The Pirates of Somalia_ Inside Their Hidden World - Jay Bahadur [33]
Winning a war also requires a command of logistics, an area in which the president admitted Puntland was notably deficient. The region possesses close to half of Somalia’s thirty-three-hundred-kilometre coastline, yet communications, radar, and satellite centres in the Indian Ocean and the Gulf of Aden—which would provide intelligence and coordination to the coast guard—are yet to be established. Additionally, mechanisms are still required to integrate the Puntland Coast Guard with the institutions of NATO, the European Union, the International Maritime Bureau, and individual foreign navies.
The president had little faith in the ability of a private security firm to overcome these formidable challenges. When I asked about SomCan’s future role as coast guard, his response was guardedly noncommittal—but not optimistic. “I don’t believe they will be effective for this difficult task,” he said. “Because they didn’t do anything in the past.” For the moment, at least, the president was not looking to hand over SomCan’s job to anyone else once the company’s present contract expired.
“We are not prepared to create a coast guard without international help,” Farole said, adding that the fight against the pirates would be in the hands of Puntland’s regular ground troops, deployed from their Bossaso garrison. For Farole, however, international concerns over piracy were of secondary importance to those closer to home. “Measures need to go beyond preventing piracy against commercial ships,” he said. “Piracy is [the international community’s] problem—well, it’s ours too—but what is specifically our problem is illegal fishing.” Until illegal fishing was curtailed, the president was adamant that the ministry’s days as a licence printing press were over: “We are not planning to issue any fishing licences before we have full control of our seas.”
The Puntland government’s dream of gaining sovereignty over its seas remains distant. Puntland currently relies almost entirely on foreign warships to provide ersatz coast guard services in the Gulf of Aden and the Indian Ocean (only the day before I spoke with the president, the French navy had handed over nine Somali captives to Puntland officials—a far more tempered response than the overzealous Operation Thalathine). But operating an international armada at a cost of tens of millions per month is not sustainable; eventually, a locally owned coast guard, one free of Hart’s and SomCan’s unsavoury legacy of profiteering, will be required to safeguard Somalia’s dangerous waters.
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On June 30, 2009, SomCan’s contract with the Puntland government expired, and—not surprisingly—was not renewed. During the last few months of its tenure, SomCan—perhaps still hoping to prove its worth to the new administration—continued to hunt illegal fishing ships with furious resolve. On March 12, the company’s boat headed out of Bossaso harbour on patrol, and on March 31 it caught up with two ships fishing illegally near Hafun. After escorting them back to Bossaso and impounding them, the SomCan owners were greeted with an irate reaction from the Ministry of Fisheries, which produced copies of two licences that it had recently issued to the vessels (which were subsequently released). Apparently, just a few months after Farole had assured me of his government’s intention to scrap the corrupt fishing licensing schemes of past Puntland administrations, the arbitrary issuing of licences had seamlessly resumed.
These developments were not welcomed by Said Orey, a fact he made clear on the porch of my Garowe residence shortly before the expiration of SomCan’s contract. “We are entitled to collect 49 per cent of the proceeds of all fishing licences sold by the Puntland government, but the fishing ministry won’t even tell us it’s selling them,” he said, looking disgusted.