By Dayib Sh. Ahmed

The year 1991 remains a defining and tragic chapter in Somali history, marked by chaos, violence, and profound suffering. The collapse of the central government plunged the nation into a devastating civil war, claiming countless lives and displacing millions. This pivotal moment not only dismantled the Somali state but also shattered the societal fabric, with clan divisions becoming entrenched fault lines that turned once-thriving cities like Mogadishu, Hargeisa, Baidoa, Kismayo, and Galkayo into battlefields. Clan identity became a matter of survival or death, as families and entire communities were targeted based solely on lineage. Trust and unity gave way to suspicion and hostility, tearing apart the social cohesion that had long been the backbone of Somali society. Streets once alive with commerce and cultural vibrancy were instead consumed by fear and despair, signaling a stark departure from the vision of a united, prosperous nation.

According to the U.S. Country Report on Human Rights Practices, the immediate aftermath of the collapse saw approximately 20,000 fatalities, as widespread violence and clan-based targeting engulfed the country. The emergent faction leaders, lacking the political will and administrative capacity to govern, failed to unite the fractured nation. Instead, their rivalries degenerated into clan-based vendettas, deepening divisions and entrenching fragmentation. The human cost of this conflict has reverberated through the decades, compounding Somalia’s challenges. According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), 2.5 million Somalis have fled the country, while more than 3.8 million remain internally displaced. Additionally, some 6.7 million people struggle to meet basic food needs, with over half a million children suffering from severe malnutrition. These enduring consequences underscore the devastation wrought by 1991. The collapse of the state, the fracturing of society, and the ongoing humanitarian crisis highlight the urgent need for unity and harmony. As Somalia continues to grapple with its challenges, the memory of those dark days must inspire efforts to rebuild a cohesive, resilient, and inclusive nation.

In an interview with WardheerNews, Prof. Kapteijns, author of Clan Cleansing in Somalia, highlight the enduring impact of denial in the historiography of the atrocities of 1991-1992. She critiques the “sloppy oversights, glib denials, and willful misrepresentations” that have marred scholarly analyses and political memoirs of the period. Such denials, she explains, are not merely oversights but integral to the perpetuation of violence. Drawing on genocide studies, she identifies patterns of denial—blatant denial (“nothing happened; it was just chaos”), interpretive denial (“something happened but it was not the clan cleansing of civilians of a particular set of clan backgrounds”), and denial of the victims (“they deserved what they got”)—as mechanisms that enable and sustain large-scale crimes against humanity.

These observations provide a framework for understanding the current political climate under Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, whose governance appears to disregard the lessons of 1991. Prof. Kapteijns’s analysis resonates deeply in the Somali context, where denial of past atrocities continues to fuel division and impunity. Hassan’s apparent indifference to the legacy of clan-based violence and his actions that exacerbate existing tensions reflect the same patterns of denial that have hindered understanding and healing in Somalia. By neglecting the historical realities of 1991 and failing to address their root causes, Hassan risks perpetuating the cycles of violence and fragmentation that have plagued the nation. The devastating humanitarian toll highlighted by the UNHCR—millions displaced, widespread food insecurity, and severe malnutrition—stands as a stark reminder of the consequences of ignoring history. The denial of 1991’s atrocities has not only silenced victims but also obstructed Somalia’s path to recovery. Hassan’s governance, marked by policies that deepen societal fractures, mirrors the actions of faction leaders in 1991 who prioritized power struggles over national unity, exacerbating the suffering of ordinary Somalis.

As Prof. Kapteijns articulates, denial is “part and parcel of such violence,” embedding itself within the social and political fabric of the affected society. The refusal to acknowledge and confront the atrocities of 1991 has perpetuated an environment in which similar actions can be repeated. Hassan’s disregard for these historical lessons underscores the urgent need for leadership that prioritizes truth, accountability, and reconciliation. Somalia’s ongoing challenges demand an honest reckoning with its past. The memory of 1991 should serve as a warning and an impetus for transformative action. Without confronting denial and fostering a collective commitment to justice and unity, Somalia risks reliving its darkest days, further entrenching division and prolonging the suffering of its people.

Personal Stories, The Human Cost of War.

Mohamed Abdi Ware, former president of Hirshabelle and Deputy Executive Secretary of the Inter-Governmental Authority on Development (IGAD), shared with me a deeply moving account of his experience during the 1991 Somali civil war, offering a glimpse into the conflict’s toll on countless lives. Reflecting on that harrowing period, Ware says: “At the time, I was newly married and working with USAID in the Afgoye regions when violence erupted. I fled with my wife, taking only what I could carry. I heard commotion and, when I looked, there was a dispute over my car between two men, and one of them ended up killing the other. In the chaos of fleeing, I hastily grabbed what I believed was my graduate degree from Indiana University Bloomington. However, upon reaching Kismayo, I discovered I had inadvertently taken a tea tray instead.” Ware lived in hiding in Kismayo for nearly one months, constantly fearing for his life. He recounts, “Homes of individuals suspected of being associated with the Ali Mahdi and Mohamed Farah Aidid clans were marked by the United Somali Congress (USC), often as a prelude to violence against the residents.

The pervasive danger created a suffocating sense of vulnerability. My survival depended on avoiding any suspicion.” When Ware finally ventured outside after months of isolation, he was struck by how disconnected he had become from the world. He explains: “I heard a BBC report on Saddam Hussein’s withdrawal from Kuwait and was stunned. I asked, ‘When did he invade?’ The group looked at me and asked, ‘Where are you coming from?’ That moment made me realize how completely removed I had become from the world around me.”

Similarly, the human toll of this conflict extended beyond individuals like Ware to prominent figures whose contributions were vital for Somalia’s recovery. Among the numerous victims of this tragic period was Professor Ibrahim Mohamoud Abyan, a distinguished academic and former president of Somali National University. As head of the Somali Institute of Development Administration and Management (SIDAM) and a key member of the Manifesto Group—a coalition of veteran politicians advocating for a peaceful transition—Professor Abyan was a symbol of hope for Somalia’s future. His assassination epitomized the deliberate targeting of intellectuals, business leaders, and visionaries who could have fostered reconciliation and national reconstruction. The experiences of individuals like Ware and the loss of leaders like Professor Abyan illustrate the dual tragedy of personal suffering and the systemic dismantling of Somalia’s intellectual and political foundations. Together, these stories underscore the profound human cost of the conflict and the enduring wounds that continue to hinder Somalia today,

Another tragic event, while the Somali civil war devastated the entire country, regions like Puntland and Somaliland endured extreme suffering often overshadowed in the broader narrative. Contrary to perceptions of relative immunity, these areas faced devastating consequences that continue to shape their histories and identities. Puntland became a refuge for thousands fleeing violence in southern Somalia, putting immense strain on already limited resources. The city of Galkayo turned into a battleground, with militia groups, including those led by Colonel Abdi Qaybdid, fighting ruthlessly for control. This conflict claimed countless innocent lives and contributed to the region’s enduring struggles.

In Somaliland, the horrors of aerial bombardments in 1988 and widespread destruction left tens of thousands dead and countless more displaced. Entire neighborhoods were reduced to rubble, and survivors bore the heavy burden of loss and grief. These atrocities deeply shaped the region’s identity and its ongoing efforts to recover and rebuild. Both Puntland and Somaliland faced extraordinary challenges in the aftermath of the war. The physical destruction was immense, and the emotional scars linger, underscoring the human cost of the conflict. Behind every statistic are stories of loved ones—mothers, fathers, children, and siblings—whose lives were cruelly taken.

The Perils of Hassan Repeating the awful 1991.

The memory of Somalia’s 1991 civil war is not just a painful chapter in the country’s history; it serves as a stark warning about the dangers of division and prioritizing personal or clan interests over national unity. As the philosopher George Santayana warned, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” Unfortunately, the actions of President Hassan and his administration suggest a troubling disregard for this historical lesson, raising fears of a potential relapse into chaos. Despite his occupation of the office of the president, President Hassan seems unaware of the fundamental lessons of statecraft and historical understanding that are crucial for guiding a fragile nation like Somalia. Rather than fostering reconciliation and building trust among Somalia’s diverse clans, his administration has intensified tensions in key regions. He waged war on Jubaland, alienated Puntland and he opposed the SSC-Khatumo state. By focusing on short-term political gains linked to clan allegiances, Hassan Sheikh Mohamud risks undermining the delicate progress Somalia has made over the past two decades. Perhaps he is missing an important lesson.

Sir Winston Churchill’s response to a young American seeking life advice is both timeless and serious. While walking through Westminster Hall on Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation day in 1953, Churchill reportedly said, “Study history, study history, for therein lies all the secrets of statecraft.” These words highlight the invaluable role understanding historical contexts plays in mounding effective leaders and the contribution to better leadership. Churchill’s answer seems to directly address the kind of leadership Somalia desperately needs at this point in time but which unfortunately, remains a pipe dream. Unfortunately, President Hassan’s apparent ignorance of Somali history, especially the devastating consequences of the 1991 collapse, reveals a failure to recognize the magnitude of the dreadful past and ignores the urgency of forging national unity.

The 1991 civil war was not merely a result of violence; it was the culmination of years of political fragmentation, distrust, and a collapse of national identity. Somalia descended into anarchy because its leaders ignored the importance of inclusive governance and exacerbated clan-based divisions. Today, Hassan Sheikh Mohamud’s administration is engaging in similar behaviors—stirring regional tensions, alienating key stakeholders, and prioritizing clan politics over national interests. This situation is not merely a failure of leadership; it represents a perilous flirtation with disaster. By neglecting these historical factors, President Hassan’s leadership risks plunging Somalia into yet another cycle of fragmentation and conflict. President Hassan’s approach, which appears to prioritize division and self-interest, not only betrays the sacrifices made by millions of Somalis but also poses a grave risk to the country’s future. Without a significant course correction, his administration may be remembered not as a catalyst for progress but as a stark reminder of how history, when ignored, has a cruel tendency to repeat itself. History has taught us that the legacy of a divisive leader is a catastrophe.

The Collective Resolve for Peace and Unity.

Despite the pathetic political situation embodied by poor leadership, there is a growing collective resolve among the Somali people to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past. Having endured the devastation firsthand, Somalis understand the dire consequences of disunity and conflict better than anyone. The shared experience of suffering during that dark chapter has instilled an utterly desire for peace, stability, and unity. The year 1991 marked the collapse of Somalia’s central government and the onset of widespread lawlessness. It was a time of unimaginable suffering, as the nation fractured along clan and regional lines, unleashing a civil war that devastated communities across the country. Families were torn apart, cities were reduced to rubble, and millions were displaced, both internally and abroad. These events remain etched in the collective memory of the Somali people, serving as a stark warning of the consequences of division and political mismanagement.

In the decades since, Somalia has made significant, albeit uneven, strides toward rebuilding. Regional states like Puntland have worked tirelessly to establish local governance, improve security, and create functioning institutions despite limited resources and persistent challenges. Similarly, Somaliland has pursued stability and self-governance, showcasing the resilience of Somali communities in the face of adversity. On a national level, efforts to establish a functioning federal government have been hindered by political infighting and external interference. Yet, despite these challenges, there is a growing recognition that Somalia’s future lies in unity rather than division. The younger generation, particularly those who did not experience the civil war, are increasingly aware of the importance of building bridges between Somalia’s diverse communities. They understand that the path to peace and prosperity requires collaboration, dialogue, and a commitment to national cohesion. Today, there is a collective resolve among many Somalis to forge a peaceful and united future.

They envision a Somalia defined not by its past divisions, but by its shared aspirations and common destiny. To honor the memory of those who perished in 1991 and the years that followed, Somalia must build a future rooted in inclusivity, justice, and respect for all its peoples. While the risk of repeating the mistakes of 1991 looms large, so too does the potential for a brighter, more unified Somalia. It is the responsibility of all Somalis—leaders and citizens alike—to ensure that the horrors of the past remain just that: the past. Together, they must navigate a path toward reconciliation, healing, and sustainable peace, one founded on mutual respect, understanding, and the collective resolve to learn from previous errors.

Conclusion: A Path Toward Healing and Unity

The year 1991 marked the beginning of a devastating chapter in Somali history, the effects of which still resonate throughout the country. While the wounds of the civil war remain, the memory of 1991 presents an opportunity for Somalia to learn from its past and build a future grounded in unity, peace, and conformity. As Somalia progresses, it is vital that the lessons of 1991 are not weaponized for political gain but instead used as instruments for healing.

The Somali people, having experienced profound despair, understand the destructive consequences of division. Now is the time for Somalia’s leaders to transcend narrow interests and strive for a unified, peaceful future for all.

Dayib Sh. Ahmed
Email: Dayib0658@gmail.com