker Jawari are in collusion in presenting Digil/Mirifle figures to the president and the prime minister. Simply put, Jawari has abdicated his responsibility to challenge Sharif Hassan as the leader of Digil/Mirifle. Jawari has informed some legislators from the SW that he has tried to submit his own list of potential cabinet ministers from the South West but was rejected. Unfortunately, for the last four years, Jawari as the speaker, has failed to hold hearings to question leaders of the executive branch on a multitude of issues such as allegations of graft, holding them accountable for their actions, and completing the work on the provisional constitution. The latest move by Sharif Hassan to outmaneuver the speaker is not a surprise. To his credit, Sharif Hassan has found a new niche for exploiting his influence with President Farmajo and Prime Minister Kheyre: blood ties to the two men as his wife is a Murursade.

Overall, the new cabinet has good and bad components. As an early critic of the president and the prime minister during the height of “Farmajo mania,” I am cautiously optimistic that it will be approved by the parliament despite its serious flaws. There is a growing dissension among certain groups in Mogadishu that have vowed to derail the new cabinet. The country can’t afford another political gridlock at this juncture when there is a lot to be done.

Ibrahim Dheere and Ethiopia: Seven Years Later

In 1948, the British colonial government handed over a region overwhelmingly populated by Somalis to the then emperor of Ethiopia, Haile Selassie. When Somalia became independent in 1960, almost every successive government established its cornerstone foreign policy by uniting all Somalis, including those in Ethiopia, under one flag. Over the years, various uprisings occurred and armed groups emerged fighting for the liberation of what Somalis call “Western Somalia” and the Ethiopians call “the Somali region in Ethiopia.”

Among the armed groups was a small religious group of insurgents called the United Western Somali Liberation Front (UWSLF) led by Ibrahim Hussein “Ibrahim Dheere,” a cleric who had graduated from the Islamic University in Medina, Saudi Arabia. Before taking the leadership of the group, Ibrahim was an imam in Seattle in the United States and was instrumental in co-founding of the Islamic Organization for Somali Imams. In 2005, Ibrahim was arrested and indicted by the American authorities for immigration fraud. Putting false statements on his immigration paperwork was not the only reason for his incarceration; he was arrested on suspicion of terrorism activities. He was subsequently deported to Kenya and later left for Mogadishu where he joined the Union of the Islamic Courts (UIC), which was then ruling Mogadishu. After invading Ethiopian forces ousted the UIC, Ibrahim returned to Kenya and became a prominent figure in the United Western Somali Liberation Front.

David Rubincam, a retired American law enforcement agent, told a Seattle TV channel in 2014 that Ibrahim, whose real name he claimed was “Mohamed Ibrahim,” was “an extremist religious zealot of the worst kind” who had been trained in Saudi Arabia as a religious scholar.  According to Rubincam, Ibrahim was in the U.S. “to raise money through the Hawala system of money transfer to fund them [terror groups] overseas and to recruit people to their cause to actually go back to Somalia to take up arms.”

Rubincam was elated that the government had used the immigration court to expel Ibrahim rather than charging him with providing material support to terror groups. Many Muslim activists, who were allegedly involved in terrorism, ended up being deported from America due to immigration violations. Rubincam added, “The best thing is to get [Ibrahim] off our soil and get him out of here and never let him come back…I am 100 percent sure [that he is] a national security threat to the United States of America or to any country in which he resides.”

Sleeping with the “enemy”

In 2010, Ibrahim Dheere signed a peace treaty with Ethiopia, which was then led by Meles Zenawi. It was the same government the cleric had excoriated for being a colonial state, the enemy of the Somali people, and a major entity responsible for the destruction of Somalia. Ibrahim’s group was part Islamist in the Salafi persuasion and part nationalist. It was not a secret that the group was a natural extension of Somalia’s old Al-Itihad Islamic group. The UWSLF was small in number and had engaged in bombings and killings in the Somali region under the Ethiopian occupation.

Ibrahim justified his move by his desire to seek a peaceful resolution with Ethiopia and to focus on spreading Islamic teachings in the Somali region. He told an Al Jazeera TV interviewer both parties thought a peaceful resolution was better than armed conflict. In another interview, he boasted about getting hundreds of phone calls from Somali religious clerics congratulating him for signing the treaty.  

The Ethiopian Government’s goals were clear: It wanted to disarm the small militant group, co-opt it, and send a message to other liberation movements such as the Ogaden National Liberation Front (ONLF) to negotiate and show Somalis the futility of armed struggle in general. When journalists asked PM Zenawi about the treaty, he was quick to denigrate the UWSLF. “They are a small group and they had gotten tired of fighting,” he said. If Zenawi’s putdown of the UWSLF bothered Ibrahim, he did not show it to one BBC interviewer. “Don’t believe what is being said in the press,” he said.

After debriefing Ibrahim and his colleagues, the Ethiopian Government gave them general amnesty, houses for the leaders, and a huge plot of land to farm in the agriculturally rich region of Goday. Taking cues from his bosses in Addis Ababa, the president of the Somali region, Abdi M. Omar “Abdi Iley”, welcomed Ibrahim and his colleagues in Jigjiga to celebrate the signing of the treaty. Ibrahim and his cronies released white doves to signify peace. Men and women sang and danced for the occasion.

That was in 2010.

Seven years later, there is little for Ibrahim to show in terms of his group’s accomplishments. He is currently a graduate student in Malaysia studying languages and is far from Jigjiga, a city to which he may not return. His honeymoon with Abdi Iley turned sour. The Ethiopian Government no longer has any use for Ibrahim, but it did instruct Abdi Iley to reconcile with him. Ibrahim went to Jigjiga and stayed in a hotel. After waiting for a while, Abdi Iley sent two members of the Liyu Police—who were former fighters with the USWLF—to interrogate their former leader. Ibrahim refused to answer any of their questions, and one of them, according to a reliable source, physically attacked him and would have killed him had the other police officer not intervened. Was it the classic case of good cop, bad cop? It is difficult to say, but one thing is clear: Abdi Iley wanted to humiliate Ibrahim and he succeeded. Shortly afterwards, Ibrahim returned to Addis Ababa.

Meddling in regional politics  

What happened between Ibrahim and Abdi Iley?

Some prominent members of the Ethiopian Government, including Prime Minister Desalgam Mariam, tried to replace Abdi Iley, but failed. Ibrahim and his colleagues were reportedly involved in the plot, especially his deputy, Ahmed Nashad. Abdi Iley’s attempted demotion failed because some of the leading Tigrey leaders—among them Aseb Misfin, the widow of the late PM Zenawi, lobbied hard to retain Abdi Iley.

Sources close to Ibrahim Dheere adamantly deny that the cleric was personally involved in the conspiracy. If that is the case, critics say, being oblivious to what his colleagues were doing shows poor leadership skills. Some of his supporters told this writer of their disappointment with Ibrahim for several reasons. First, he continued living in Kuwait after signing the treaty with the government. Second, he has been absent from the political scene for the past few years even though the country is going through major political upheavals. Third, Ibrahim and his group failed to capitalize on the political and economic opportunities given to them. One supporter said it was mindboggling that the group failed to farm the big plot they were granted until the land fell into disrepute. Fourth, Ibrahim failed to articulate his vision after signing the treaty. It is not clear what the group wanted to accomplish or how. Fifth, Ibrahim’s proclamations of spreading Islamic teachings in the region backfired after his fallout with Abdi Iley. Today, the group has almost no presence in the region. Moreover, Abdi Iley courted Ibrahim’s rivals among the Sufis when he appointed the son of famous “saint” Nur Kaldhayare as chief of the courts in that region. The appointment was a slap in the face to Ibrahim and his followers. The Sufis, one source told me, “are returning to the political scene after many years in the periphery.”

Political views

Ibrahim is more interested in political activism and fundraising than one typically finds in a Salafi cleric. To him, money is crucial for achieving political objectives. Most Salafis focus on speaking about issues of faith, and many have an aversion to all things political. Not Ibrahim, who is politically oriented. Interestingly, he has a unique perspective in combining religious sermons in mosques with spearheading comprehensive educational and health services as part of change. He is critical of clerics who spend all their time teaching religion and pay no attention to establishing schools and clinics.

Ibrahim was popular in the Salafi-controlled Islamic centers in the U.S. for his religious and political lectures, especially his presentations on the history of the Horn of Africa. These lectures, some of which are available on YouTube, are hair-raising. He had a penchant for making unsubstantiated generalizations. He would summarize an entire decade of Somali history in one word. The Somali civilian government’s era (1960-1969) was a time of “democracy,” the military regime that followed (1969-1991) was the age of “communism,” and the period thereafter was one of “tribalism.”

 Ibrahim’s political views are as hollow as his solutions for rebuilding the Somali nation. For instance, the Somali Youth League (SYL), which fought for and led the independence movement, was “merely a product of European colonialism.” These nationalist leaders, Ibrahim argued, introduced Somalia to new Westernized concepts that are utterly “anti-Islamic,” such as “gobonimodoon” (freedom fighting), “waddani” (nationalist), “loyalty to the country,” democracy, and even the concept of “paying taxes.” The 1960 Somali constitution, he said, planted seeds for the secularism from which the country is still reeling. Ibrahim’s solution is for Somalis in the diaspora to elect a committee and hold a “national conference for salvaging Somalia” led by none other than the “ulema” (clerics).

An aborted interview

In a nutshell, I tried to interview Ibrahim and was able to talk to him briefly twice over the phone. He was not pleased when I asked him if he was indeed a student in Malaysia, a fact he had shared with an Al Jazeera TV anchorwoman. “Move on,” he said. Then, he grilled me to establish whether I favored the treaty he had signed with Ethiopia or was against it. He also wanted to know if Wardheernews, the website I write for, is for or against the treaty. I was surprised by his paranoid line of questioning and told him I only wanted his side of the story regarding the treaty. Then he asked me to send him all of my questions in writing, which I did the same day. That was November 4, 2016, and he has yet to respond to my inquiries. My goal was to know what his treaty with Ethiopia has accomplished after seven years and what the challenges were. Unfortunately, Ibrahim chose not to answer. History will tell.

Farmajo's Farce

The appointment of Hassan Kheyre as Somalia’s new prime minister by the country’s president, Mohamed Abdullahi Farmajo, has sent shockwaves through the country, leaving many political commentators bemused and the public surprised.

There are many reasons for this reaction, not least of which is that fact that Kheyre, a Norwegian citizen, was an ally of President Hassan S. Mohamoud (HSM) and campaigned for him, despite well-placed rumors that he contributed financially to Farmajo’s campaign. Like many “astute” politicians, Kheyre’s duplicitous support for the two rivals for presidency clearly shows that either result would be a win-win situation for him. But the real brain teaser here is why Farmajo appointed Kheyre as his premier, knowing that the latter had campaigned openly for HSM. HSM even tried to nominate Kheyre for an IGAD job, but Ethiopia and Kenya rejected him after a UN monitoring group had accused him of graft.

It is extraordinary that Kheyre has been appointed to such a high office in government, not only in light of the investigation into his affairs by the UN Monitoring Group for Somalia and Eritrea, but also because of the serious allegations levelled against him regarding corruption and alleged ties with Al-Shabaab. While the UN Monitoring Group is not a prosecutorial entity, these allegations warrant an independent investigation. It would have been prudent for Farmajo, widely hailed as an anti-corruption candidate, to select someone else not tainted by allegations of corruption. Some Somalis are alarmed by Farmajo’s choice of Kheyre because they had such high expectations of him naming a non-controversial figure.

Kheyre has no government experience. He has carried out extensive humanitarian work and is known to be smart and engaging. His detractors, however, say he is what Somalis call “nin fudud” (a man given to rash decisions). Some people who have met him have appraised him in positive terms, while others have expressed concern about his lack of experience for taking the helm of government. It is the same old story of on the job training we have been accustomed to in Somali politics; figures such as former presidents HSM and Sheikh Sharif and former prime ministers such as Abdi Shirdon, Abdiweli Sheikh, and Farmajo himself—in his first stint as a premier in 2010—being placed in leadership positions. The country, it seems, is always trying to reinvent the wheel.

Kheyre’s appointment came as a surprise as he belongs to a sub-clan (Murursade) of Hawiye that has historically never held either the presidency or the premiership. A group of Hawiye traditional leaders met Farmajo recently and implored him to appoint a Hawiye—any Hawiye—as his prime minister. However, a Somali politician, a Murusade, called me one week before Kheyre’s appointment to tell me an odd story. He said the Murursade chieftain and elders met with Farmajo separately and pleaded with him to appoint a Murursade premier. “For 30 years, no member of our clan has represented our country as president or prime minister,” the elders lamented.

When I heard Kheyre had been appointed premier, I dismissed it as a joke. I thought Farmajo would appoint the usual suspects: either Abgaal or Habar Gidir. For once, I even thought he might appoint Abdinur Mohamed (Hawadle), who had once served as Education Minister under Farmajo. According to sources, Abdinur had secretly, but vigorously, campaigned to get the top job. In the end, Farmajo, whose wife is a Murursade, defied political convention and appointed a Murursade premier. There are reports that Kheyre is also married to a woman from Farmajo’s clan. Clan politics are never far from major government appointments.

Fahad Yasin Factor

Fahad Yasin Haji Dahir, a former employee of al-Jazeera, is a political operative who is closely allied with Farmajo and currently wields unusual power in his transition. Did Fahad bring loads of money from the Gulf countries to Farmajo’s presidential campaign? On July, 2013, the UN Monitoring Group accused Fahad and Abdi Aynte, also a former employee of al-Jazeera, of bringing millions of dollars from Qatar for then-candidate HSM “which was used to buy off political support.”

Fahad was once an ally of HSM until the two had a disagreement over Farmajo. In 2013, Fahad earnestly tried to persuade President HSM to appoint Farmajo as premier. HSM agreed, but at the 11^th hour, he changed his mind and instead appointed Abdiweli S. Ahmed. It was widely believed Farah Abdulkadir (Fahad’s uncle and then influential presidential advisor) had blocked Farmajo’s appointment. Fahad was so disappointed with HSM that their relationship soured.

Now Fahad is back on the political scene with verve. He and Dahir Ghelle, Somalia’s ambassador to Saudi Arabia, were instrumental in Farmajo’s first foreign trip to Saudi Arabia. There is a fear that Fahad Yasin will be another Farah Abdulkadir-type politician, a Rasputin-like figure capable of influencing the new Farmajo Government.

It is likely that Somalia’s parliament will approve Kheyre’s appointment. The chance of the legislature holding exhaustive hearings about Kheyre and his past business dealings is slim. Farmajo will have his nominee approved. The question then will be what type of cabinet Kheyre will nominate. Will they be the same old faces we have seen in HSM’s failed government? Will the new ministers be as inexperienced as the new premier? There is concern that HSM, despite being defeated in the presidential elections, will wield some power in the new government. If that is the case, an old Somali proverb will once again find credence: “Ayax teg eelna reep” (The locust flew away, but it left hardship).  

President Farmajo: Between Hope and Reality

This week, Somalia elected a new president, Mohamed Abdullahi “Farmajo,” an event that marked the second time in recent history an incumbent president lost the election. It happened in 2012 and again in 2017, just like Donald Trump’s surprise win, Farmajo’s election was unexpected, and it upended my prediction that the incumbent, Hassan S. Mohamoud (HSM), would be returned to power.

Mohamoud’s defeat was actually a blessing; the man was corrupt and incompetent. Moreover, HSM and his Dammul Jadid coterie of followers, grabbed more power than they could handle, and they will not be missed.

Now the new president has his hands full. He inherits a government that has plundered public funds, failed to pay the salaries of civil servants and the army, and was unable to maintain security.

Farmajo is a politician with a clean slate. He was prime minister in 2010 for eight months. Prior to that, he had a few years’ experience in the Foreign Service and then spent some time working for the State of New York in Buffalo as a housing specialist. His eight months as prime minister were neither remarkable nor disastrous. He was forced out of office after clashing with the then Speaker, Sharif Hassan. In short, Farmajo was outwitted and outmaneuvered by the Speaker until he was forced out of office.

Scattered protests supporting Farmajo, the beleaguered premier, were held in Mogadishu, but he opted to resign. According to some reports, the Ugandan President, Yuweri Moseveni, whose soldiers were protecting the Somali leaders in Mogadishu, told Farmajo the African soldiers would not guarantee his safety if he stayed in office. Unfortunately, some Somalis viewed his resignation in a decidedly negative light and branded him a quitter.

Farmajo fared poorly in the 2012 presidential elections failing to garner enough votes even from his clansmen. In fact, it was the newcomer, HSM, who stole the limelight, thrashing Sharif Ahmed, who was expected to win the election. Farmajo was still coming to terms with his crushing loss when he decided to return to his old desk job in Buffalo. His political career briefly stagnated and he took stock of his political future.

Farmajo’s comeback is a testament to his doggedness and commitment to redeem himself. Now he has been given a second chance in Villa Somalia, the seat of the government. He is enjoying remarkable support in the streets of Mogadishu, where he remains popular. Somalis have a history of lionizing their new presidents initially, and later vilifying them for poor performance. Farmajo is unlikely to be an exception. The pervasive euphoria in the streets of Mogadishu today will be numbered as Farmajo delves into the perilous task of governing a failed state.

There is a good chance that Farmajo will attempt to drain the swamp in Mogadishu and restore clean, transparent governance. He is uniquely qualified to start a reconciliation process as he is remarkably popular in the south, where his wife, Seynab Abdi Moalim Abdalla, hails from. Farmajo’s detractors are concerned he is a populist, an incorrigible showman who sometimes resorts to hyperbolic language. He is at best a “nice” politician, they say, in a rather cutthroat profession. His detractors see him a man who lacks substance, but he now has the perfect opportunity to prove them wrong. His supporters regard him as an interesting leader with tremendous positive energy; a man of the people, by the people, and for the people.

It is not clear how Jubbaland and Puntland would react to Farmajo’s presidency. Puntland is led by Abdiweli Gass, an old nemesis of Farmajo, who gave Gass a cabinet portfolio only to see the latter replace his boss as premier. The relationship was never the same afterwards as it plummeted to new depths. The once good friends back in Buffalo are no longer on speaking terms. Hopefully, they will set aside their personal and political animus and work toward the welfare of the country.

Jubbaland’s case is different and murkier because that region has been a political battleground between the Ogaden clan and Marehan, Farmajo’s clan. Clan politics in Somalia have a way of keeping national leaders on a downward trajectory.  

Here are some recommendations for the new president:

1.     Appoint a competent prime minister who will name equally qualified cabinet members. It is time for Somalia to have experienced, honest, and nationalist ministers whose loyalty is primarily to the motherland. The last government was stacked with many incompetent, baby-faced, ideological allies of the president. It was an administration that helped its employees replenish their resumes, but who accomplished little.  

2.     Ensure that women become an integral part of the government’s leadership. No more tokenism and no more traditional leaders usurping the right of women to participate, lead, and participate in the decision making process.

3.     Appoint an independent commission to investigate past corruption cases and possible graft allegations in the government. This commission, given full authority, would restore hope in the people’s confidence in the government and eradicate Somalia’s reputation as the most corrupt country in the world.

4.     Complete the work that has started in reviewing and amending the provisional constitution, a document HSM ignored and trampled on. Farmajo can help in making the country one in which the rule of law is respected and enforced.  

5.     Work on the reconciliation process to unite Somalis and restore peace amongst them. This can be done partly by establishing a truth and reconciliation commission, as South Africa did. It is time for Somalis to talk openly about their grievances, the return of lost properties, and past wrongdoings, and engage in genuine confidence building. Only then can the country move forward.

6.     Farmajo should work hand in hand with legislators to form an independent judiciary. The judicial branch will check and balance the powers of the executive and the legislature. It must have its own funds to operate in order to avoid the current system in which justice is for sale.

7.     Somalia must strengthen its army, pay its soldiers timeously, and slowly but gradually replace the 22,000 African troops in Mogadishu. It is embarrassing that foreign troops have to protect the Somali president.

8.     Al-Shabaab terrorists are still a threat to the country and must be fought relentlessly. First, Farmajo must have a strategy to combat terror. A campaign to clean up the police and intelligence forces of militant sympathizers is paramount. Second, the militant group is present in the capital and enjoys the support of certain business conglomerates. This group runs a sophisticated network that is involved in extortion and racketeering. There are those in Mogadishu who harbor al-Shabaab militants because they are “their sons.” This culture of complicity and duplicity will take some time to eradicate. The Al-Shabaab group still collects a percentage of the salaries of government employees, who hand over the money for fear of being assassinated. The same is true of small and big businesses that pay money monthly.

9.     Engage with the Somalis in the diaspora because they are an asset to the country. Over two million Somalis live abroad. Tap into these talents, investments, and advance their involvement in the country’s affairs.

Farmajo’s win is a victory for all Somalis. It is a victory for change, a new beginning for a war-torn country, and a new horizon, but the new administration has a lot of work to do. Let us all hope that Farmajo overcomes the challenges and works hard in make Somalia great again.