Bullets at the Front, Bulldozers at Home

This soldier did not abandon his duty. He was fighting Al-Shabaab, standing between Somalia and a ruthless enemy, and risking the most precious thing he possessed, his life, in defence of his country. Yet, while he was defending Somalia, the home he had left behind for his family was demolished. The contradiction could hardly be more devastating: while he risked his life at the front to protect the state from its enemies, the power of that same state was being used to destroy his family’s shelter, security and livelihood at home. Standing amid the ruins, he appealed directly to Hassan Sheikh: “You are the President of the Republic and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces. It cannot be right that while I am serving on the front line, I am dispossessed in the name of the government. The men who were given the land and the forces that demolished my home are not more powerful than me. Their power over me comes from the fact that they are using the name and authority of the very state I am prepared to die defending.” Those words should trouble the conscience of every Somali, particularly those entrusted with political power, economic influence and social leadership, because behind this soldier’s anguish lies a much larger question: what is the state supposed to stand for? At its most basic level, the state exists to protect citizens against arbitrary power, uphold law, safeguard rights and property, restrain the strong from preying upon the weak, and give people confidence that public authority belongs to everyone, not merely those with wealth, connections and access to power. That is the moral foundation of statehood. Yet under Hassan Sheikh Mohamud (HSM) that principle is being dangerously eroded. When politically connected elites accumulate land, wealth and privilege while vulnerable families are displaced, citizens experience the coercive power of government without receiving the protection that gives such power legitimacy. For Somalia, still recovering from decades of state collapse, this is extraordinarily reckless. We have spent years persuading Somalis that national institutions should replace private protection, law should replace force, a national army should replace clan militias, and citizens should trust public institutions rather than whoever possesses the most money, guns or connections. Every abuse of state authority undermines that argument; when the victim is a soldier defending the state itself, the contradiction becomes unbearable. You Cannot Buy Sacrifice The HSM administration appears to misunderstand what binds a soldier to his country, because a soldier is not simply someone to whom the government pays a salary, gives a uniform, hands a rifle and sends into battle. A salary may compensate service, but it cannot purchase sacrifice; a uniform may identify a soldier, but it cannot manufacture loyalty; and a rifle may enable him to fight, but it cannot give him something worth dying for. A soldier accepts extraordinary risks because he believes that something behind him deserves protection: his family, community, dignity, flag and country. There is a fundamental bond of duty and trust between a nation and its soldiers: the soldier risks his life defending the nation, while the nation assumes a solemn responsibility to protect his dignity, rights and family through law and justice. When that bond is broken, the damage reaches beyond the individual soldier, weakening the morale, loyalty and sense of purpose upon which a national army depends. Behind this man stand thousands of Somali soldiers who sleep in trenches, endure hardship, remain separated from their families and face death while political and economic elites enjoy the security their sacrifices have helped create. What happens when these soldiers begin asking why they should risk death for institutions that cannot protect their families from injustice? What happens when trust in the republic becomes weaker than reliance on clan, family or private networks? That is the point at which reckless governance ceases to be merely a failure of leadership and becomes a national-security problem, because when an administration systematically weakens soldiers’ trust, erodes institutional legitimacy and alienates the citizens whose loyalty sustains the state, the HSM administration itself risks becoming a threat to the national security it is supposed to protect. You cannot build a national army while destroying the soldier’s faith in the nation. An army may carry the state’s weapons and wear its uniforms, but if its soldiers no longer trust the institutions behind them, it cannot become the foundation of durable statehood. When the Bulldozer Becomes a Symbol The bulldozer therefore represents more than a demolished house. To the family, it represents lost shelter and livelihood; to the soldier, betrayal; and to the citizen watching, it raises a disturbing question: has the authority Somalia struggled for decades to rebuild become something ordinary people increasingly need protection from? Somalia did not endure decades of state collapse merely to reconstruct institutions that reproduce the predatory behaviour that destroyed public trust in the first place. State-building is not simply constructing ministries, presidential palaces and military headquarters; it is rebuilding the relationship between citizen and authority. It means convincing the weak that law will protect them from the strong, the soldier that his family will be protected while he serves, and the citizen that state power cannot be captured by those with money and political connections. Tomorrow, when this soldier is told, “Return to the front and defend Somalia,” what will he remember, the flag he serves and the comrades who died beside him, or the bulldozer that demolished his home while he was defending the country? When a soldier’s home is demolished while he risks his life for his country, far more than walls and a roof are destroyed: his dignity is violated, his trust is shattered, his loyalty is strained, his family’s hope is crushed, and the credibility of the state he was prepared to die defending is diminished. This is bigger than one soldier and one demolished home. It is about whether Somalia can build a state that citizens believe deserves their trust and soldiers believe deserves their sacrifice, a state that protects rather than preys, serves rather than dispossesses, restrains the powerful rather than becoming their instrument, and honours those prepared to die in its defence. Until then, the soldier’s story leaves a haunting question before our national conscience: What should a Somali soldier fear more, the enemy’s bullet at the front, or the government’s bulldozer at home? As the late Somali poet Hadraawi wrote: “Damiirku hadduu qallalo Hadduu dufan raadis yahay Daliilka hortiisa yaal Waxaa kaga beegan daah.” Or, in essence: When conscience withers and becomes consumed by self-interest, even the truth standing plainly before it remains hidden behind a veil.