“The Past Is Not Only Rubble”: Iman Mohamed

The Somali scholar, Iman Mohamed, talks to Geeska about her work and the current dynamics of the Somali studies.

I’ve had people ask me why it is even important to research this colonial past since it appears decolonization was completed by the war. Others, who remember Italophone Somalia with fondness after the devastating war, reserve their anger about the current state of Somalia for the perpetrators of war, whoever they believe them to be. In many ways, the war has become the beginning and end of history in our collective imagination.” — Iman Mohamed

Iman Mohamed is a Somali scholar who is currently doing her PhD work at Harvard University, Department of History on “the history of labor in Italian Somalia and the ways that categories of labor have configured our conceptions of Soomaalinimo, or the ethos of what it means to be a Somali.”

Her research interests cover the Somali customary law or xeer, the colonialism of Italians in Somalia and the following impact it had on Somalia Italiana, and oral history. While she is busy with her dissertation on this important topic, she generously permitted to have an interview with Geeska, to ask her about her work, the past and future of the Somali studies and historiography, the colonial amnesia and what’s beyond it, and related issues that are relevant to the Somali history and present. I, on behalf of Geeska, am grateful for Iman Mohamed for giving us this opportunity. (We have also published the Somali and Arabic translations of her informative essay “Italophone Somalia, Then and Now”).

Abdiaziz Mahdi (AM): You are pursuing your PhD in history, specializing in the history of colonial times in Italian Somalia. It is interesting to note that there is limited published research on this topic, especially in English and Somali. Could you provide more insight into your specific area of interest and explain what led you to choose this research focus?

Iman Mohamed (IM): When I was in university, I wrote my honors thesis on the political parties in Somalia in the 1940s, trying to go beyond the basic resistor/collaborator paradigm that often pits the Somali Youth League and the pro-Italian Somali political parties against one another. In doing that research, I was amazed and dismayed at how little published research there was on these parties that had shaped Somalia’s decolonization. (This was before Mohamed Issa Trunji and Abdi Ismail Samatar’s books were published.) Said Mohamed and Afyare Elmi helped me a lot by giving me the report of the 1947 Four Power Commission. This report included the hearings and political statements of the parties, which was invaluable to my thesis. I was also lucky to have been taught by professors who specialized in African, Middle Eastern, and South Asian history. It was from them that I learned about the histories of British and French imperialism. But, in writing my thesis, I was struck by the absolute lack of scholarly historical work on Italian colonialism in Somalia. I was trying to write about decolonization, but how can you understand that process without sufficient information on what colonialism was and how it affected the colonized? How could it be possible that since 1966 there has not been a singular monograph on any aspect of Italian colonialism in Somalia? 

This became one of the motivating factors that led me to pursue a doctoral degree in history. At the moment, my dissertation research is focused on the history of labor in Italian Somalia and the ways that categories of labor have configured our conceptions of Soomaalinimo, or the ethos of what it means to be a Somali. My dissertation traces this history through the afterlife of slavery, post-emancipation labor regimes, and colonial race science. 

My dissertation research is focused on the history of labor in Italian Somalia and the ways that categories of labor have configured our conceptions of Soomaalinimo, or the ethos of what it means to be a Somali. My dissertation traces this history through the afterlife of slavery, post-emancipation labor regimes, and colonial race science. 

AM: As a historian, could you provide a summary of the development and evolution of the study of Somalia’s past? in addition, where do we currently stand in terms of understanding our history?

IM: After independence, Somalia’s leading intellectuals and historians were concerned with developing a cohesive national history and identity that could unite Somali citizens. This process was born out of the anti-colonial struggle to bring an end to European imperialism in the Horn of Africa and to unite the five Somali territories represented in the national flag. These scholars, especially those in the Somali Academy of Arts, Sciences, and Literature, assembled the symbols of the new nation: they produced poetry compilations, research on Sayyid Maxamed Cabdulle Xasan and the Darawiish, they collected oral histories and poetry about Somali culture, and developed an orthography for the Somali language. In these symbols and historiography, the homogeneity and unity of the Somali people was what was emphasized above all. Colonialism did not figure in any of these stories, except as a foil for the resistance of the Darawiish and, later, the Somali Youth League.

This is not a unique case in African historiography because most African post-colonial nations, as well as Africanist historians working in the Global North, sought to emphasize the glorious pre-colonial histories of African people and their resistance against European imperialism. This could be summarized with the idea espoused by J.F. Ade Ajayi, the doyen of the Ibadan school of African history, that colonialism was a mere “episode” in African history. Elsewhere on the continent, the Dar es Salaam school of African history was closely associated with the notion that new African nations needed usable pasts that emphasized African agency. Thus, like other African histories, Somali history was relegated to questions of usable pasts, the kinds of histories that could be appropriated for nationalist ends. The history of the colonial experience was never going to fit this task in part because (1) it was not quite yet history since most of these early intellectuals had lived through colonial rule; and (2) there was an “absence of a shared pool of colonial knowledge,” that is to say there was no common colonial experience that united Somalis and so the colonial past could only be mobilized for limited nationalist ends. Therefore, colonialism and its discontents were not realistically on the research agenda for many Somali and Somalist scholars.

The other factor in Somali historiography was the role of the state in determining and valuing certain kinds of histories. Any historical study that was not in line with the state agenda was seen with suspicion. For example, I’ve been told that the reason Ali Abdirahman Hersi’s wonderful dissertation, The Arab Factor in Somali History, was never published as a book was because he argued Somalis were definitively not Arab at a time when Somalia was cultivating close relations with Arab nations and had joined the Arab League. I cannot say for certain if this is true, but it would not surprise me. Similarly, the southern regions of Somalia as well as the Banaadiri towns, with their incredible diversity of language, different histories connected to the broader East African coast, and their bases of agriculture and urban commerce, were never elevated to the national history. These were regarded as mere regions and the national symbols remained exclusively pastoralist.

Where Somalia differed from other African historiography is that in the aftermath of structural adjustment, the end of the cold war, and the many other crises that disillusioned people about the post-colonial nation, many African and Africanist scholars began reexamining the colonial period.

Where Somalia differed from other African historiography is that in the aftermath of structural adjustment, the end of the cold war, and the many other crises that disillusioned people about the post-colonial nation, many African and Africanist scholars began reexamining the colonial period. Somalia, in this same period, entered the civil war. Thus, these kinds of colonial reckoning were impossible. This devastating war not only destroyed the lives of many, forcing people into exile or internal displacement, it also made it difficult, if not impossible, to do any kind of historical research in Somalia. With the collapse of the state, all of its institutions (universities, libraries, museums, archives) were destroyed. I am sure there were Somali students who wrote historical theses and papers, as I’ve heard, but they never saw the light of day. Those who may have been in the process of writing were disrupted by the war. From this period, there’s work like Ahmed Dualeh Jama’s book The Origins and Development of Mogadishu AD 1000 to 1850 which may be the last archeological study of Mogadishu we will see for a very long time. There is also Hassan Osman Ahmed’s book Morire a Mogadiscio, which began as his diary of living through the war after having come to the country to do his dissertation research on Marka in the nineteenth century. Many elders, an invaluable source of oral history, have sadly passed away due to the war or the passage of time, which means their histories may be forever lost if they did not impart it to the next generation.

Right now, we are at a moment of incredible interest in the decolonization of Somalia. I sense this interest may be due to the problems of our contemporary moment; we are looking back at the architects of post-colonial Somalia as we seek to answer questions about nation building and reconstruction. People are also probably disillusioned by what happened and want to return to the promises of what could have been. In the last decade, a number of books, articles, and dissertations about the period from 1940-1969 have been written. 

The war also made possible the reexamining of many of the basic assumptions of Somali nationalism. This is most exemplified by Ali Jimale Ahmed’s edited book, The Invention of Somalia.  

Today, across the Somali territories, there is a burgeoning book industry and book fair circuit that makes it clear Somalis are interested in writing and reading about the past. Every time I am in the region, I try to go to bookstores to see what is being published by local presses. Whether this demonstrated interest will translate to more scholarly production will probably be a question of resources and institutional support. 

Right now, we are at a moment of incredible interest in the decolonization of Somalia.

AM: Your recent work at the International Journal of Postcolonial Studies delves into the concept of “Colonial Amnesia” and the material remnants of Italian colonialism in Mogadishu. Many Somali-Italian writers, such as Igiaba Scego and Kaha Mohamed Aden, have discussed this phenomenon of “amnesia” when it comes to the relationship between Italy and Somalia. Why do you believe this forgetfulness exists, and how does it impact the relationship between the two countries and their respective nations?

IM: Colonial amnesia in both Italy and Somalia was produced by the structural conditions of decolonization. The fact that Italy lost its colonies in a context of defeat in World War II and regained Somalia as a UN trust territory made it possible for Italian democratic leaders to convince themselves and their people that Italy had always been benevolent in its colonies (“Italiani brava gente”) and would continue to do so as the trustee of Somalia. For the Somalis, once the decision to grant Italy the trusteeship had been made by the UN general assembly, the fervent anti-Italian, anti-colonial nationalism of the 1940s gave way to a more pragmatic program of collaboration with the Italians so that the nationalists could take advantage of Italian tutelage. Figures like Abdullahi Issa and Aden Abdulle Osman decided to take a more conciliatory approach to the Italian trustees by the mid 1950s, while the more radical, anti-Italian nationalists like Mohamed Haji Hussein were sidelined and even expelled by the SYL.

Even after independence, the first generation of Somalis were deeply shaped by Italy and its continued financial support to the nascent nation, whether they came from the former British Somaliland or former Italian Somalia. Italy’s investment in Somalia was unmatched for many years, especially in the field of education. The Somali National University began as the Istituto Universitario during the trusteeship period and many of its faculties continued to be staffed by Italian professors up until the civil war. So, in many ways, the ruling elites of Somalia, living in the former capital of Italian Somalia, were profoundly shaped by Italian culture and language. Even President Mohamed Siad Barre began his career as a zaptié in the Italian constabulary corps during the colonial period. When the Kacaan [Revolutionary Regime] took place, he was very clear with Italian politicians and journalists that it would have no impact on Somalia’s relations with Italy. It was not intended to be an anti-colonial coup, though some Italian owned industries were nationalized during his rule. Thus, in that context, remembering or reckoning with colonialism had no real political expediency. 

After the war, many of the people who remembered the colonial period or were shaped by the Italophone culture of Mogadishu left the country or were killed. All of the symbols of Italian colonialism were either destroyed, like buildings, or gradually disappeared, like the Italian language. I’ve had people ask me why it is even important to research this colonial past since it appears decolonization was completed by the war. Others, who remember Italophone Somalia with fondness after the devastating war, reserve their anger about the current state of Somalia for the perpetrators of war, whoever they believe them to be. In many ways, the war has become the beginning and end of history in our collective imagination.

On the other hand, in Italy, the last three decades of migration has brought forth new interest in Italy’s colonial history. This renaissance in Italian colonial studies remains bogged down in questions about how colonialism affected Italians rather than the people the colonized. The unfortunate conditions of war and instability have made research in the former Italian colonies of Somalia and Libya difficult for scholars, so this focus on Italy alone makes some sense. When I was living in Rome, there were a number of new initiatives to unearth and reckon with Italian colonialism, such as a new day of remembrance for the victims of Italian colonialism in Rome (February 19). But these efforts are being forged in a context with a right-wing government and there has already been backlash from those who believe that Italy had civilized its colonies and done nothing but build them roads and schools, for which they should be thanked. (This is a real myth that continues to hold sway in Italy.) For example, a museum in Turin just apologized to the family of Cesare Maria De Vecchi, the first fascist government of Somalia, for having called his labor policies in Janaale akin to slavery. Cultural battles are being waged over our colonial history, with very little input from the people in the former colonies.

AM: Some argue, like the late Dr. Mohamed Aden Sheikh in his memoir “Back to Mogadishu,” that Italy’s colonial legacy has significantly influenced Somali politics, including the introduction of the clan-based political formula. Meanwhile, you are studying the cultural aspect of the colonial legacy. What is your perspective on this matter?

IM: Dr. Mohamed Aden Sheikh was completely correct in his assessment of the root of clan-based politics in Somalia, and I’m glad you translated his book into Somali because more people need to read his work. 

Italians instituted a system of indirect rule in Somalia, which meant that they appropriated and adopted the clan system into their administrative infrastructure. The elders and chiefs of clans were hired as capi stipendiati, which means they were employees of the colonial state and acted as the intermediaries between the colonized masses and the state. Their job was to ensure their clan’s allegiance to colonial authority, provide workers when they were asked to do so, and collect taxes or fines when their clan fought with other groups. If they refused to do what the colonial state instructed, they were dismissed, and a willing person would take their place. Any resistance was quelled by the chief, and if he were to join the resistors, he would be violently put down by the colonial military and police (including the Somali, Arab, and Eritrean askari, zaptiè, and gogle). So, over time, they became entrenched in the colonial system and got power from both the influence they had from their clansmen and the backing of the colonial state.

The colonial state designed this system because it made it easier for a minority of Italians to rule over the majority of the population by dividing them. Any interaction with the colonial state was not as an individual but as a member of a clan. If you treat each clan as siloed from their neighbors, you can turn them against one another very easily when it suits your interests. It is a way to ensure that people do not link up with each other based on common interests. For example, when the colonial state went to war against the northern Majeerteen and Hobyo sultanates, they enlisted the men who belonged to clans that had historic grievances against those sultanates to fight the war on behalf of the colonial state. This is the same thing that happened in the war against the Darawiish. In Italian Somalia, the government armed clans living in the northeastern regions to act as a buffer against the Darawiish. The chiefs who were employed by the colonial state also often took advantage of the power granted to them, and often were very corrupt in their unchecked power.

This is why the Somali Youth League was so adamant that the clan system was used by the colonial authorities to divide and rule Somalis. In their oath, they made members swear to refuse to publicly reveal their clan and to never discriminate against people based on their clans. Certainly, there is a difference between the high ideals the SYL espoused and what they ended up doing, but in the context of decolonization and the trusteeship, this refusal to publicly reveal one’s clan was a radical posture.

The divide and rule policies the Italians put in place a century ago are still structuring the clan-based formula of Somali politics to this day (e.g. the 4.5 system). Ultimately, clannism in politics is a potent ideological tool used by elites, just as it was used under different conditions by the colonial state.  

AM: A significant amount of archival material about the Somali nation and state is written in Italian, a language that has not gained popularity among post-civil war Somali readers. You have gained access to these archives and consulted them. How do you believe we can bridge this gap in knowledge? Additionally, what was the most enlightening discovery you made during your study of Italian writings on and about Somalia?

IM: I wish I had the solution! It’s not something I can do alone, nor do I intend to. Once I finish my dissertation, I hope to write more for a public audience, in addition to continuing my academic work. But I also hope that people today and the next generations will also take part in doing this historical research. The language barrier as well as the fact that these archives are mostly hosted in Italy poses a real problem for current and future Somali researchers. Thankfully, there is a fantastic online archive made available by the Centro Studi Somali at Roma Tre University that has many of the colonial-era published documents. But, again, these documents are in Italian and there aren’t many Somalis outside of Italy who can read them. Perhaps the recent Italian language programs in Mogadishu will change that, but we will have to see. 

It’s hard to point to a single enlightening discovery just because of the sheer volume of the colonial archive and the daily discoveries I make, which are often horrifying and enlightening at once. But one of the things that I really enjoyed, especially when I lived in Italy, was finding so much Somali material culture housed in archives and museums, like traditional textiles, jewelry, tools, weapons, and so on. I know the political, economic, and climatic changes over the last century have made a lot of these objects extinct or rarely produced in Somalia, which is sad because they reflect so much of our histories and ways of living. I hope some of these objects will eventually be returned to the country.

AM: It is important to acknowledge that not everything that occurred during colonial times was negative. There were instances of heritage preservation and urban development, for example. How can we ensure the conservation and development of these aspects without glorifying the colonial legacy?

IM: I don’t think it is useful to think of colonialism as “good” – because we fall into the racist paternalist trap that is “colonialism is for the natives’ own benefit.” If anything, the project of urban development in imperial capitals like Mogadishu was never for the colonized, but for the colonizer. From the earliest urban plans, the colonial state sought to displace native people living in the center of the city. They created laws that prevented people from rehabilitating their homes and once these old structures collapsed, people had to move to the outskirts of the city. Colonial Mogadishu was racially segregated by design. They set up “native quarters” around the perimeter of the old city to house Somalis, and the plan was that the center of the town and the areas around the beaches would eventually be reserved for only Italians. They especially hated seeing Somali traditional homes and banned cariish-style homes from being built in Italian areas.

Now, as we think about urban development in the post-conflict reconstruction period, there is much to reflect on these earlier patterns. It is worrying that the model of most commercial or housing development is tearing down old buildings and building new ones for urban elites. Most of the new construction in the city is geared toward them and there seems to be no interest for the state to address the housing crises faced by Mogadishu’s poorest residents. When they live in IDP camps in urban settlements, it is very easy to just simply move them to the outskirts of the city and forget about them. It is not that different from the urban development put in place by the colonial state, except that it is no longer centralized and directed by the government. Now, power is diffused to private individuals and companies. There is so little accountability or regulation of their actions. Where have all our public spaces gone? The parks? Museums? Libraries? Very few people of our generation can even remember the time those places existed.

With regards to historical conservation, we are really in a crisis. How is it possible that the only reconstruction efforts in the capital are for monuments built in the 1970s or a colonial arch built to commemorate an Italian prince? And when historical buildings have been rehabilitated, it has been done horribly, like the Arba’a Rukun masjid. The historic Xamarweyne and Shangaani districts have been completely neglected by the state as land speculators continue to buy up property and turn it into apartment buildings. One person told me that as they were digging the foundation for one of these buildings in Shangaani, they kept finding historical artefacts and remnants of earlier civilizations underneath the ground. Of course, that did not stop them from continuing their construction and there is no state authority regulating these matters. This is not just new; for example, Hotel Uruba was built upon the foundations of the old-Muẓaffar palace. Imagine what could be found if there were any archeological digs done there today.

The problem is of course partly financial but there’s also a complete lack of political will or interest. For a people who seemingly worship our ancestry and traditions in many ways, we at the same time refuse to consider the past except in its most sectarian retelling. Stuck between the narratives of failed statehood and “Somalia rising,” we assume the past is nothing but ash and that we are the sole inventors or importers of the future (e.g. the dazzling new hyper markets filled with imported products, and the masjids and hotels that are designed to look like they’re located in Dubai or Istanbul). But the past is not only rubble! Our societies did not spring up out of nowhere, nor can we get anywhere if we do not reckon with our history. Whether it is in the design of new construction or in the conservation of its historic sites, Mogadishu should be rebuilt with some consideration of its history. That doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be anything new or different. But the new should not essentially erase the old.

AM: To conclude, what factors do you believe will influence the future pursuits of Somali historians in exploring this seemingly “neglected” chapter of our history? Furthermore, how do you perceive the role of academicians and intellectuals in this regard?

IM: The questions that historians ask about the past are often created by our present. The questions we ask today, for example, may not have been the questions that would have been asked by the generation that lived through colonialism. Right now, as we live in a moment of profound crisis of political imagination about the future of Somalia, intellectuals have turned to the period of decolonization to reexamine the conditions of that process. I think the intellectual project pursued by people like Abdi Ismail Samatar, Mohamed Trunji, and Safia Aidid is laudable because it charts a different path for Somali politics by showing what had been possible before, where earlier generations may have gone wrong, what were the conditions for that kind of political imagination, and what could be possible in the future. Others, like Ali Jimale Ahmed, Abdi Kusow, Mohamed Eno, and Omar Eno laid the critical foundations for our reimagining of the story of Somali nationhood. They opened new doors and new inquiries that we may now ask about our past and present.

On the role of the intellectual, I will give the last word to Edward Said, who, following Antonio Gramsci, wrote that the intellectual must be someone “whose place is publicly to raise embarrassing questions, to confront orthodoxy and dogma (rather than to produce them), to be someone who cannot easily be co-opted by governments or corporations, and whoseraison d’être is to represent all those people and issues that are routinely forgotten or swept under the rug.” We can only hope that our intellectuals strive to live up to that high ideal.