Tom Farer recalls his time in Mogadishu as a legal assistant and his friendship with Mohamed Abshir, who served as the commander of the Somali police before being ousted in the 1969 coup.
In early September 1963, I found myself stepping off a plane onto the hot tarmac of Mogadishu’s airport. It was a quiet and barren place—just a strip of runway stretching between low dunes, with only a passing camel to bear witness. The rusted steps I descended seemed to belong to a forgotten world. Waiting for me at the bottom was Mariluisa Bonani, a striking figure who worked for the ministry of foreign affairs. She had been sent to meet me, guide me through customs, and take me to my new residence at the Hotel Juba. In those first moments, the city struck me as modest and unassuming, much like the hotel room I would call home for the foreseeable future.
I had arrived in Somalia with an invitation to serve as a legal advisor to foreign ministry. The letter, signed by the foreign minister, was a formality, but the reality of my arrival was more complex. I had left behind a promising career in Washington, where I had been working under Robert McNamara at the Department of defense. However, the pull of Africa—the dream of assisting in the formation of newly independent governments—proved too strong. Somalia, barely three years into its independence, was a nation in need of legal expertise, particularly in reconciling the dual colonial legacies that defined its legal system.
Somalia’s legal structure was a product of its fractured colonial past. In the north, British Somaliland had operated under a mixed system between xeer (local customary law) and British common law, while the south had been governed by Italian civil law, heavily influenced by Mussolini’s fascist government. When the two regions merged upon independence in 1960, the challenge of integrating these divergent legal systems fell to the new government. Paolo Contini, a UN lawyer, had been working tirelessly in Mogadishu for the past few years, assisting the Somali government with this daunting task. He was now preparing to leave, and I had been brought in to help bridge the gap his departure would create.
“In the north, British Somaliland had operated under a mixed system between xeer (local customary law) and British common law, while the south had been governed by Italian civil law, heavily influenced by Mussolini’s fascist government. When the two regions merged upon independence in 1960, the challenge of integrating these divergent legal systems fell to the new government.
From the moment I arrived, I was eager to begin. I was motivated not just by a sense of duty but by the idealism that had driven me to leave a secure and significant position in Washington. I wanted to contribute to something greater, to help Somalia build a legal system that would support its growth as an independent nation. However, I quickly discovered that my enthusiasm was not shared by everyone in the government. At a small dinner party hosted by Contini on my first evening in Mogadishu, the deputy foreign minister informed me that while he had indeed offered me the position, my contract had not yet been approved by the prime minister. “It will be done eventually,” he said, “but the prime minister is very busy these days.” There was no apology, nor any indication of when I might begin work. It was my first taste of Somalia’s unpredictable bureaucracy.
Despite this initial setback, I remained hopeful. I had come to Somalia to assist in the development of its legal system, particularly in the areas of international law and foreign policy. The country’s legal framework was still in its infancy, and there was much to be done. Somalia, like many newly independent African nations, faced immense challenges. One of the most pressing issues was its territorial disputes with neighbouring Ethiopia and Kenya. The borders drawn by colonial powers had little regard for the realities on the ground, and the Somali government was determined to reclaim territories inhabited by ethnic Somalis, even if it meant severing diplomatic ties with the British who wanted to maintain the status quo they’d left. This legal quagmire was emblematic of the difficulties Somalia faced in asserting its sovereignty.
In the months that followed, I worked closely with Contini, helping to draft legal documents for Somalia’s submissions to the Organisation of African Unity (OAU). These documents were crucial in shaping Somalia’s foreign policy and asserting its claims over disputed territories. Drafting treaties, especially those aimed at resolving territorial disputes, required a delicate balance. On the one hand, Somalia needed to assert its rights under international law; on the other, it had to avoid alienating potential allies in Africa, many of whom were wary of reopening old colonial wounds by redrawing borders.
While the work was fulfilling, it was evident that Somalia’s legal system remained heavily dependent on foreign expertise. Italian and British lawyers staffed the judiciary, and much of the legal code was still a patchwork of colonial laws. The penal code, for instance, was almost an exact replica of the Italian code, complete with remnants of fascist legal philosophy. This legal dualism posed a significant challenge to the development of a unified Somali legal identity. The judiciary was divided along regional lines, with judges in the north adhering to British common law, while those in the south followed Italian civil law. Integrating these two systems would take years, if not decades, to achieve.
“This legal dualism posed a significant challenge to the development of a unified Somali legal identity.
During this period, I was introduced to General Mohamed Abshir Muse, the head of the Somali National Police. He was widely respected for his integrity and leadership, and under his guidance, the police force was one of the few government institutions that operated efficiently and without corruption. It was through Abshir that I became involved in another crucial aspect of Somalia’s legal development: the training of police officers in the new criminal procedure code.
The criminal procedure code, like much of Somalia’s legal system, was caught between two worlds. The penal code was based on the Italian model, while the new criminal procedure code drew heavily from Anglo-American legal traditions. The task of teaching this new code fell to me, alongside a former British colonial policeman named George Vivash. At the Police Academy in Mogadishu, we began training officers from across the country. Some spoke English, others Italian, and many spoke only Somali. This linguistic diversity reflected the broader challenges facing Somalia’s legal system.
My classes at the academy were challenging but rewarding. Many of the officers had little formal education, yet they brought with them a wealth of practical experience. One officer, a sergeant who had served in remote bush posts, confided that he was worried about failing the course. He had never received much formal schooling, and his English was limited. Yet, it was evident that he grasped the essence of policing better than many of his more educated peers. I reassured him that the exam would be oral, focusing on practical knowledge rather than abstract legal theory. In the end, he passed with flying colours, a testament to the resilience and determination of Somalia’s police force.
As the weeks went by, I became more integrated into the daily workings of the police force. Abshir and I developed a close working relationship, and he eventually asked me to serve as his special assistant. This new role provided greater insight into the challenges facing Somalia’s law enforcement system. The police were responsible not only for maintaining law and order in Mogadishu but also for patrolling the country’s vast and often inhospitable countryside. Abshir was committed to professionalising the force, and he welcomed my suggestions for improving training and operations.
“Abshir and I developed a close working relationship, and he eventually asked me to serve as his special assistant. This new role provided greater insight into the challenges facing Somalia’s law enforcement system.
One of my key contributions was introducing self-defence training for the police. Drawing on my own experience in judo and karate, I began teaching a small group of officers the fundamentals of unarmed combat. Abshir recognised the value of this training, not only for its practical benefits but also for the discipline and confidence it instilled in the officers. After six months, we held a demonstration for Abshir and other high-ranking officials. The programme’s success led to its integration into the academy’s curriculum.
Beyond self-defence, I also proposed that the police take a more active role in organising sports competitions for Somali youth. Many young people in towns and villages had little to occupy them outside of religious instruction, and I believed that organised sports could help foster a sense of community and discipline. Abshir agreed, and soon police posts across the country were hosting football and volleyball tournaments. It was a small but meaningful contribution to Somalia’s social fabric.
Throughout my time in Somalia, I was struck by the complexity of the legal and political challenges the country faced. The legacy of colonialism cast a long shadow over every aspect of Somali life, from the legal system to the economy. The law, in particular, was still in the process of being shaped and redefined. While the colonial codes were functional, they were not entirely suited to the needs of an independent African state. The judiciary was underdeveloped, and the legal profession remained in its infancy. Most significantly, Somalia’s legal system lacked the indigenous expertise necessary for it to stand independently.
Despite these challenges, there was hope. The dedication of people like Abshir, Contini, and the police officers I trained demonstrated that Somalia had the potential to develop a legal system reflecting its own values and needs. It would not happen overnight, but the foundations were being laid.
As my time in Somalia drew to a close, I looked back on my experience with a mixture of pride and frustration. I had come to help build a legal system in a country still finding its footing, and while I had made some modest contributions, the task ahead remained immense. The law, like the country itself, was in transition—struggling to reconcile the legacies of colonialism with the realities of independence. Yet, in individuals like General Abshir Muse, I saw the potential for Somalia to forge its own path and build a future founded on justice, integrity, and the rule of law.
“I looked back on my experience with a mixture of pride and frustration. I had come to help build a legal system in a country still finding its footing, and while I had made some modest contributions, the task ahead remained immense.
As we worked together, Abshir and I often discussed the significance of democratic governance and ethical leadership. Abshir had a profound belief in democratic principles and viewed Somalia’s independence as an opportunity to establish a government founded on justice and accountability. In our conversations, he would emphasise the importance of elections and the rule of law in maintaining social harmony.
It was his commitment to these ideals that later brought him into conflict with General Siad Barre, who seized power in 1969 with Soviet support. Barre’s authoritarian regime was a betrayal of everything Abshir had aspired to for Somalia. When Abshir refused to endorse the new dictatorship, he was imprisoned in solitary confinement for nearly a decade. Although briefly released as a political gesture, he was soon re-arrested after reaffirming his opposition to the regime.
Even after Barre’s fall, Abshir continued to work towards a peaceful Somalia. When I returned to Mogadishu as a UN adviser in the early 1990s, I learnt that Abshir was helping to mediate between warring clans in Puntland, his native region. He became instrumental in efforts to establish a decentralised government, one that respected traditional clan structures while fostering national unity. In many ways, he embodied the very values we had discussed so many years earlier.
Reflecting on our friendship, I am struck by Abshir’s resilience and moral clarity. His life was a testament to the power of principled leadership, and his dedication to justice and accountability shaped Somalia in ways that continue to resonate. Though he eventually moved to the United States in his later years, where he passed away in 2017, his legacy endures. For me, he will always represent the hope that Somalia, despite its challenges, can build a future grounded in justice, dignity, and the rule of law.
Source: https://www.geeska.com/en
You must be logged in to post a comment.