Clan Cleansing in Somalia: The Ruinous Legacy of 1991

Clan Cleansing in Somalia

PENNSYLVANIA STUDIES IN HUMAN RIGHTS

Bert B. Lockwood, Jr., Series Editor

A complete list of books in the series is available from the publisher.

Clan Cleansing in Somalia

The Ruinous Legacy of 1991

Lidwien Kapteijns

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA PRESS

PHILADELPHIA

Copyright © 2013 University of Pennsylvania Press

All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations used for purposes of review or scholarly citation, none of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without written permission from the publisher.

Published by

University of Pennsylvania Press

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19104-4112

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Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

10   9   8   7   6   5   4   3   2   1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Kapteijns, Lidwien.

Clan cleansing in Somalia : the ruinous legacy of 1991 / Lidwien Kapteijns.—1st ed.

p. cm.—(Pennsylvania studies in human rights)

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-8122-4467-0 (hardcover : alk. paper)

1. Somalia—Politics and government—1960–1991. 2. Somalia—Politics and government—1991–3. Clans—Somalia—History—20th century. 4. Clans—Somalia—History—21st century. 5. Politics and literature—Somalia—History—20th century. 6. Politics and literature—Somalia—History—21st century. I. Title. II. Series: Pennsylvania studies in human rights.

DT407.K37   2013

967.7305'3—dc23

2012018055

To all Somalis whose lives have been forever changed by the seemingly endless violence in Somalia

Contents

Note on Transliteration

Introduction

1. Speaking the Unspeakable: Somali Poets and Novelists on Civil War Violence

2. Historical Background to the Violence of State Collapse

3. Clan Cleansing in Mogadishu and Beyond

4. The Why and How of Clan Cleansing: Political Objectives and Discursive Means

Time-Line of Major Events

Notes

Glossary

Bibliography

Name Index

Subject Index

Acknowledgments

Note on Transliteration

I have followed Somali orthography to transcribe Somali names and phrases, even if they are based on Arabic. This means that c stands for the (Somali and Arabic) consonant ‘ayn and x for the aspirated h, while long vowels are doubled. (Because other sources use other conventions, the reader will find other forms of names and phrases in direct citations.) This means the common name ‘Ali is spelled Cali and Halima Xaliima. Many Somalis prefer the more conventional transliteration of their name and I have honored this when I was aware of such preference.

I refer to Somali authors who have published under a particular last name (often their third or grandfather’s name) by that last name. In all other cases, Somali authors are referred to by their first, father’s, and grandfather’s name, in that order. Names in quotation marks indicate soubriquets or nicknames, a very common phenomenon in the Somali context, where such nicknames are often better known than a person’s formal name.

Figure 1. Somalia. Map No. 3690 Rev. 10, December 2011. Courtesy of the United Nations.

Introduction

Our understanding of events, conceivably also of ourselves, is a process of bringing the disparate into a same frame of reference. It is like taking a photo: The unassimilable, the strange, the foreign and the menacing all become domesticable because artificially focused in a frame of fixed and isolated seeing.

—Breyten Breytenbach 1994

This book deals with the changing use of clan-based violence against civilians as a technology of power in the Somali civil war (1978–present). At its center is what I consider the violence of the key shift,¹ activated by politico-military leaders in the course of the armed uprising that culminated in the expulsion of President Maxamed Siyaad Barre on January 26, 1991. This study argues that the violence that accompanied and followed the moment of regime and state collapse was analytically, politically, and discursively something new, a transformative turning point and key shift that has remained largely unaddressed (and has been purposefully denied and concealed) both in the scholarship about the Somali civil war and in political efforts at social reconstruction and moral repair. Before explaining why I interpret the violence of January 1991 as a key shift and give it a central place in this study, I will sketch in outline what it consisted of and how it fits into the framework of the fast-moving political events and changing dominant discourse of this period.

1991 as Key Shift

When Barre, who had been president of Somalia since his military coup of October 1969, was toppled, his regime was morally, politically, and financially bankrupt. It had been an autocratic and patrimonial regime, in which an increasingly narrow elite of close family members and top political officials (the cream of the patrimonial clients or serviteurs patrimoniaux, as Compagnon 1995 calls them), increasingly devoured the national, public resources of the state for private, personal gain and gradually turned all national institutions that were not part of the repressive apparatus into empty shells. Moreover, in order to contain political and popular resistance against it, the Barre regime developed a calculated policy of using clan sentiment to exacerbate competition, conflict, and grudges among Somalis.² As we will see below, these divide-and-rule policies included campaigns of brutal collective punishment of civilians suspected of harboring sympathies for one or the other of the armed opposition fronts that from 1978 onward took up arms against the regime. In December 1990 and January 1991, the USC (United Somali Congress), supported by two other armed fronts, the SPM (Somali Patriotic Movement) and the SNM (Somali National Movement), captured Mogadishu and drove Barre out. However, when Mogadishu passed into its hands, the leaders of the USC, followed by USC fighters and civilian supporters, adopted a politics that defined as mortal enemy all Somalis encompassed by the genealogical construct of Daarood, which also included the president.³ Although the vast majority of these individuals had not been associated with, or benefited from the regime—in many cases as little or even less than those now hunting them down—they were nevertheless targeted for elimination and expulsion not only in Mogadishu but also, over a period of two years, in central, south-central, and southern Somalia. This is the violence that is central to this study. It did not just represent violence against civilians based on clan, which is in itself not new in Somalia, but a shift to a new kind of collective, clan-based violence, namely that of clan cleansing, in a new political context and with a new dominant discourse.

Political violence targeting civilians on the basis of their clan background has deep historical roots in Somalia. It may well go back to precolonial times and certainly was, in the form of collective clan punishment and punitive expeditions, one of the foundations of colonial policy toward Somalis. During the decolonization process, the young politicians of the era of civilian administrations (1960–1969), who had inherited a deeply tribalized state from their colonial masters, built national institutions, and promoted a national Somali identity and imaginary. However, they also used political patronage and feelings of clan solidarity among their constituencies as a political instrument against each other. Nevertheless, political violence, though not negligible (e.g., around elections) was not pervasive. The use of large-scale violence against civilians on the basis of clan did not become common political practice until the military regime of Barre (1969–1991). The latter developed the targeting for large-scale violence of civilians who shared the clan background of significant political opponents as a tool used with increasing intensity for maintaining his regime’s monopoly on power. Government actions in the Northwest in 1988–1989, which, as we will see below, exceeded in magnitude anything that had come before, exemplify this most powerfully. It is against the background of this kind of violence as a technology of power that 1991 presents a key shift or transformative turning point.

There are three reasons why the clan cleansing campaign of 1991–1992 represents a key shift in the political use of violence against civilians and a turning point in the Somali civil war. First, the particular form of clan-based violence unleashed against civilians in 1991 was a political instrument exercised outside of the institutions of the state that had framed and mediated relations among Somalis until this moment of regime and state collapse. Even though the politico-military leaders who devised and carried out this policy used it to gain control over the state, they did so outside of any mediating state institutions, drawing civilians into the direct experience of physical violence at each other’s hands. The second aspect of this moment of key shift, related to the first, is that these leaders did not only make civilians the target of violence on the basis of their clan background but also rallied them in the name of clan to become perpetrators of such violence. In other words, 1991 marked the moment at which the nature of the political violence used as a technology of power changed and became communal violence, perpetrated and suffered by people who shared geographical and social space as neighbors, acquaintances, friends, maternal relatives, and in-laws. At this moment, political entrepreneurs,⁴ in the pursuit of their political goals, encouraged, ordered, enabled, and allowed ordinary Somali people to humiliate, rob, rape, maim, kill, and expel other Somali people now constructed as the clan enemy who had to be eliminated and expelled. I will refer to this form of violence as a policy and campaign of clan cleansing.

A striking aspect of this new kind of violence was that it was activated to the full after the military regime had collapsed and President Barre had been put to flight. This brings us to the third dimension of the key shift, namely that it marked the abrupt change—sliding into place in Mogadishu in a matter of weeks—of the axis along which civil war violence (including the political use of violence against civilians) had occurred until now. Until this moment, the political dividing line had been that between the government and the (armed and unarmed) opposition. This alignment was abruptly replaced by one that pitted people against each other on the basis of a particular construction of clan identity: the groups associated with the genealogical construct of Daarood-ness were equated with the hated outgoing military regime. They were hunted down and targeted for violence by the militias and civilian supporters of the USC (associated with the genealogical construct of Hawiye-ness) and, in the north, of the SNM (associated with the genealogical construct of Isaaq-ness). One side, including both opponents and leading henchmen of the military regime, now set out to eliminate and expel the other side, also including long-term enemies and victims as well as leading members and supporters of the regime. The rationale for this political reversal took the form of a shift in discourse that at this moment—through the perpetration of violence by and against common people—slid into dominance. The reversal of the political axis of violence; the non-state and communal nature of violence that took the form of clan cleansing, and a new discourse that provided the rationale for that violence constituted the key shift that is central to this book.

The Concept of Clan Cleansing

The question of what to call the violence marking this key shift was one that occupied me for a long time. I tried to take into account how many victims it claimed, how long it lasted, over what geographical expanse it extended, the intent of the perpetrators, the concrete processes by which the victims were othered, and so forth—all factors that will be considered in the course of this book. Although I found that the concept of genocide—so easily thrown around these days—is not an accurate or helpful term for the violence of 1991, situating the latter in the context of genocide studies proved analytically productive. Recent genocide scholarship agrees on the verdict that the definition in the 1948 UN Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide is both too broad and too narrow to be helpful to scholarly analysis.⁵

A more recent definition of genocide is given by Hinton in Annihilating Difference: The Anthropology of Genocide. He proposes to apply the term to those cases in which a perpetrator group attempts, intentionally and over a sustained period of time, to annihilate another social or political community from the face of the earth.⁶ This definition can indeed be applied to the violence of the key shift in Somalia. The latter consisted of rounding up and killing individuals of the targeted groups as well as terrorizing them through acts of torture, rape, humiliation, and dispossession in order to expel them. It occurred over a large geographical space (the area framed by lines connecting Mogadishu, Galkaacyo on the Ethiopian border, Gedo on the border with Kenya, and Kismaayo on the southern coast) and over a period of about two years. Even today, a large part of this area remains devoid of the people who were expelled from it on the basis of their clan background in 1991.

Of more heuristic value than the term genocide itself is that of ethnic cleansing, or better, the campaign or policy of ethnic cleansing, which features prominently in the scholarship about the civil war in former Yugoslavia (Bringa 2002: 204). Bringa refers in this context to the final report by the United Nations Commission of Experts, which defines ethnic cleansing as rendering an area ethnically homogeneous by using force or intimidation to remove from a given area persons of another ethnic or religious group (204; compare Wyschogrod 2005: 209). The Commission did not make the means used in this campaign of ethnic cleansing part of its definition, but described these as including: the mass killing of civilians, sexual assault, the bombardment of cities, the destruction of mosques and churches, the confiscation of property and similar measures to eliminate or dramatically reduce Muslim and Croat populations that lie within Serb-held territories (Bringa: 204). This definition of ethnic cleansing applies, mutatis mutandis, to the violence of 1991, although the appropriate phrase in the Somali case would be a campaign or policy of clan (not ethnic) cleansing.⁷

The case of former Yugoslavia offers insight into the Somali case. In Bosnia, as in Somalia, the policy of ethnic (or clan) cleansing was an instrument of power used to reach particular political goals. In Bosnia, one central goal was, as Bringa puts it, to redefine the enemy from being the outside foreign capitalist or Soviet powers to becoming the other competing ‘Yugoslav’ nations within (2002: 207). In Somalia this meant, if we stay close to her words, redefining the enemy from Barre’s military regime to the other competing Somali clans within. In both cases, it was violence that brought about this redefinition, namely communal violence in which perpetrators who were mobilized in the name of ethnicity/clan killed, terrorized, and expelled civilians now defined as enemies on the basis of their ethnic/clan (and in Bosnia also religious) backgrounds. In the Somalia of January 1991, it was those who aspired to becoming the sole heirs of Barre (rather than of Tito) who redefined the enemy in clan terms and used large-scale clan-based communal violence to achieve their political goals. And both in Bosnia and Somalia it was through this kind of violence that the political entrepreneurs and warlords involved were able to destroy all alternatives to their own political project and leadership. As Bringa puts it, ‘Ethnic cleansing’ then was not only, and perhaps not even primarily, about ‘ethnic purification.’ It was primarily … about the ‘destruction of alternatives’ and the elimination of people who represented alternatives by virtue of identifying or being identified with another ethnic or political community (213).

In both Bosnia and Somalia the most violent forced unmixing of people took place in the cities that were most mixed and cosmopolitan,⁸ where a good part of the middle class had chosen to emphasize a more cosmopolitan and shared (in the Somali case an explicitly national) identity over ethnic or clan-based ones. In cities such as Sarajevo and Mogadishu, the violence with which the would-be heirs of state-power tried to impose their new political order was thus all the greater because it had to undo the lived realities of many of its inhabitants. Robert Hayden put it this way for former Yugoslavia: It is this lack of congruence between the present reality of life as lived and the objectification of life as it suddenly must be lived that produces the mortal horrors of ethnic cleansing (2002: 233).

Episodes of (ethnic, clan, or religious) cleansing do not occur outside of political contexts and without the active agency of political entrepreneurs who mobilize and indoctrinate the individuals and groups who physically carry out most of the violent acts. What Shaw says about genocide is also true for clan cleansing, that genocidal violence results from leaders’ political acts, whatever the socioeconomic hardships and inequalities that make common perpetrators so vulnerable to such incitement may be. Quoting Michael Mann, Shaw writes that "explanations must be ‘essentially political’ and genocide is the product of (contingent) escalations in political conflict, which turn it toward violence and killing, and cannot be explained by underlying cultural, economic or even political conflicts" (2007: 466, my emphasis).

Shaw takes this thought even farther by specifying that it is not just the actions of political leaders that lead to genocide, but the actions of such leaders in the context of violent conflict. Thus he says: "it can be argued that military contexts are generally more directly instrumental than narrowly political contexts in leading to genocide. Or to put it another way it is when political conflicts become violent or military that genocide is most likely to result. His conclusion that there is nothing accidental about the role of war in genocide" is again directly relevant to Somalia in 1991 (2007: 467).

This brings us to the context in which incitement to clan cleansing could become so successful. Again, recent scholarship on genocide serves as a valuable heuristic. Hinton analyzes this kind of context in terms of genocidal priming, a making ready for action or future operation, a charging or adding heat to a particular political situation (Hinton 2002: 28). Such processes of priming include, he proposes, socio-economic upheaval, polarized social divisions, structural change, and effective ideological manipulation (29). The analysis below will examine such primes for clan cleansing in Somalia.

Apart from the concept of genocidal priming, Hinton also introduces the term of genocidal activation or trigger.⁹ He writes that when the priming is ‘hot’ and genocide does take place, there is almost always some sort of ‘genocidal activation’ that ignites the ‘charge’ that has been primed. He adds that this ‘push’ often comes from leaders who use panic, fear, and material gain to incite their followers to kill (2002: 30). In Rwanda, for example, Hinton notes, this was the shooting down of the airplane of Habyarimana. In Somalia, the activation of clan cleansing coincided with the collapse of the Barre regime, when, in the middle of violent political realignment, politico-military leaders decided to pursue their political goals through a particular kind of communal violence.

However, even if one acknowledges the role of political organizers, the participation in communal violence of ordinary people must be put into context and analyzed further.¹⁰ Here a final insight from genocide studies that helps bring the violence of 1991 in Somalia into focus is its emphasis on the role of what Hinton calls effectively disseminate[d] messages of hate (29):

Genocides are distinguished by a process of othering in which the boundaries of an imagined community are reshaped in such a manner that a previously included group … is ideologically recast (almost always in dehumanizing rhetoric) as being outside the community, as a threatening and dangerous other—whether racial, political, ethnic, religious, economic, and so on—that must be annihilated. (6)

The significance of discourses that provide the perpetrators of such violence with their motives and rationales also gets attention in Eltringham’s analysis of the genocide in Rwanda:

Words can kill—or at least motivate a person to kill. It is through language that the primal impulses, the likes and dislikes, the hatreds and enmities, the stereotypes and degrading and dehumanising characterisations of those who are not desirable or are rivals for political or economic power or status, are transmitted … words are the carriers of deeds. (Eltringham 2004: xii)

This insight too has important heuristic value for the Somali case, in which existing and newly minted clan hate-narratives served to motivate perpetrators to participate in the politically orchestrated communal violence as well as to justify it and to deny and conceal its real nature. The discursive dimension of the clan cleansing of 1991–1992 is one of this book’s central themes and is addressed explicitly in the first and fourth chapters.

The Interpretive Framework and Organization of the Book

Chapter 1 is an examination of the ways Somali poetic and prose fiction texts mediate, that is to say, interpret and discursively intervene in the violence of 1991 and the civil war more broadly. It first focuses on what has traditionally been considered prestigious (or politically objective and morally legitimate) poetry. According to the Somali canon, this poetry, as I have argued elsewhere, is poetry by men, in men’s prestigious genres of orature, about matters of general political importance that have long been regarded as men’s business, and suitable to be performed or published in shared Somali public space (Kapteijns 2010a). Although its strengths as effective and emotive speech designed to move and change the mindsets of its audience are considerable, this genre of poetry also has limitations. This chapter therefore also examines texts that belong to more recent genres of Somali orature/literature not bound by the rules of prestigious poetry, namely free verse and prose fiction in both Somali and English by Somali authors in Somalia and the diaspora.

The dominant discourse through which these texts mediate civil war violence is that of clan, whose important roles, as we will see below, their authors analyze with great rhetorical power and analytical sophistication. In their own ways, the texts all struggle with making the unspeakable speakable, that is to say, with articulating truths about the violence committed in the name of clan in ways that avoid deepening or reigniting communal hatreds and, instead, bring Somalis together. If, in these texts, the discourse of clan is the most explicit, the discursive strands emphasizing the concepts of nation and Islam, as I have analyzed elsewhere, are closely intertwined with it (Kapteijns 2010a). Even though the texts under study date from before the rise to political prominence of the Islamic Courts Movement in 2006, signs of a transformation of the discourse about Islam—from an understated, cultural, organic to a more emphatically political one—are already visible in Somali poems of the early 2000s, also examined in Chapter 1.

When I began the research that eventually led to this study, I was fully focused on identifying, translating, and interpreting those texts of Somali popular culture broadly construed that dealt with the Somali civil war in a nonhateful way and that situated themselves in shared Somali public space. Chapter 1 is based on that research. However, it was the aporia that marked these prestigious texts, the aspects that remained unspoken and proved to be largely unspeakable, that motivated me to pursue a fuller study, drawing on a wider range of sources, of the violence of 1991.

Chapter 2, therefore, presents a more conventional historical approach to the violence of 1991. The first part presents the historical background to state collapse up to July 1989, when the political violence that had proliferated in many parts of Somalia (and had developed from May 1988 into all-out war in the Northwest) exploded in the streets of Mogadishu and thus into full view of the world. Taking its cue both from the poetry presented in Chapter 1 and drawing on scholarly analyses of the military regime of Maxamed Siyaad Barre (1969–1991) such as Compagnon 1995, it shows how large-scale clan-based violence as a technology of power became increasingly entrenched in state institutions. This was expressed most clearly by the state’s perpetration of large-scale violence against ordinary civilians for the (alleged) acts of political opposition committed by men associated with the same clan background. Without the long-standing policy of such clan-based collective punishment and the scale this assumed first in 1979–1980 and then in 1988–1989, the clan cleansing that accompanied state collapse in Mogadishu might have been unthinkable. How the Barre regime used large-scale clan-based violence against civilians as a political instrument to stay in power is the subject of the first part of this chapter. The second part begins with sketching the wider political and economic contexts that framed and constituted the primes for the violence of January 1991. It then analyzes the political events from July 1989 to the expulsion of Barre on January 26, 1991, the moment the campaign of clan cleansing came into full force. It also presents the key political organizations of that time, including those that orchestrated and went along with the clan cleansing campaign.¹¹

The campaign of clan cleansing is the subject of Chapter 3. It draws on written sources and oral accounts of survivors to illustrate both the communal dimension of the violence—the intimate involvement of neighbors and friends—and the organized fashion in which it was orchestrated and implemented. It documents the kinds of violence that were committed and traces the clan cleansing campaign geographically from Mogadishu to central, south-central, and southern Somalia and temporally from January 1991 to the end of 1992, the eve of international intervention. How politicians, journalists, and scholars have overlooked, ignored, concealed, denied, and distorted the clan cleansing campaign of 1991–1992 from the time it was unfolding until today is also a theme of this chapter.

The clan cleansing campaign the USC conducted against the numerous, diverse, large and small groups associated with Daarood-ness was not the only form of brutal clan-based violence perpetrated against civilians in the period under study here (or since then). First, immediately after unleashing its campaign against "the" Daarood, the USC selectively attacked other civilian victims also on the basis of clan. Thus its militias and other supporters spared people associated with the clan-bases of some of its allies,¹² while enabling the brutalization of so-called minority groups, which had no militia leaders and militias of their own.¹³ Second, in the wake of regime collapse and the reversal of the axis along which political opposition had taken place (and political violence had been perpetrated), the political and military realignments gave rise to the emergence of dozens of new armed fronts. These also consisted of clan-based militias and were intent on either assisting the USC in its campaign and bid for power over the state or on stopping, reversing, and avenging these. In what I call the War of the Militias, the parties generally did not honor the concept of civilian in theory or practice and often purposefully punished civilians for the alleged or real political acts of political and military leaders of the same clan background. Although the rank-and-file of all militias largely consisted of men who had until recently been civilians, in the War of the Militias the dimension of communal violence became less pronounced. Chapter 3 will trace some of the major episodes of violence perpetrated during the intense militia warfare of this stage of the civil war, in which the victims became perpetrators and vice versa, as clan-based militias attacked and brutalized civilians as a matter of normalized strategy. It was in this period that the lives of few Somali civilians remained untouched by the violence and that the numbers of those who streamed out of Somalia into Kenya and Ethiopia and to other destinations across the sea rose to hundreds of thousands. It was also in this stage (after it had been largely clan-cleansed) that Mogadishu was dismantled, with everything of any possible value ripped out, looted, and sold abroad. As the violence rolled back and forth across all of south, south-central, and central Somalia, it made productive activity impossible and deepened armed conflict over the control of food, causing the devastating famine that, in December 1992, became the rationale for the first U.S./UN intervention, Operation Restore Hope (see Glossary). This marked a new stage in the Somali civil war, which lies beyond the scope of this book.

For some readers, Chapter 3’s account of the clan cleansing campaign and the War of the Militias that followed and overlapped with it may appear more detailed than necessary. There are, however, compelling reasons for such detail. Because clan cleansing has remained largely unstudied and constitutes a historical legacy with which Somalis as a group have not come to terms, documenting it is an important dimension of this book. Equally crucial is detailing the process that followed from this campaign, by which victims turned into perpetrators and perpetrators into victims. Without a careful reconstruction of who did what to whom, when, and in the name of what group construct, the increasingly widespread adoption of large-scale violence against civilians as a political instrument cannot be understood.¹⁴ Such detailed analysis may also disrupt clan-based narratives that focus on the victimization of the in-group without any acknowledgement of the violence perpetrated in that group’s name. Indeed, I chose 1991–1992 (for which Chapter 2 presents the historical backdrop) as the focus of this study in order to do justice to this history of events. This time-frame encompasses not only the clan cleansing that targeted "the" Daarood but also the large-scale clan-based brutalization of civilians by Daarood-based militias. These two years also witnessed the implosion of the political constructs of Daarood- and Hawiye-ness, as warlords and militias on each side turned inward and abused and massacred civilians of what had been their own side. This shows how a wide array of warlords and their clan-based militias used clan identity constructs as political instruments in the ongoing struggle over the remains of the state and public resources.

Given all this, the following deserves special emphasis. Although the clan cleansing campaign that gained full momentum in January 1991 lies at the heart of this book, this does not mean that the violation of the many civilians before or after that date—whether in Mudug and the Northwest before 1991 or in the Banaadir and riverine regions after that date—is any less grievous or unjust than that of January 1991, or that the culpability of those responsible for those gross human rights violations is any less real and enormous. My distinction is an analytical one. It is meaningful, I will argue, because when Somali civilians exercised lethal violence and conducted clan cleansing against other largely unsuspecting Somali civilians outside of the institutions of the state, this marked the shift to the dominance of a new logic and a new discourse and ripped Somalis apart in new ways that require moral repair and social reconstruction of a new kind and magnitude. This will be further elaborated below.

Insisting on this key shift, moreover, does not imply that responsibility and culpability lie with only one set of perpetrators, mobilized in terms of only one set of clan identities. As we will see, the preconditions for clan cleansing and many of the features that came to characterize it existed before January 1991 and were rooted in the military regime. It is therefore crucial to analyze the key shift in both its diachronic (or historical) and synchronic (or contemporary) contexts. If Chapter 1 presents the violence of the civil war as mediated by Somali texts, Chapters 2 and 3 present a historical narrative that focuses on Somali contexts.

Chapter 4 analyzes in greater depth two themes that underlie the narrative, the motives of the perpetrators of the major episodes of clan-based violence against civilians and the role the production of particular discursive meanings played in this violence. The first part of this chapter presents an analytical summary of the different political objectives to which politicomilitary leaders put the use of collective clan-based violence against civilians in the period under study. It asks what the Barre regime expected to achieve by targeting civilians of particular clan backgrounds, what constituted the political objectives of the clan cleansing of 1991, and why the armed fronts and militias that multiplied in the wake of clan cleansing and regime and state collapse brutalized civilians. What political goals did the large-scale rape and other forms of humiliation and torture serve in these successive moments of Somali history?

The second part of the chapter returns to the discursive dimension of the clan cleansing campaign, first raised in Chapter 1, by analyzing and contextualizing the clan hate-narratives that provided the rationales and justifications for the organized communal violence of clan cleansing. How did discourses about clan victimization and clan grievances get interpreted and publicized (spun) in such a way that collective violence against clan others became acceptable, even meritorious behavior? Can the ways in which these hate-narratives interwove (and interweave) fact and fiction, past and present, and the everyday and the epic, be disentangled?

The chapter concludes with situating the violence in the context of a Somali past that is unbewältigt, unabsorbed, undigested, and publicly largely unacknowledged, and that, partly in result, underlies the ongoing civil war in Somalia as a powerfully negative political force. This is so in spite of the many other episodes of violence that have occurred in Somalia since 1991–1992 and in spite of significant discursive shifts. In the period under study here, the dominant discursive strand of Somali political discourse pitted clan against nation and rooted for the latter in shared Somali public space and for the former in clan settings. Since then, especially from 2006 on, the discursive strand of Islam(ism) has become most prominent but remains interlocked with the discourse of nation and clan (including the clan logic) in a (until now) deeply negative sense.¹⁵

As Somali politicians continue to rebuild a central (even if federal) government and political entrepreneurs and warlords continue to struggle over the resources that once belonged to the state, ordinary Somalis remain deeply divided. Publicly largely unacknowledged and scholarly largely ignored, the legacy of clan cleansing continues to undermine the unity with which Somalis might resist those who benefit from continued violence and civil war. This is a crucial area of drift sand in which attempts at social reconstruction continue to founder.¹⁶

This unbewältigt past of politically orchestrated, clan-based communal violence, which had leaders who directed it as well as many ordinary men and women who carried it out—is in need of critical engagement by many kinds of actors and in many forms. This book presents itself as one such engagement with, and mediation of this past, one that follows the conventions of historical analysis as an academic genre and draws on the sources and insights of this field as well as an array of interdisciplinary scholarship.

The Historiography on Which This Study Draws

This study has benefited from scholarship in four areas of study, which, though they overlap considerably, will be briefly reviewed separately. The first is that of the anthropology of violence and the largely anthropological field of comparative genocide studies. The writings of Alison (2007), Allen (1996), Benard (1994), Bowen (2002), Bringa (2002), Buckley-Zistel (2006), Donham (2006), Eltringham (2004, 2009, 2011a, b), Feldman (1995), Hinton (2002), Lemarchand (1994, 1996, 1997, 2007), Lieberman (2006), Lubkeman (2008), Newbury (1998), Robben and Nordstrom (1995), Shaw (2007), and Zur (1998), many explicitly cited, have shaped my approach to the study of violence (Kapteijns and Richters 2010).

The second area of study on which this book draws deals with the relationship between ethnicity and the state. Especially the writings by Berman (1998), Berman and Lonsdale (1992), Cooper (2008), Fearon and Laitin (2000), Fortier (1999), Lonsdale (1994), Mamdani (1996, 2009), Schlee (1989), and Willemse (2005, 2009) have shaped my approach to the analysis of clan.¹⁷ All these scholars teach us how to avoid attributing simple agency to the phenomenon of ethnic group or to take it for granted as a unit of analysis. They also try to explain how ethnicity and clanship nevertheless become such powerful political realities and how individuals and groups use it as a political tool or resource and roll into it a wide range of grievances and political ambitions that give ethnicity/clanship its particular meanings and power at particular junctions in time.

The third area of studies is the scholarship about the Somali civil war, of