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Disorder reigns, but Somalia rulers see calm, progress By Kurt Shillinger, Globe Correspondent, 3/12/2001
MOGADISHU, Somalia - From the logbook at the Oriental Police Station in central Mogadishu: Jan. 9, 2001: Kiosk owner killed in marketplace. Gunman identified by reliable source. Jan. 27, 2001: Man arrested for inflicting knife wounds. Victim, a woman, assessed for injuries and sent to nearby hospital. Feb. 1, 2001: Fifty officers left station for patrol. No problems reported. An exceptionally peaceful day. Pedestrian as they might seem, these entries record one of the most significant - some say foolhardy - efforts on the African continent: the cautious return of governance to Somalia's shell-battered capital after a decade of anarchy. Six months ago, a provisional government set up shop in a city buried under its own rubble. It faces a formidable challenge. Faction leaders (they used to be called warlords) still block the main port and airport. Goats graze on weeds and litter in the once-marbled foyer of Commercial Bank, which closed long ago. Farther afield, secessionists control the north, disgruntled clans stir in the south, and troops from neighboring Ethiopia stream across the border to the west. None of them recognize the new rulers. But the hunger for stability is strong among ordinary Somalis in Mogadishu. And despite the obstacles, the first modest signs of renewal are starting to emerge. Every day, young militiamen turn in their guns to join the police force, the first institution created by the new government. And people move freely across old front lines, daring to hope that peaceful days soon might not be so exceptional. ''The task of rebuilding is unprecedented, not just in Somalia, but in Africa and the world,'' President Abdiqasim Salad Hassan said recently as he sat in a presidential meeting room brightened by shocking-pink curtains and plastic flowers. ''All of the national institutions ceased to operate. There has been massive destruction. But now, after 10 years of that, people are longing for peace, security, and development.'' Somalia collapsed in 1991 when guerrilla groups ousted the longtime dictator, Mohamed Siad Barre, leaving a clear field for clan rivalries. The factions drew a line down the center of the city and battled one another for control with heavy artillery. For 10 years, all attempts to restore order failed, including 12 peace conferences and a fortified US mission, which President Bush sent in to ease a famine, and which President Clinton withdrew in defeat. Lacking central government for a decade, the country splintered and the capital collapsed. Centuries-old Omani and Italian architecture was left in ruins. Everything of use or value - door frames, windows, sewer pipes, even massive underground fuel tanks - was looted. Streets are buried in sand dunes and trash heaps. Somalia now ranks last in the United Nations survey of human development. But in the chaos, people in Mogadishu reorganized. Business owners formed groups to pay for protection and open ports beyond the faction leaders' control. Women gathered in advocacy groups. Religious elders formed courts based on Islamic law. A civil society began to emerge, and with it, some say, a new basis for social cohesion. ''Women, especially, shouldered most of the burden of the war,'' said Aini Abukar Ga'al, a board member of the Coalition for Grassroots Women's Organizations. ''We realized that the best thing to do, to survive, was to help your neighbor rather than build alliances based on clan.'' After a dozen failed attempts to broker peace among rival factions, neighboring Djibouti stepped in, offering in September 1999 to mediate with a home-grown approach: Somalis were invited to sit under the proverbial African tree in a small Djibouti village in Arta and talk out their differences for as long as it took. It took five months, from April to last August. Driven by businessmen wanting a more peaceful environment for trade, the women's groups, and others, representatives from a wide range of Somali backgrounds negotiated an interim national charter, and then elected a prime minister and a president. The delegates also chose members of the new Parliament, which includes, for the first time, 25 women. Under the peace agreement, elections must be held in three years. Since arriving in Mogadishu at the end of last August, senior members of the new government have pushed for outside legitimacy and financial support. So far, the UN, European Union, South Africa, and several Arab states have promised to aid the nation's recovery. The Djibouti process, Prime Minister Ali Kalif Galayr said, ''gave this government a vote of confidence.'' Others aren't so sure. The three main factional leaders in Mogadishu were barred from Djibouti, and now they oppose the new government. They, and others, criticize the new leaders for their ties to the fallen Siad Barre regime. Both Salad and Kalif were long-serving ministers under the former dictator. Two regions in the north have claimed independence and refuse to recognize the new government. One, based in Hargeisa, plans to hold a referendum for an independent Somaliland in May. To the south, in the country's agricultural heartland, people say the government has reneged on provisions of the Djibouti conference requiring land restitution. In the lost decade, according to experts on Somalia, the strongest of the factions, run by Mohamed Farah Aidid, stole vast tracks of rural land and prime urban real estate. That clan, the Habr Gedir, remains the dominant force in the new government. In a troubling development, leaders from the Mogadishu factions have gathered in Ethiopia with other disgruntled Somali movements to forge a campaign against the new government. Some of those groups are backed by Ethiopia, which accuses the new government of failing to represent all of Somalia's clans and has moved its troops into southern Somalia. These cracks, said John Drysdale, a Somalia scholar, reflect the weaknesses of the Djibouti process. ''I have a jaundiced view of the new government,'' he said. ''Civil society is a great buzzword, but it makes no sense in Somalia. If you ignore traditional culture, it's a grave mistake.'' Still, Abdi Hassan Awale is confident. A close ally of Aidid, the former warlord, he is now Mogadishu's chief of police and has already overseen the demobilization of more than 7,000 militia soldiers. Streets that were blocked for years by armed factions are now open. People are setting up stalls without fear. It's a start, he said. ''Despite the difficulties, we have no choice but to summon the courage to succeed.'' |