Balancing Progress with Preservation: Navigating the Government’s Infrastructure Ambitions

The Somali government’s recent plans to construct a new airport outside Mogadishu have ignited a crucial conversation about the cost of development, particularly its impact on Indigenous and local communities. While infrastructure projects are often celebrated for their potential to spur economic growth, they can also leave behind a trail of destruction — displacement, loss of cultural heritage, and environmental degradation. This dilemma forces us to ask hard questions: Is this development, or is it dispossession?

Somalia and UNDRIP: A Gap in Indigenous Recognition

In 2007, the United Nations proposed the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), a landmark framework to protect the rights of Indigenous communities worldwide. Somalia abstained from the initial vote but later signed the declaration under Prime Minister Omar Abdirashid Ali Sharmarke. Despite this symbolic gesture, Somalia has yet to formally recognize any group or community as Indigenous within its borders. This legal and policy vacuum raises significant concerns about the protection of vulnerable communities affected by ambitious infrastructure projects like the proposed airport.

The absence of Indigenous recognition in Somalia mirrors the mistakes of other nations. Consider the infamous displacement of Aboriginal Australians during the construction of the Ord River Scheme, documented in Fiona Skyring’s Justice: A History of the Aboriginal Legal Service of Western Australia. Families were torn from their lands, cultural sites were destroyed, and promised benefits never materialized. The lesson remains clear: grand promises mean nothing without accountability.

Development at What Cost?

In a previous article, Building a Better Mogadishu: Growth with Vision?, I welcomed the idea of new infrastructure, including the airport project, as a symbol of Somalia’s progress. However, I have since grappled with the human and environmental cost of such development. Can we, as a society, fit ourselves into the shoes of the families who may soon lose their ancestral lands, their livelihoods, and their history to make way for this project?

These lands are not mere plots of dirt; they are the lifeblood of generations, the beating heart of a community. What will happen to the graves of their grand-parents, the pride of their farmland, and the dreams of their children? What will become of these families in the next decade, the next century? Development without inclusion is a bulldozer plowing through the soul of a nation.

The Environmental and Economic Toll

Mogadishu’s expansion has already inflicted significant damage on its ecosystem and economy. The loss of farmland — essential for feeding thousands of people with dairy, eggs, and other staples — is a growing concern. The proposed airport could exacerbate this trend, further eroding Somalia’s capacity for self-sustainability. Have we not learned from past mistakes? Can we afford to repeat them under the guise of progress?

Consider the words of James C. Scott in Seeing Like a State: “When governments privilege efficiency over equity, they often create deserts in place of gardens.” Mogadishu’s fertile lands risk becoming another example of this tragic metaphor — a once-thriving ecosystem reduced to barren tarmac.

Questions Without Clear Answers

The government’s plans raise critical questions:

• What opportunities will this project bring to the affected communities?
• What is the government’s plan for families who refuse to give up their land? Will it resort to a totalitarian approach to enforce displacement, as has happened in the past?
• If this airport is to be built outside Mogadishu but within Hirshabelle State, how does this align with Somalia’s federal structure? Shouldn’t Hirshabelle’s residents have a say in such a significant development within their borders?

The repetition of these unanswered questions is not redundancy; it is an echo, a drumbeat for accountability. Development is not inherently good — it must be measured, negotiated, and inclusive.

A Need for Ethical Development

True development must go beyond infrastructure. It must consider the lives and livelihoods of the people it impacts. Compensation, relocation plans, and community benefits should be at the forefront of this project’s planning. The government must also engage with local communities transparently, ensuring that their voices are heard and their rights protected. If not, this project risks becoming yet another instance of land grabbing disguised as progress.

Take a lesson from the Three Gorges Dam project in China, where over a million people were displaced, their promises of resettlement overshadowed by corruption and inadequate compensation. Without stringent safeguards, the Somali government risks replicating these failures.

The Way Forward

Somalia’s leadership faces a choice: to build a future that includes everyone or to forge ahead with development that marginalizes its most vulnerable communities. The proposed airport has the potential to boost the nation’s economy and global standing, but at what cost? Without careful planning and inclusive decision-making, this project may pave a runway to dispossession rather than development.

As a nation striving to rebuild, Somalia must ask itself: Is it truly progress if it erases the history, culture, and livelihoods of its own people? Let’s ensure that development is not just about physical infrastructure but also about preserving the human and cultural fabric that makes Somalia unique. In the words of Chinua Achebe, “A man who calls his kinsmen to a feast does not do so to save them from starving. They all have food in their own homes. When we gather together in the moonlit village ground, it is not because of the moon. Every man brings his own firewood to the fire.” Will Somalia allow all its people to bring their firewood to the fire, or will it extinguish the flames of those who cannot fight back?