Kalamaan: conversations of (non)collective memories

Somalis disagree about their past; it is less likely they agree on their present. Unless we come to terms with this statement, as authoritative as it sounds, our journey toward a political model that (dis)unites us will be longer. Unity or lack thereof is not a border or a flag; it is, above all, a memory — collectively imagined realities and shared aspirations.    

In the mid-1900s, Somalis could collectively imagine the colonial realities in which they were all trapped. Therefore, they could aspire, side by side, to find a way out. Since the breakdown of the political model—the Somali Republic—which embodied those aspirations, Somali memory has been as equally fragmented as it has been collective. To get a sense of such a memory that is collective yet fragmented, or (non)collective, listen to the Somali political satire Kalamaan. 

Kalmaan has been daily broadcast on Radio Kulmiye since early 2018. It is a Somali radio show where different fictional characters with opposing views talk about politics and current events, using a mix of jokes, poems, and serious points to reflect real debates in society. It has gained significant popularity recently with its YouTube channel amassing over 45 million views. The show has four features that make it stand out. First, it is neither purely a news program nor solely a comedy skit; it combines both in a way that can be described as a Somali version of American late-night shows. 

Second, it is not just a commentary programme but also a critical one. The programme examines the day's events with a sharp eye, enabling the audience to understand its overall stance despite the characters’ differing perspectives. 

Third, the language of the programme shifts between prose and verse. This is not merely a stylistic choice but a deliberate strategy. The more divided the characters’ views on an issue, the more poetic their language becomes. Literature is used effectively to communicate their opposing viewpoints while maintaining a neutral tone. 

Fourth, the programme recognises what is relative among Somalis as much as what is universal among them. Its design reflects such a belief. The characters seem to share a collective mind; they use a discourse—language, poems, proverbs, songs, and folk tales—that each of them understands. They discuss issues to which they quite equally relate. However, their minds are not so collective as to lead them to hold the same political views or attitudes. 

More significantly, their minds are not shared enough to allow one character to take on the position of another or to speak on his behalf. That the programme is designed as such mirrors more of a political reality than artistic ingenuity. It embodies, and is a parody of, the (non)collective memories Somalis today hold of their fragmented political realities. 

Unlike the comic genre, scholarly work has yet to depict this subtle yet dominant kind of memory. Intellectuals are split into two groups regarding the collective political memory of Somalis. One group dates the origin of Somali political memory to the independence movements and traces history forward. This group advocates a single memory model, wherein Somalis share one collective memory. The other group centres the formation of Somali political memory on Independence Days and looks at history backward. This bloc suggests a dual memory model, where the memories of British and Italian Somaliland subjects are seen as distinct. 

Both models, despite their contrasting political goals, share two similarities. First, both see the formation of collective memory as driven by a single factor. The single memory model, for instance, highlights liberation movements as the foundation of Somali political memory. Likewise, the dual memory model considers the independence of British Somaliland as the start of a political memory that developed from a distinct colonial experience. 

Both overlook the fact that collective memory is not created at one moment by a single actor, whether that be liberation movements or colonial powers. They also ignore the reality that Somalis, organised into clans, had different experiences with both colonial powers and liberation movements. 

Second, these models’ understanding of collective memory is ahistorical. That is, they view collective memory as a product that, once formed and packaged, becomes immune to historical change. When in reality, all of the colonial powers, liberation movements, the post-colonial state, the revolutionary regime, opposition fronts, regional states, and Islamist factions have each (re)generated Somalis with fragmented memories.

Since the Somali Republic, it has been uncommon for one city to share a political system with another. This has led to more fragmented political memories among people in South and Central Somalia compared to those in Puntland and Somaliland.  

These transformations have led to two significant variations within Somali political memory. One is geopolitical. For example, the political memory of people in Somaliland has gone through three main phases: British colonialism, the Somali Republic, and the Republic of Somaliland. Similarly, the political memory of people in Puntland has experienced three key stages: Italian colonialism, the Somali Republic, and the State of Puntland. Each of these political systems has implemented educational programmes that shaped how people see themselves and those around them.

Due to their distinct political trajectories, the people of Puntland and Somaliland possess political memories that differ markedly from those of other Somalis. This geopolitical diversity within Somali political memory becomes even more complex when examining the South and Central regions.

Since the days of the Somali Republic, it has been rare for one city in the South or Central regions to share a political system with another. This has led to more fragmented political memories in these areas compared to Puntland and Somaliland. However, the emergence of regional states may give rise to new and distinct political memories over time.

The other variation is generational. Even among Somalis who belong to the same polity, political memories formed in different periods have created divisions along generational lines. One such division is evident in Puntland. Older generations, whose political memory was shaped during the Somali Republic, see Puntland through the lens of Somalia. They regard Puntland as a vital political project—but one that draws its meaning from its connection to Somalia. For them, Puntland is necessary, but not sufficient.

Conversely, many younger Somalis see Somalia through the lens of Puntland. This generation, exemplified by the Puntland First Movement, relates to Somalia only insofar as Puntland remains meaningful to them. For them, Somalia is necessary—but not sufficient.

The generational difference, like the geopolitical one, recurs across Somali society to varying degrees. It is because of these differences that I describe Somali political memory as (non)collective—collective, yet fragmented. It remains collective because of the cultural and historical elements that Somalis share, yet it is fragmented due to the political and historical conditions that have caused Somali experiences to diverge. 

Because of the generational gap in political memories, Somalia is not what Somaliland thinks it is, and Somaliland is not what Somalia thinks it is. And either side has more sincere than cynical reasons to think what they think the other is.  

The (non)collective memory, with its generational and geopolitical layers, profoundly influences Somali political dialogues. Consider the Somalia–Somaliland talks, for example. Somaliland officials often view Somalia primarily through the lens of the Barre regime. This is because Somaliland has experienced only one political transition since that period, and the current elite in Somaliland are the same individuals who formed under—and fought against—the revolutionary regime. Their political memory of Somalia, and thus their approach to it, was shaped mainly during that era.

Meanwhile, Somalia has undergone more political transformations since then. The dominant political elites in Somalia emerged after the collapse of the Somali Republic, and their political memory is more closely tied to tribal and Islamist formations than to the revolutionary regime. What has happened over the last three decades constitutes their political memory—anything before that is, to them, immemorial.

As a result, they can only approach Somaliland as a tribal concern. Because of this generational gap in political memories, Somalia is not what Somaliland thinks it is, and Somaliland is not what Somalia thinks it is. And both sides have more sincere than cynical reasons for believing what they believe about the other.

Can people with fragmented memories converse? Kalamaan shows that they can. One episode I recommend as a model of such conversation is from 2 January 2024, the day after Somaliland signed a memorandum of understanding with Ethiopia, under which land was leased. Waaqle's stance—representing Somaliland’s viewpoint—was especially significant on this issue. He not only challenged others’ arguments but also reaffirmed Somaliland’s sovereignty over the land. Despite the sensitivity of the issue, the conversation maintained an equanimous tone.

The glue that binds the programme together is the recognition that Somalis, though united in culture, live within separate political realities. The key word here is recognition—a recognition that a human being is a creature of political memory. No one can be anything but the sum of their political memory, which is formed by family upbringing, education systems, and media institutions. If someone differs from you in those aspects, they will almost certainly differ in their political memory, and therefore in their political views and aspirations.

When you hear someone express political views and aspirations that you do not share, it is likely that their political memory was formed differently from yours. And just as you cannot reformat your own memory, it is equally unlikely they can reformat theirs. A genuine conversation can begin only once you come to terms with your different memories.