There are signs that ordinary Somalis are tiring of the retrograde policies of the radical Islamist Al-Shabab and may be ready to rise up. Summary
MOGADISHU, SOMALIA - For the past three years, Al-Shabab, one of Africa's most fearsome militant Islamist groups, has been terrorizing the Somali public, chopping off hands, stoning people to death and banning TV, music and even bras in its quest to turn Somalia into a seventh-century-style Islamic state.
At the same time, the group has drawn increasingly close to Al-Qaida, deploying suicide bombers, attracting jihadists from around the world and prompting U.S. concerns that Al-Shabab may be spreading into Kenya, Yemen and beyond.
But could Somalia finally be reaching a tipping point against Al-Shabab?
Not only is Somalia's transitional government gearing up for a major offensive against the group -- with the U.S. military providing intelligence and logistical support -- but Mogadishu's beleaguered population, sensing a change in the salt-sticky air, is beginning to turn against it, too.
Women who have been whipped and humiliated by morality police for not veiling their faces are now whispering valuable secrets about Al-Shabab's movements into the ears of government soldiers. Teenage students outraged that Al-Shabab-allied fighters hoisted a black flag in front of their school recently pelted the fighters with stones. Defectors are leaving Al-Shabab in droves, including one 13-year-old who said that he was routinely drugged before being handed a machine gun and shoved into combat.
Since 1991, when Somalia's central government collapsed, the people here have endured one violent struggle after another, which has reduced Mogadishu, the capital, to ruins and this nation to the archetypal failed state. But never before has the Somali public had such a vested interest in who wins as they do in the coming showdown against Al-Shabab.
"They are like rabid dogs," said Dahir Mohamed, a shopkeeper, who still has puffy, oddly circular scars on his face from where he says young Al-Shabab fighters bit him.
At the same time, the group has drawn increasingly close to Al-Qaida, deploying suicide bombers, attracting jihadists from around the world and prompting U.S. concerns that Al-Shabab may be spreading into Kenya, Yemen and beyond.
But could Somalia finally be reaching a tipping point against Al-Shabab?
Not only is Somalia's transitional government gearing up for a major offensive against the group -- with the U.S. military providing intelligence and logistical support -- but Mogadishu's beleaguered population, sensing a change in the salt-sticky air, is beginning to turn against it, too.
Women who have been whipped and humiliated by morality police for not veiling their faces are now whispering valuable secrets about Al-Shabab's movements into the ears of government soldiers. Teenage students outraged that Al-Shabab-allied fighters hoisted a black flag in front of their school recently pelted the fighters with stones. Defectors are leaving Al-Shabab in droves, including one 13-year-old who said that he was routinely drugged before being handed a machine gun and shoved into combat.
Since 1991, when Somalia's central government collapsed, the people here have endured one violent struggle after another, which has reduced Mogadishu, the capital, to ruins and this nation to the archetypal failed state. But never before has the Somali public had such a vested interest in who wins as they do in the coming showdown against Al-Shabab.
"They are like rabid dogs," said Dahir Mohamed, a shopkeeper, who still has puffy, oddly circular scars on his face from where he says young Al-Shabab fighters bit him.
Al-Shabab has defied expectations in the past and proved resilient, determined and formidable. Some Somalia analysts fear that even if the government dislodges the group and ends its ability to operate in the open, it could still wreak havoc with suicide bombs and other guerrilla tactics.
"They will pull out and leave people behind the lines," said Mark Bowden, head of U.N. humanitarian operations in Somalia.
But if Somalis, who possess considerable firepower of their own, decisively turn against Al-Shabab, and the government provides people with an alternative to rally behind, it could be difficult for the militants to reconstitute themselves, even as a guerrilla army.
The best example of that backlash is already happening in Medina, a neighborhood a few miles from the center of Mogadishu. Just past the airport, it is a place of sandy streets and once beautiful homes now chewed up by gunfire and mold.
Al-Shabab fighters, in their trademark green jumpsuits and checkered scarves, used to control parts of Medina. But in the last year or so the neighborhood, dominated by a single clan, banded together to drive them out.
Young men joined the local militia. Old men raised money for guns. Women and girls hauled ice, rice and milk to the front lines and braved gunfire to evacuate the casualties.
"We hate Al-Shabab," said one mother, Amina Abdullahi Mohamed. "They misled our youth."
Medina is now one of Mogadishu's safest areas, and while still not particularly safe, an unmistakable beat of life has returned.
There has not been a suicide attack for months. The markets are packed, protected by baby-faced militiamen in polo shirts and Kalashnikov rifles over their shoulders. Beat-up old minibuses cruise the streets, and there is even something close to traffic. A tight clan network keeps a watchful eye, and last month a teacher of the Qur'an recruiting children for Al-Shabab was promptly arrested.
"They will pull out and leave people behind the lines," said Mark Bowden, head of U.N. humanitarian operations in Somalia.
But if Somalis, who possess considerable firepower of their own, decisively turn against Al-Shabab, and the government provides people with an alternative to rally behind, it could be difficult for the militants to reconstitute themselves, even as a guerrilla army.
The best example of that backlash is already happening in Medina, a neighborhood a few miles from the center of Mogadishu. Just past the airport, it is a place of sandy streets and once beautiful homes now chewed up by gunfire and mold.
Al-Shabab fighters, in their trademark green jumpsuits and checkered scarves, used to control parts of Medina. But in the last year or so the neighborhood, dominated by a single clan, banded together to drive them out.
Young men joined the local militia. Old men raised money for guns. Women and girls hauled ice, rice and milk to the front lines and braved gunfire to evacuate the casualties.
"We hate Al-Shabab," said one mother, Amina Abdullahi Mohamed. "They misled our youth."
Medina is now one of Mogadishu's safest areas, and while still not particularly safe, an unmistakable beat of life has returned.
There has not been a suicide attack for months. The markets are packed, protected by baby-faced militiamen in polo shirts and Kalashnikov rifles over their shoulders. Beat-up old minibuses cruise the streets, and there is even something close to traffic. A tight clan network keeps a watchful eye, and last month a teacher of the Qur'an recruiting children for Al-Shabab was promptly arrested.
Medina is a picture of Somalia's past and possibly its looming future. Clan militias carved this country into fiefs in the 1990s, which lasted until 2006, when an Islamist alliance including Al-Shabab took over and held most of Somalia relatively peacefully. The Ethiopian military then invaded, sparking an intense guerrilla war, with Al-Shabab spearheading the resistance.
But after the Ethiopians pulled out last year and Sheik Sharif Sheik Ahmed, an Islamist cleric, was selected as the transitional government's president, grass-roots support for Al-Shabab began to fade. It has sunk ever since, though Al-Shabab and its allies still control more than half of south-central Somalia.
But after the Ethiopians pulled out last year and Sheik Sharif Sheik Ahmed, an Islamist cleric, was selected as the transitional government's president, grass-roots support for Al-Shabab began to fade. It has sunk ever since, though Al-Shabab and its allies still control more than half of south-central Somalia.
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