Reflections on Somalia, or
How to Conclude an Inconclusive Story
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Peter D. Little
I. Introduction
Recent popular accounts of Somalia remark upon yet another Kenyanbased peace initiative; a resurgence of armed conflict in Mogadishu; an
admission by the Ethiopian government that it has embarked on military incursions into Somalia; a dispute between the self-declared states
of Somaliland and Puntland; and another pending humanitarian crisis
in one or more regions of the country. In many respects, these media
accounts from and about Somalia could have been written five years
earlier except that the stories have much graver political and even military stakes and consequences in the new post-September 11 era. While
some of the broad issues concerning Somalia persist, the specifics of
political wrangling and alliances, civic movements, and peacekeeping
strategies and outcomes constantly change. Indeed, Somalia remains a
story that is very much unfolding, and one in which today’s accounts
quickly become yesterday’s news. The political and social contexts are so
fluid that some of us are hesitant to pencil conclusions for fear that
they will be invalidated in a matter of weeks or perhaps even days.
Furthermore, the complexity and hidden histories and texts underlying many political issues in Somalia discourage definitive scholarly
positions, especially by non-Somalis.
Nonetheless, during the past three years, I undertook the contradiction-laden, often frustrating task of bringing closure to my own
research and writing about Somalia, which spans about eighteen years.
In recently completing the book Somalia: Economy Without State, I try to
synthesize a process that is still in the making.1 The book tells the story
of what has occurred in a region of southern Somalia since the govern-
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ment’s collapse in 1991. It portrays this narrative through the lens of
two important segments of Somali society, traders and pastoralists,
and through one significant activity, cross-border trade. Yet even with
this restricted agenda, writing about Somalia has been as paradoxical
as the country itself. Since the collapse of any vestiges of a central government, it has been difficult to match my own accounts of Somali
social and economic life with the descriptions of chaos, hunger, and
anarchy that frequently appear in the Western media. Assessing a situation that has been so badly misrepresented — while not meaning to
condone it — is equally problematic. Depending on one’s perspective,
Somalia can invoke both elements of economic optimism (a freewheeling, stateless capitalism) and political pessimism (a Hobbesian
example of anarchy and violence). The book challenges stereotypes of
anarchy, “tribalism” (clanism), and economic doom by showing that
the Somali economy and governance did not collapse with the departure of the United Nations and other international agencies in the mid1990s. The fact that Somalia proved to be less of a social and economic
“basket case” than popular and “expert” accounts portrayed it to be
was a strong motivating factor for completing the book.
In this short essay, I address a set of issues that are especially pertinent and often hotly debated in Somali studies, yet without adequate
context they can be easily misunderstood. With only a cursory “read”
of the Somali situation, these misunderstandings can lead to disastrous
policy prescriptions and misdirected interventions, as witnessed in the
case of U.S. and UN efforts in the country during the 1990s. I will also
use this opportunity to pose a limited set of questions that stem from
my book, some of which can only be partially answered at this point.
II. How Unusual is Somalia?
In some respects, the Somali case, in which a recognized government
has not existed for more than twelve years, is unprecedented in the
post-World War I era of states and nations. Nonetheless, the Somali
case holds important lessons for large parts of Africa and the rest of the
world, including central Asia, where stateless or near-stateless conditions prevail. In many of these regions, local communities have had to
resort to their own devices while defending themselves against brutal
warlords, global opportunists, or other extremists. In such cases, the
so-called informal or “second” economy takes over and begins to
account for much larger proportions of the economy than that of wage
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earners, registered companies, and official businesses. It is said that in
the northwest borderlands of Pakistan, illegal trade is so formalized
that there is even a shopping center with a “branch” of the British
department store Marks and Spencer, “selling a range of the retailer’s
(smuggled) own-label goods.”2 And all of this takes place in Pakistan, a
country that by African standards has a reasonably strong central government, a fairly robust formal economy, and a well-developed military force. On the African continent, this brings to mind the
Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), Angola, Sierra Leone, and
Liberia. On a less spectacular scale, the domestic economies of Ghana,
Mozambique, and Tanzania have also witnessed a partial collapse during recent periods when the formal sector accounted for very little real
economic activity. Thus, even without a government, it may be more
accurate to view Somalia’s stateless economy as an extreme along a
continuum of formal to informal (or legal to illegal) commerce rather
than as a distinct case. It is a question of degree, not difference.
Throughout my book, I give examples of how Somalia is exceptional in many respects, but not qualitatively different from other
regions where states are shallow and weak, and formal economies are
moribund. Here again, a non-Somali example illustrates this point. In
the case of volatile Liberia, Stephen Ellis points out that the presence of
an internationally acknowledged state does not mean government
treasuries, national banks, and other official bodies can be any more
trusted to guarantee transactions than elsewhere.3 These bodies often
operate like informal institutions, with the state having almost no control over their activities. In environments like this, distinctions
between formal and informal or official and unofficial are meaningless, even when recognized forms of governance exist. As Beatrice
Hibou suggests, the lines between legal and illegal in weak states are
extraordinarily blurred: “the division into formal and informal spheres
is thus not a useful distinction in Africa, since illegal practices are also
performed in the formal sector, while so-called informal economic networks operate with well-established hierarchies and are fully integrated into social life.”4 Many African states are officially involved in
the “unofficial” export of commodities, such as diamonds and ivory,
while illegal businesses operate in the open, often with the implicit
support of the state.
What is particularly interesting in the Somali case is the fact that the
lack of a recognized government and of national institutions, such as a
treasury or judicial system, has not totally discouraged legitimate
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international firms from dealing with Somalia or its breakaway states
in the north. The British Broadcasting Company (BBC), a well-known
pillar of European journalism, has established a formal affiliation with
one of Somalia’s new media companies. Even British Airways, one of
the world’s largest airlines, has an affiliate airline that serves Somaliland. As noted in various reports, the transnational firm Dole Fruit,
Inc. did not hesitate to take advantage of the absence of a state to
exploit Somalia’s rich banana sector.5
III. What Really Surrounds Clan Hostilities
in Contemporary Somalia?
Writing about clans and clanism in Somalia is problematic since it is
one of the most heated areas of debate in Somali studies and very difficult to accurately capture.6 How does one acknowledge the reality of
clan-based politics and hostilities in contemporary Somalia without
relying on outdated, empirically flawed notions of clan loyalties and
primordial attachments? The segmentary kinship principle of political
alliances and trust has always been present in Somali politics, but has
assumed more significance recently as faction leaders have deliberately used clanism (“genealogy”) as a political weapon. Clans and
their territories, in turn, have become forcibly isolated from each other,
and their interactions restricted by armed factions. This forced isolationism intensifies hostilities and mistrust between groups. In short,
clanism is a reality in Somalia but it is primarily shaped by the larger
political/historical context and the vicious politics of greedy opportunists.
For outsiders and journalists, the notion of clan is to perceptions of
Somali life what “tribe” is to recent, post-September 11 stereotypes of
Afghan politics. These customary units are said to overwhelm all other
forms of identity and to symbolize a primitive, uncompromising commitment to ethnic loyalties and an inherent resistance to rational politics and modern governance. That current hostilities and political
discourses are expressed in terms of clans and ethnicities sheds little
light on the reasons for rural- and urban-based violence or for the frequent reshaping of Somali identities in response to changing external
situations. Why have particular identities based on clans or sub-clans
(invented or real) emerged only in the past decade and why has most
of the conflict focused on urban centers and their control? Instead of
searching within “traditional” Somali social structure for explanations
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each time a new (or old) clan identity or alliance is expressed or
invented, one must examine the external power relations and the
material benefits associated with such changes, which have been
exceptionally dynamic since 1991.
There is little doubt that the proliferation, fragmentation, and, in
some cases, consolidation of clan identities has been strongly influenced by the presence of outside, resource-rich groups, such as the
United Nations and Western development agencies. These held static,
traditionalist definitions of clan, and the necessary resources to reinforce the stereotypes. External agencies frequently worked within a
clan idiom themselves, often insisting on proposals from clan “elders,”
even when some of these were covertly militia heads.7 The number of
acknowledged clans quickly multiplied in response to such requests
and opportunities, and some of these clan leaders were disguised warlords who claimed to have clan support.
While clans could be united on one front — for example, vis-à-vis
external threats by other clans and outsiders — they easily segmented
when negotiating representation and benefits along clan lines. This
pattern of consolidation and fragmentation, which is the core principle
of a segmentary kinship system, was exactly what happened in
response to the U.S. armed attack on Mogadishu in 1993, and its aftermath. The United States misunderstood the importance of the segmentary principle on that tragic “Black Hawk Down” day in October 1993,
when eighteen American soldiers and several hundred Somalis died.8
The U.S. assumed that once it isolated the warlord Farah Aideed, the
populace of Mogadishu would not challenge its forces. However, segmentary political systems aggregate, not divide, when confronted by
outsiders. At that time, a divided Somali population unified in opposition to what was perceived as an external threat, even though at one
level they were supportive of attempts to capture misguided warlords.
Although Somalia’s decentralized political structures draw on the
segmentary clan idiom, the society has not descended into barbaric
lawlessness or tribalism, as some predicted. In fact, there seems to
have been a “re-traditionalization” of kinship and clan structures and a
reinvention of social structure in general, as Somali politicians now
openly incorporate the “traditional” into political structures. New
leaders of the Transitional National Government (TNG) and the breakaway state of Puntland in northeastern Somalia have done this by utilizing customary clan-based assemblies and forums and carefully
allocating political posts among different clan segments.
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In these volatile, risky times, is it unusual for Somali traders and
others to rely on their extensive kinship ties and on members of their
own clans? These social strategies are very common in contemporary
Somalia, but also increasingly characterize informal trade elsewhere in
Africa and between the continent and other parts of the world. For
example, MacGaffey and Bazenguissa-Ganga show how kinship (and
religious) relations are important to a specific recent trade circuit, the
Congo-to-Paris market, that is important for the DRC.9 Kinship and
clan-based relations are reflected in the regional and international
trading diasporas that are so important for Somalia. As in other parts
of the world, they aid traders and consumers in gaining access to markets, finance, and information during periods of both boom and bust.
Clan-based ties also assist the global trade and remittance networks
that have kept the Somali economy afloat. Somali traders and transporters are found throughout East Africa and well into Central Africa
and the Middle East (Dubai, Oman, and Yemen) and Europe. These
networks have grown in significance with the implosion of the Somali
state. A “Greater Somalia” of trade and finance networks has
expanded beyond the Horn of Africa to encompass parts of the Middle
East and to link numerous international cities to Somalia. Ironically, a
Greater Somalia based on trade and transport has been achieved, while
a Greater Somalia political state — comprised of Somalia, Somaliland,
and Somali areas of neighboring Kenya, Ethiopia, and Djibouti — is
now more unrealistic than at any point during the past forty years.
Thus, the difficulty in writing about clans in contemporary Somalia
is to avoid sounding like a primordialist or tribalist, while still recognizing the reality of clan-based factions and hostilities. It is true that
clans play a role in today’s Somalia and they have greatly shaped local
politics and commercial activities (including cross-border trade), but
this is only because the larger political context compelled it. The same
can be said of the politics of race relations and hostilities in the U.S. or
of ethnicity in the former territory of Yugoslavia. Both cases have also
been greatly fueled by macropolitical processes. Unlike in the African
cases, however, terms like tribalism have rarely been used to describe
the political situation in the U.S., the Balkan region, or elsewhere in
Eastern Europe.
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IV. How to Assess the Social Costs of Statelessness
In Somalia: Economy Without State, I discuss pastoralists and traders in
Somali society, and certain sectors (i.e., trade) that have fared relatively
well in the post-1991 era, especially when compared to other social
groups and activities. Had the book focused on minority groups in
Somalia or on other economic activities, the story would have been different. The reasons that, in the past twelve years, Somali pastoralists
have been less seriously impacted than other populations stem from
multiple factors. These include:
• With their mobile livelihood system, herders were able to escape
some of the violence and destructive behavior of the warlords.
When confronted with problems, they could move to another location, a strategy that sedentary farmers and urbanites could not follow.
• In the past, pastoralists were not very dependent upon government
services and goods, so that when the state failed, they were less
affected than others. Herders maintained more autonomy than others, while government extension services, development programs,
and imported technologies rarely benefited them.
• Because so much of the violence and destruction since 1991 has been
in urban centers and in key agricultural zones, pastoralists were
able to avoid these areas. In fact, the obliteration of large-scale irrigation schemes and other investments in prime grazing zones, such
as the Jubba River Valley, may actually have benefited herders by
opening up additional dry-season grazing.
• Herders of southern Somalia were already heavily involved in
transborder commerce outside of government controls, so when the
state collapsed, they were able to continue this activity. However,
export market activities in the south were negatively impacted and
this has clearly hurt many large-scale traders and wealthy herders.
After 1993, the nutritional status of most population groups, including pastoralists, improved throughout the country, except in local
pockets of conflict. Nutritional surveys during 1994 to 1997, “reported
generally low rates of malnutrition in most areas of the country (e.g.,
3 – 10 percent)),” and among nomadic groups, global rates of malnutrition were similar to prewar levels.10 According to these findings, pastoralists are usually only vulnerable at the end of the dry season, when
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milk and meat production are low. In the same report, it is noted that
Somali pastoralists are, “generally healthier than other groups because
they are more adaptable, have ready sources of milk and meat (except
during periods of drought), and usually take water from sand-filtered
water.”11 The Famine Early Warning Systems (FEWS) program, in
assessing a potential famine in the Jubba Valley, reaches a similar conclusion: “the nomadic population seems not to suffer hunger as the
sedentary farmers.”12 It should be noted that the nutritional situation
on the Kenyan side of the border is probably equivalent, if not worse,
than the condition in southern Somalia. Global rates of malnutrition
along the border in the Mandera District, Kenya, have been recorded
as high as 57 percent during the most recent drought.13
Significantly, livestock trade and traders have prospered in many
parts of the southern borderlands and Somalia generally, challenging
the popular images of a collapsed Somali economy. The so-called unofficial trade to neighboring countries has grown, permitting certain
groups of Somali traders to weather extreme economic and political
uncertainties. Indeed, the government’s collapse has clearly been good
for the transborder cattle trade with Kenya and the merchants associated with it. It has been less lucrative for average herders in the region,
but even they have benefited, especially those located near the Kenyan
border. As a commodity, livestock has features that make it amenable
to cross-border trade even in situations of widespread insecurity. It is a
mobile, high-value commodity that can be transported overland rather
than confined to roads, and can be easily moved across borders, a practice that local pastoralists have engaged in since international borders
were first demarcated. These characteristics do not hold for most agricultural commodities in the region, which usually require road transport to be commercially viable. Moreover, livestock prices in southern
Somalia are less volatile than prices for grains and cereal products. The
southern and central Somalia border areas have a major grain deficit,
and prices for imported wheat flour and rice can increase astronomically in only a few months. In risk-prone Kismayo, for example, the
price of maize more than doubled from February to April 2000.14 Insecurity and conflict can create artificial food shortages and high prices,
but have less impact on livestock prices.
It is important, however, not to equate the relative success of certain
segments of Somali economy and society with an overly rosy picture
that all is well in Somalia. That simply is not the case. Large segments
of society continue to endure terrible deprivations; public institutions
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in health and education are largely destroyed; the political situation in
the country is still extremely volatile; and brutal faction heads (warlords) have too much influence and military clout. In addition, large
numbers of Somalis remain outside of their homeland, many in
refugee camps in neighboring countries where conditions are
deplorable. Indeed, the large number of Somali refugees and the rapid
growth in the Somali Diaspora are telling indicators that all is not well
at home. The Somalia paradox has had some “winners,” but it has also
had many, many losers, especially women, children, and minority
populations. Highlighting segments of the population (traders and
herders) and an activity (transborder trade) that attained some successes in the 1990s does not mean that a Somalia without a government
has been good for society as a whole or represents a basis for a political
solution.
An apt illustration of this point is the plight of the Gosha people.
They are the Bantu descendants of former slaves and indigenous agriculturalists who reside in large parts of the Jubba Valley. Their servitude is said to have persisted well into the 20th century, often at the
hands of Somali pastoralists, and later on they suffered terrible discrimination and loss of land during the Siyaad Barre regime.15 Large
tracts of their rich agricultural lands were seized in state irrigation
schemes during the 1970s and 1980s without any compensation, while
powerful Somali politicians randomly expropriated their farms for private purposes, either evicting the Gosha families or turning them into
tenants on their own land.16 Almost immediately after the state’s collapse different militias pillaged their farms and possessions and violently brutalized the populace. Thousands of Gosha perished from
famine and physical attack, while others sought refugee status outside
the country or in the numerous camps of Kismayo town.17
On a lesser scale, the same can be said of urban and settled Somalis.
After the state’s collapse, urban services and institutions not only disappeared, but warlords stepped in to fill the political vacuum, as they
have in other feeble states. Most of them have acted as vicious strongmen who use force and violent means of extraction for economic gain.
With the establishment of the Transitional National Government
(TNG) in Mogadishu in 2001, the power of the warlords was weakened
for a short period. Unfortunately, the renewed attention to Somalia
after September 11 clearly opened up “space” for certain warlords and
political actors who were increasingly out of the country’s national picture in early 2001. The strong anti-terrorist posturing among warlords
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and others has been predictable, if not sadly ironic. Employing the
dual specters of terrorism and Islamic fundamentalism, some faction
chiefs have capitalized on Western (especially U.S.) suspicions about
the TNG by inaccurately accusing the fledgling government of hosting
radical Islamists and terrorists in its ranks. The current context for
political reconciliation holds less promise than it did pre-September 11.
V. Is Statelessness Good for Somalis and Somalia?
The book Somalia: Economy without State documents some rather amazing phenomena that have occurred in the country in the absence of a
government. Some of these are discussed above, but others include the
persistence of a relatively stable Somali currency in the 1990s, innovative advances in telecommunications and financial services that have
provided the cheapest consumer rates in East Africa, and spectacular
increases in live animal exports in some parts of northern Somalia
(Somaliland). In light of this, does Somalia need a central state again?
Should Somalis and the wider international community allow the
country to be fragmented into a series of mini-states? I fervently hope
that Somalia: Economy Without State is not misread as an endorsement
of a certain type of political system; for example, one without a strong
central government. Without taking a particular position on the question of the breakaway states of Somaliland and Puntland, let me note
some of the reasons why a strong Somalia state is needed:
• Securing Boundaries against Neighboring States: Ethiopia has sent its
army into Somalia on more than one occasion. Its cordial commercial and political relationships with the breakaway state of Somaliland are at least partial responses to a general disfavor for the TNG
with its quest for a unified Somalia. Moreover, the Kenyan government continues to intermittently close its border with Somalia, with
disastrous impacts on commerce for southern Somalia. The Kenyan
government has implied that it will not engage in a border agreement until Somalia has a legitimate government.18
• Protecting its Natural Resources: Somalia’s only two perennial rivers,
the Jubba and Shabeelle, flow from the Ethiopian highlands. Bilateral agreements are needed to insure that dams or other impediments are not constructed in their catchments. In addition, massive
deforestation to fuel charcoal exports, uncontrolled fishing by foreign fleets, and suspicions of toxic chemical dumping along the
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coast are strong environmental reasons why a central state is
needed.
• Negotiating Trade and other Agreements: Some external state or other
body is needed to protect the livestock industry from import bans
and horrendous diseases like Rift Valley Fever, and to help it find
alternative export markets. Somalia has been subject to devastating
import bans from Saudi Arabia because of fears of such animal diseases. Without a unified campaign to confront trade and animal
health problems, Somalia’s regional (even global) importance in animal trade may come to a screeching halt in the very near future.
Even the informal cross-border trade with Kenya is threatened by
an unhealthy reliance on one market, Nairobi. A formal campaign
by a government to seek alternative markets is required in order to
reduce this dependency.
• Public Institutions for Health and Education: There is little doubt that
without a government, school enrollment and public health services
will continue to decline to abysmal levels. In the latter case, public
health institutions have been destroyed and the ability to control
diseases like cholera and malaria is virtually nonexistent. Health
services were minimal in southern Somalia during the 1980s, but at
least there was a government to rally international assistance and
organize vaccination campaigns. In terms of education, the lack of
opportunities partially explains why warlords have been able to
extensively recruit from among the youth. Often armed with
kalashnikovs (AK-47s), the Somali youth have lost an opportunity
to acquire the skills needed to rebuild institutions and industries
and to compete regionally.
• Decreased Reliance on Outsider Assessments and Assistance: During
periods of natural disasters, local communities are dependent upon
emergency assistance from NGOs and donor agencies. Local populations continue to confront a fatigued and increasingly unsympathetic donor community from which to seek aid. They also must
rely on external assessments and studies to rally international support, and they have little control over the data that is used to assess
their own welfare.
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VI. Why the World should Care about Somalia
Despite the obvious ethical and moral reasons for caring about Somalia, there are other factors to be considered. Some governments and
organizations view statelessness in Somalia and other ungoverned
spaces as threats to global security because they harbor threatening
diseases, international crime rings, and uncontrolled weapons markets.19 What is often forgotten, however, is that the “arms culture” in
Somalia was initially fueled by massive amounts of U.S. military aid in
the 1980s, which totaled more than $150 million, and by the former
Soviet Union’s assistance programs in the 1970s.20 It is hardly coincidental that many of the states (including Somalia, Sudan, Liberia, and
the Democratic Republic of the Congo) that figured so prominently in
U.S.-based support in Africa during the 1970s and 1980s are those very
countries that are terribly conflict ridden and internationally ostracized today. Almost overnight, small states like Somalia no longer
seemed to matter after the end of the Cold War.
There is abundant evidence worldwide of how impoverished populations can lose confidence in their nation-states and their “modern”
apparatus, encouraging lots of potential “Somalias” in Africa and elsewhere. In 2000, civil strife raged in at least seventeen African countries
(including Somalia), a staggering number that has destabilized large
parts of the continent, spurred a major exodus of asylum seekers to the
West, and reduced foreign investment to a trickle. This alone should be
motivation enough for the international community to care about
Somalia.
For better or worse, the territory of Somalia is not situated in political isolation, either from its neighbors or from the larger international
community. As the previous examples illustrate, the motivations of
these external parties are not always benign. Although the absence of a
state has not had a particularly devastating effect on certain segments
of the population or economy, without a state, Somalia will have problems protecting its resources, sovereignty, and economy.
Notes
The writing of this article was supported by a Research and Writing Grant from the
Global Security and Sustainability Program of the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur
Foundation. I wish to thank the Foundation and its staff for their generous support, but
the contents and views reflected in this article are solely the responsibility of the author.
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1. Peter D. Little, Somalia: Economy Without State (Oxford, U.K.: James Currey Publishers,
and Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 2003).
2. The Economist 1995: 36.
3. 1999: 185.
4. 1999: 80.
5. Nduru 1996.
6. See Samatar 1992; Besteman 1996 and 1999; Lewis 1998; and Helander 1998.
7. See United Nations Operation in Somalia (UNOSOM) 1993.
8. Bowden 1993.
9. 2000.
10. UNDP 1998: 21.
11. Ibid.:42.
12. Famine Early Warning System (FEWS) 1996:3.
13. FEWS 1999:3.
14. FEWS 2000: 3.
15. Menkhaus 1989.
16. Menkhaus and Craven 1996.
17. See CARE 1994.
18. IRIN 2001.
19. See Menkhaus 2001:17.
20. See Rawson 1994:164.
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