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TIME: Almanac 1995
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1994-05-26
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<text id=94TT0551>
<title>
Mar. 28, 1994: Back to the Bad Old Days
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1994
Mar. 28, 1994 Doomed:The Regal Tiger and Extinction
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
SOMALIA, Page 37
Back to the Bad Old Days
</hdr>
<body>
<p>As weary U.S. troops depart, they leave behind a country in
no better shape than when they arrived
</p>
<p>By Andrew Purvis/Asha Farto
</p>
<p> Aden Abdulrahman Mohammed believed the worst was over when the
U.S. Marines arrived a year ago in his village just north of
Baidoa. He had managed to reap a good harvest of sorghum, set
up a water pump and construct a small chicken farm. Then suddenly
in November, the bad old days returned. A dispute about two
stolen camels between rival subclans quickly escalated into
a hit-and-run war. When the shooting stopped, 15 villages, including
Asha Farto, lay in smoking ruins. All the sorghum stored by
the farmers had been looted or torched, and when the seasonal
rains failed the following month, the villagers were forced
once again to turn to international agencies for food. "The
troops brought us no change at all," says Mohammed with a grim
laugh.
</p>
<p> Now the American and European contingents are pulling out, leaving
behind a greatly diminished U.N. force drawn mostly from developing
nations that have neither the resources nor the political will
to engineer the peace that eluded their better-equipped counterparts.
Yet the fundamental problems that triggered the famine of 1992
and the U.S.-led military intervention persist. Warlords are
in the ascendant, bedeviling efforts by the U.N. and Somalis
to negotiate a political solution. Violent attacks on aid workers
have increased, threatening to reverse any progress made in
the past year. The prospect of renewed anarchy has brought many
Somalis to the brink of despair. "It will never be stopped,"
laments Mohammed Haji Yusur, a doctor in the port of Kismayu,
where clan warfare has once again filled his hospital with the
dead and wounded. "It will never end."
</p>
<p> For the U.S., angry and frustrated at a costly mission gone
wrong, even a dignified retreat is proving difficult to secure.
Last week seven more service members died when their AC-130
gunship crashed off the Kenyan coast en route to Mogadishu.
As the last American ground troops packed up for their departure
this week, free-lance gunmen continued to take potshots at guard
posts and passing convoys. Eight warships are deployed offshore
should trouble erupt.
</p>
<p> The U.S. may avoid the indignity of another Saigon. But the
20,000 primarily Third World troops who remain behind may not
be so lucky. The scaled-down force will limit itself to securing
a few strategic ports and airports and, where possible, to guarding
relief supplies. Even those diminished goals may prove overly
ambitious, say some military observers. They argue that with
a few well-timed attacks, warlords like Mohammed Farrah Aidid
could drive the U.N. forces out. Though the warlord continued
to meet last week with other militia leaders to search for a
political solution, most observers believe that he will never
settle for anything less than supreme power.
</p>
<p> In the absence of adequate U.N. protection, most aid agencies
have gone back to their old methods of self-preservation. In
Baidoa, the site of three separate bomb blasts since Christmas,
relief workers have begun fortifying their compounds with razor
wire, sandbagged guard posts and well-armed local gunmen. For
many Somalis, the echoes of 1991 and early 1992, when the world
stood by while the country slipped into famine, are disturbing.
"Everyone will have to leave this place," says Aden Abdulrahman
Mohammed in Asha Farto. That may be possible for a fortunate
few. For the majority of Somalis, there will be no escape.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>