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Is Somalia’s new President a viable ally?
A Somali police officer looks out from the remains of the Al Uraba Hotel, in Mogadishu, in an area of the city that until recently was a no man’s land created between rival clans. Photograph by Sven Torfinn / Panos
“Isn’t Jim Carrey getting too old to make Jim Carrey movies?”
“You haven’t enjoyed the Yule log till you’ve enjoyed it in high def.”
“Everybody double your anti-depressants.”
“It’s all learning-is-fun and invented spelling, and then—bam!—second grade.”
Published in the print edition of the December 14, 2009 , issue.
Jon Lee Anderson , a staff writer, began contributing to The New Yorker in 1998. He is the author of several books, including “ Che Guevara: A Revolutionary Life .”
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Ayatollah Khomeini Never Read Salman Rushdie’s Book
The notorious fatwa has a complicated history that still plays out, decades later, in Iran’s politics and relations with the U.S.
After the Taliban seized power in Afghanistan, a U.S. organization shut down the country’s largest network of women’s shelters. Its founders think that it made a huge mistake. 
The Evacuation of Afghanistan Never Ended
A year after the last U.S. military flights left, some Afghans who are vulnerable to retribution from the Taliban are being resettled in the U.S. But others are stuck in third-party countries, and many remain trapped in Afghanistan, at great risk.
For the Biden Administration, supporting the Afghan people without empowering the Taliban is the foreign-policy case study from hell.
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Late this summer, after meeting with Secretary of State Hillary Clinton in Nairobi, Sheikh Sharif Sheikh Ahmed, the President of Somalia, flew home to Mogadishu, the country’s capital, aboard a chartered propeller plane. The Mogadishu airport is little more than a runway alongside the beach at the southern edge of the city. The plane, which had flown three hours over a largely uninhabited arid wilderness, came to a halt in front of a tiny terminal building; a crashed jet lay crumpled, nose forward, nearby. There were soldiers everywhere. A group of women in long dresses and colorful turbans began chanting greetings as Sharif, a slim, youthful man of forty-five, climbed from the plane. But in less than five minutes the welcoming ceremonies were over, and Sharif had taken his place inside a Toyota Land Cruiser with smoked-glass windows, flanked by armored personnel carriers, each with two machine gunners manning open turrets. I had accompanied Sharif on the flight, and was hustled into the back of an A.P.C., which had pulled up close to the plane, by one of Sharif’s advisers, who said that he had orders to keep me out of sight.
We drove into a city that was beat-up and bone-white from the sun and a coating of dust. Peacekeepers from the African Union Mission in Somalia, or AMISOM , and skinny Somali militiamen wearing red-and-white checked kaffiyehs and armed with Kalashnikovs stood watch as we passed. Gunmen had sealed off side streets with “technicals,” Somali battlewagons made from pickup trucks; one had a massive recoilless rifle mounted on the back. We zigzagged around concrete blast barriers, through two sets of security gates, and then we were inside the Presidential compound, known as Villa Somalia.
Clinton had called Sharif the “best hope” for his country in some time. But what Sharif presided over could scarcely be considered a government. After nineteen years of war, much of Somalia remains an open battlefield. Downtown Mogadishu is overlaid with a deceptive grid of empty streets—rectangles crisscrossed with footpaths and studded with ruins. Most buildings had either been wrecked, like the Cathedral, or, like the old Parliament, had vanished. There is a small cluster of what were once eight-to-ten-story hotels and office buildings, of a style that was fashionable forty years ago. They are unoccupied, ransacked shells, frozen in time. In July, the Shabaab, a group of violent Islamist guerrillas, advanced through the city to within a few hundred yards of Villa Somalia before being halted by AMISOM . ( AMISOM , a force of four thousand three hundred Ugandan and Burundian soldiers, has been stationed in Somalia since early 2007; the African Union provides the soldiers, and the United Nations pays the bill.) Sharif’s government survived, but so did the Shabaab. His writ truly held only within the enclaves guarded by the peacekeepers: the airport, the seaport, and Villa Somalia. Everything else was contested.
Last Thursday, an explosion ripped through a graduation ceremony for medical and engineering students at the Shamo hotel, near the AMISOM base, in an area under the loose security umbrella afforded by the peacekeepers. There were reports that the blast—presumably ordered by the Shabaab—was set off by a male suicide bomber disguised as a woman. The bomb killed at least nineteen people, including three cabinet members, two journalists, and several students from Benadir University, a college founded by a group of Somali physicians in 2002. A young Presidential aide, Yasin Bashir, sent me an e-mail shortly afterward, calling it the government’s “worst day” thus far. “It’s not unfamiliar in Mogadishu to watch or hear an explosion,” he said, “but it’s unbelievable to kill three key ministers in one occasion.” The cabinet members were the ministers for education, culture and higher education, and health. Notably, all three were diaspora Somalis, who had returned and joined the government. The health minister, a woman named Qamar Adan Ali, was “well educated and also a British citizen,” Bashir told me. Dahir Mohamud Gelle, Sharif’s information minister, called the bombing a “national disaster.”
The Shabaab (the name means “the youth”) has ties to Al Qaeda, and in the areas it controls—most of the southern part of the country, including a large swath of Mogadishu—it has imposed its own harsh form of Sharia, or Islamic law, with punishments such as public flogging, stoning, and amputation. Last year, in the port of Kismayo, a young girl accused of adultery was buried up to her neck in the field of a soccer stadium packed with spectators, and then stoned to death; her family said that she was only thirteen years old and had in fact been gang-raped. This summer, in the ancient coastal town of Merka, the Shabaab decreed that gold and silver dental fillings were un-Islamic, and dispatched patrols to yank them out of people’s mouths.
The group has also targeted foreigners. In July, two French intelligence agents who were in Mogadishu to train Sharif’s security ministry were kidnapped in broad daylight, with the apparent collusion of their bodyguards. One of the Frenchmen later escaped; the Shabaab said that it would try the other one for the crimes of espionage and conspiracy.
Just a few weeks before our flight to Mogadishu, the Obama Administration had let it be known that it had given Sharif’s government forty tons of arms, and that it intended to send forty tons more. French and U.S. military personnel were also said to be training Somali security forces in nearby Djibouti, where the United States maintains an airfield and a small military force as part of AFRICOM , the U.S. military command for Africa. This was a remarkable turn of events. As recently as two years ago, sending American arms to Sharif would have been unthinkable—he was a Western pariah, the titular head of the Islamic Courts Union, or I.C.U., an amalgam of local Islamic Sharia courts. The Courts, formed to rein in Somalia’s anarchy after years of clan-based warfare, had evolved into an armed movement that encompassed extremists linked to Al Qaeda. The Shabaab itself had grown out of the Courts. Sharif and his allies had taken power by defeating warlords who were supported by the United States.
The Bush Administration had gone so far as to contemplate killing Sharif, according to a Western official who has worked in Somalia for many years. In December, 2006, “Sharif headed south with some bad guys,” the official said, naming three jihadis linked to Al Qaeda who were on America’s wanted list. “These were people the Americans were keeping a close eye on, and Sheikh Sharif was with them.” The U.S. was planning air strikes to target the men. “In the State Department, there was some back-and-forth over whether or not he was a good guy and could be rescued, or left to die along with the others in the air strikes.” One camp believed that “Sharif’s attitude made him a bad guy,” the official said, while others argued that “diplomacy hadn’t really been attempted.” (The State Department had no comment.)
In the end, Sharif wasn’t killed. As the official described it, a schism in the Courts movement was what ultimately saved him. His faction eventually broke with the more extreme wing; he favored political compromise, and lobbied to have the word “jihad” taken out of the Courts’ charter. Suddenly, Sharif was seen as useful: the good Islamist. “U.S. policy changed,” the official said, “and now Sharif is the chosen one.”
When Sharif met with Hillary Clinton in Nairobi, she was just beginning a seven-nation African tour. “The U.S., Kenya, the entire region, and the global community have a stake in the success of President Sheikh Sharif’s government,” Clinton told reporters. She warned that the Shabaab was trying to turn Somalia, a Muslim nation, into a staging ground for terrorism. Somalia’s Foreign Minister at the time, Mohammad Abdullahi Omaar, then spoke of the “personal rapport” between Clinton and Sharif, and Michael Ranneberger, the U.S. Ambassador to Kenya, who is also in charge of relations with Somalia, described Sharif as “the most visionary leader Somalia has had.”
Before Sharif’s encounter with Clinton, there had been a great deal of media speculation about whether Sharif, as a devout Muslim, would publicly shake a woman’s hand. In the end, Sharif smiled and warmly extended his hand to Clinton. When I spoke to Sharif, I asked how he had decided to go ahead with the handshake. The President exchanged a faint smile with his close friend and adviser Hassan Moallim Sheikh Ali, who was translating for us, and began talking about what the Koran had to say on the subject. One verse suggested that the Prophet objected to men shaking hands with women, but another depicted him doing so himself. “And when there is such a conflict there is no authority,” Sharif said.
“There are many religious scholars who consider handshakes as a normal thing, and they base their arguments on whether the touch is conducted for reasons of lust or not,” he went on. “My personal view on this point is that Hillary Clinton came to see me with the good intention of helping the Somali people. There are always people that do not want Somalia to get out of this impasse, so they will dwell on this.” The meeting with Clinton, Sharif felt, was an opportunity that had to be seized.
“This religion is a tolerant religion, and not as austere as those that came before it,” Sharif said. Devout Somalis now realized that the Shabaab and Al Qaeda had exploited their faith; previously, because of their isolation, they had not fully understood this, he said.
And yet, this past April, Sharif’s Parliament voted unanimously to expand the legal system to include Sharia. He told me that imposing Sharia was one of the Shabaab’s main demands, and so “they can have no excuse for continuing the war.” He paused, and said, “Actually, they will not be satisfied whatever we do, but it will erode their support among the people.”
Sharif said that the international figure he most admired was Nelson Mandela. I remarked that to many people Mandela was a kind of living saint. Sharif looked perplexed. After a back-and-forth with his friend, he said, “The thing is that in Islam we have no saints like that. Just martyrs. But I understand what you mean.”
With shade trees and walkways edged by flower beds, Villa Somalia bears some resemblance to a small community-college campus. It sits on a high bluff overlooking the city center and the port, and consists of five large villas, ranging in style from late Art Deco to sixties modernist: the President’s office; his residence; the Speaker of the House’s office; a large villa where ministers and advisers now live; and a guesthouse, where I was lodged in a suite with an extraordinary view of the Indian Ocean. I was told that Idi Amin Dada, Henry Kissinger, and Andrei Gromyko had stayed there. Trash and discarded tank shells were scattered around an untended orchard; amid the trees, there were soldiers, tents, and gun emplacements.
Villa Somalia had been the official residence of Somalia’s Italian colonial administrators. Italian troops had invaded in the eighteen-nineties, and by the nineteen-thirties, with Mussolini in power, Somalia had been subsumed into a colony that also included present-day Ethiopia and Eritrea. The Italians built roads and railways, but the Second World War brought an end to all that. In 1960, after a few years under British military rule, and then as a U.N. trusteeship, Somalia gained its independence. The Italians handed Villa Somalia over to the country’s first President, Adan Abdulle Osman, in a ceremony held in the garden.
Osman proved to be a statesman of exceptional honesty and modesty. In 1967, he voluntarily stepped down—the first post-colonial African leader to do so. His Prime Minister, Abdirashid Ali Shermarke, ruled for two years before being assassinated by a bodyguard. (His son, Omar Abdirashid Ali Shermarke, is now Sharif’s Prime Minister; he told me that, when he was a boy, a giraffe roamed Villa Somalia’s grounds freely, and a crocodile lived in its pond.) The assassination triggered a military coup by Major General Mohamed Siad Barre, who set Somalia on a Socialist course. In 1977, Siad Barre launched a war against Ethiopia over control of the Ogaden Desert. For a time, the Soviets aided both sides, but the Kremlin soon favored Ethiopia’s revolutionary junta. As Soviet arms and Cuban soldiers flooded into Ethiopia, Siad Barre aligned himself with the United States, and the Horn of Africa became a Cold War battleground. By the late nineteen-eighties, Somalia had become a major recipient of U.S. foreign aid.
Somalia began to fragment as regional guerrilla movements, most of them based around clans, took up arms. Siad Barre responded with brute force; in 1988, his Air Force bombed the northern city of Hargeisa, killing several thousand civilians. But in 1991, as rival-clan militias fought for control of Mogadishu, Siad Barre fled into exile.
Amid fighting and drought, tens of thousands of Somalis died of starvation. In 1992, President George H. W. Bush sent troops into Somalia to protect relief shipments that the militiamen were plundering. In October, 1993, two U.S. Black Hawk helicopters were shot down, and in the ensuing chaos eighteen servicemen were killed. After Somalis were shown on television dragging the mutilated bodies of two American soldiers through the streets, President Clinton, who had been in office for just nine months, withdrew U.S. forces.
Somalia is now the archetypal failed state. Its nineteen-hundred-mile-long coastline has become a base for pirates, who have grown increasingly aggressive. Piracy has become a byword for Somalia’s lawlessness. Last week, pirates hijacked the Maran Centaurus, a Greek supertanker carrying crude oil to the U.S. from Saudi Arabia, with twenty-eight crew members on board. It was the second time in a year that pirates had seized a supertanker. A year ago, the Saudi-owned Sirius Star, which was carrying a hundred million dollars’ worth of oil, was taken; the ship and its crew were released after a reported ransom of three million dollars was paid.
Pirates are holding at least a dozen vessels off the Somali coast, with as many as two hundred hostages. They include a British couple whose yacht was hijacked near the Seychelles, more than eight hundred miles from Somalia, in October. The pirates are demanding a multimillion-dollar ransom.
The Somali government exerts no control over its territorial waters. I asked Admiral Farah Ahmed Omaar, who bears the title of Commander of the Somali Navy, if he worked with the antipirate flotillas from various navies—the American, French, and Norwegian—policing the Indian Ocean. He shook his head: “No. So far, the government has not made these sorts of contacts, to my knowledge.”
“What is the Somali Navy today?” I asked.
“Nothing,” the Admiral acknowledged. “Practically nothing.”
Farah, who is in his sixties, had been trained at the naval academy in Baku, in what was then the Soviet Union, and at Saddam Hussein’s military college in Iraq. He was now rebuilding the Navy from scratch. After a recruiting drive on Somali radio and in newspapers, he had enlisted five hundred young men, who were about to finish a four-month training course. It was rudimentary—“Drilling, swimming, basic rules of the sea.”
Lately, Somalia’s problems seem to have reached a critical mass. A million and a half people, out of a population that’s believed to be around nine million, are internal refugees. Another million or so have fled abroad, to Yemen, Kenya, and Uganda, and to countries as far away as Finland, Norway, the United Kingdom, and the United States, where there is a Somali émigré community of thirty thousand in Minnesota.
“President Sharif “has surfed political trends from extremism back to moderation,” a Western official says. Photograph by Platon
Twenty or so Somali-American youngsters from the Twin Cities have gone missing only to surface in Somalia, fighting for the Shabaab. They are thought to have been recruited through mosques and Islamist Web sites. Three months ago, a Somali-American from Seattle drove a truck bomb into an AMISOM base in Mogadishu, killing twenty-one peacekeepers and himself. This fall, when Sharif made his first trip to America, he stopped in New York, to attend the U.N. General Assembly, and in Minneapolis-St. Paul. There, he met Senator Al Franken, and he promised the parents of the runaways that he would do his utmost to “bring them all home.”
The number of people in Somalia who are dependent on international food aid has tripled since 2007, to an estimated 3.6 million. But there is no permanent foreign expatriate presence in southern Somalia, because the Shabaab has declared war on the U.N. and on Western non-governmental organizations. International relief supplies are flown or shipped into the country and distributed, wherever possible, through local relief workers. Insurgents routinely attack and murder them, too; forty-two have been killed in the past two years alone.
The U.N.’s Special Representative to Somalia is Ahmedou Ould-Abdallah, a Mauritanian-born diplomat. I spoke with him in Nairobi, where he is based. He argued that the U.
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