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"AFRICOM's perfunctory acknowledgment and empty condolences are not just underwhelming, they are a profound injustice," said the rights group Hūmānus, which represents two families of victims.
As the US has ramped up drone strikes in Somalia since President Donald Trump's return to power in January, the military has also confessed to some civilian deaths resulting from attacks conducted during his first term—but victims' families are demanding more.
Al Jazeera on Tuesday published interviews with two impacted family members. Abubakar Dahir Mohamed's 22-year-old sister, Luul Dahir Mohamed, and 4-year-old niece, Mariam, were killed on April 1, 2018. She left behind a son who is now 13.
The pair was traveling in a pickup truck with other passengers to a town where another brother lived. US Africa Command (AFRICOM) initially said it struck "five terrorists" and destroyed one vehicle, but later admitted an unnamed "mother and child" were killed.
As Al Jazeera detailed:
That day, according to media reports and Luul's family, US drones bombed the pickup truck. Immediately after, locals found several bodies in and around the site. Further down the road, about 60 metres (200 feet) away, was the lifeless body of Luul, clutching onto her child, whose small body was covered in shrapnel.
"When they fired on the vehicle, Luul made it out with her daughter. They knew it was a woman and child, and then they fired once again, killing them both in the second strike," Abubakar said from the Somali capital, Mogadishu.
"The Americans claim to uphold human rights, but apparently, when it comes to people like my sister and niece, their lives don't matter."
The outlet also spoke with Mohamed Osman Abdi—whose 17-year-old niece, Nuro Kusow Omar, was killed in a February 2, 2020 strike that also injured another niece and his mother-in-law—and reported on letters that AFRICOM recently sent to Hūmānus, a nongovernmental organization representing both families.
Under "current Department of Defense guidelines and policies, US Africa Command determined it is not feasible to make a condolence payment in this matter," AFRICOM claimed in both letters.
In an email to Al Jazeera, AFRICOM said it assessed "mission objectives, cultural norms, local economic realities" as well as "the feasibility, safety, security, and logistics of making the payment itself," and made the decision based on the risk that the money could be "subject to confiscation, extortion, or unofficial taxation by terrorist or hostile insurgent groups."
Osman Abdi said that "it's a cheap excuse. They killed and maimed these people. Using fears of the money being extorted or confiscated is another way of saying the lives [lost] are worth nothing."
"It's painful and shows how desperate they are to rid themselves of any accountability," he added.
In a statement shared on the networking platform LinkedIn, Hūmānus also called out the United States. AFRICOM confirmed civilian harm from the strikes "after years of grueling advocacy," the group said. "This is a victory, yes, but a hollow one. It is a testament to the bravery of our clients and the tireless work of our team, tainted by the very system we were forced to navigate."
"AFRICOM's perfunctory acknowledgment and empty condolences are not just underwhelming, they are a profound injustice. Our clients have already navigated a long and arduous process exhausting every available channel, only to be met with a system designed to look the other way," Hūmānus continued. "The irony is palpable: While the US Congress has earmarked funds for ex gratia payments, these families—who deserve peace and closure—have been met with nothing but institutional indifference."
"This refusal to provide reparations compounds their trauma and sends a deeply troubling message to other victims and survivors around the world," the group added. "Reparations are not just about money; they are a formal recognition of the harm and a vital, final step toward a full stop for survivors. When this crucial component is absent, the so-called 'accountability process' reveals itself as little more than an elaborate exercise in futility."
According to the think tank New America, the US has conducted 410 strikes in Somalia since the George W. Bush administration, killing at least dozens of civilians. Most have occurred under Trump: 219 during his first term and 80 this year.
Masculine representations rooted in ideals that reward toughness, emotional suppression, and dominance are quietly accelerating a mental health crisis among young men.
According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, suicide is now the second leading cause of death among males aged 15-29, and suicide rates among young men in the US have risen by roughly a third since 2010. Across much of Africa, where I work as a public health and gender equality practitioner, men make up the vast majority of suicide deaths, and in Lesotho, the country with the highest suicide rate globally, men are dying at three times the rate of women.
Rigid gender roles may be to blame. Masculine representations rooted in ideals that reward toughness, emotional suppression, and dominance are quietly accelerating a mental health crisis among young men. These rigid norms don’t simply discourage boys from seeking help; they actively shame vulnerability, equate emotional expression with weakness, and isolate those who are struggling. In cultures where being “a real man” means staying silent, mental distress festers in the dark. Unless we confront and transform these harmful ideals, any global response to youth mental health will be incomplete—and too late for many.
In many parts of Africa, young men grow up under intense pressure to become providers, protectors, and problem-solvers. These roles and expectations are deeply tied to their perceived worth. But when systemic barriers like poverty, unemployment, or lack of education make these ideals unreachable, the emotional toll can be devastating. With mental health services scarce and stigma-free spaces almost nonexistent, many suffer in silence.
Instead of seeking support through therapy or confiding in someone they trust, many young men cope with inner distress by turning to alcohol, aggression, or silent withdrawal. These internalized ideals of “staying strong” act like slow-burning fuses. Left unaddressed, emotional strain builds until it erupts often into breakdowns, which spiral into isolation, and eventually, into tragedy. Many of these young men appear perfectly “fine” on the surface, attending school, church, or work, making it easy for their pain to go unnoticed, even by those closest to them. While many girls and young women are increasingly accessing mental health resources even in under-resourced settings, young men remain notably absent from these services. In Rwanda, a study revealed that girls are more likely to utilize youth health friendly services than their counterpart boys. This disparity is not unique to Rwanda; similar trends are observed in west African regions, where mental health services for adolescents are limited, and boys often do not seek help due to societal expectations and stigma.
To be sure, women and girls continue to face serious mental health challenges, often exacerbated by gender-based violence and limited access to care. Recognizing their struggles does not diminish the urgent need to address the silent crisis among young men. Both require focused attention if we are to improve youth mental health across societies. Yet ignoring the silent struggles specific to young men is costing lives worldwide.
To effectively tackle this issue, we must address the needs of all adolescents, with attention to those most at risk. This means introducing gender-transformative education that teaches emotional literacy and normalizes help seeking as strength. We need male-friendly, culturally grounded safe spaces in schools, sports clubs, faith groups, and online where boys can be vulnerable without judgment. Mental health professionals must adopt gender transformative approaches that understand masculinity’s impact on behavior.
Above all, media and storytelling must shift the narrative so boys grow up knowing that feeling is not failure. Imagine a generation of boys brave enough to ask for help, a future where strength includes compassion, and manhood means connection, not isolation. This is the future we owe boys and men. No young man should have to choose between silence and survival.
The record in Mozambique shows that projects backed by public finance can harm communities and the environment unless local voices guide the process.
The ninth Tokyo International Conference on African Development, or TICAD, opened August 20 in Yokohama, organized by the Japanese government with the United Nations, UN Development Program, World Bank, and African Union Commission. Japan, as host, aims to promote “high quality” development in Africa by applying lessons from Asia. Three decades since TICAD’s launch in 1993, interest in Africa remains strong—and so does the need to reflect on what “development” truly means.
Japan’s record in Mozambique offers sobering lessons.
Before we can discuss “development” we must recognize that many of Africa’s deep crises today are rooted in the continued exploitation of its people and resources, shaped by inherited colonial structures. Public funding and transnational corporations play a large role in perpetuating these patterns.
The Mozambique liquefied natural gas (LNG) project illustrates the problem. Led by French energy giant TotalEnergies, it is one of Africa’s largest gas extraction projects, with Japan as its top financier. The publicly funded Japan Bank for International Cooperation (JBIC) has committed up to $3.5 billion in loans, while Nippon Export and Investment Insurance (NEXI) has agreed to provide $2 billion in insurance.
As leaders gather at TICAD to shape Africa’s future, we urge Japan and all participating governments and businesses to focus on the needs and aspirations of African people themselves.
JBIC justifies this support by citing growing global LNG demand, particularly in developing countries, rising environmental awareness, and Japan’s energy security. Yet revenue flows to a United Arab Emirates-based special purpose entity—enabling gas and mining companies to avoid paying an estimated $717 million to $1.48 billion in taxes to Mozambique. The country is further disadvantaged by the Investor-State Dispute Settlement (ISDS) system, which prioritizes loss compensation for investors.
On the ground, grievances remain unresolved. More than eight communities have been affected, and many families still await promised compensation. Others have lost farmland or access to the sea, undermining agriculture and fisheries livelihoods. Local residents report that consultation meetings often involve military presence, stifling open discussion.
Since 2017, the region has suffered violent insurgency, which halted the project in 2021 and brought heavy militarization focused on protecting gas infrastructure. Insurgent activity has surged again in recent weeks, amid signs of project restart. In March 2025, analysts warned that the sense of disenfranchisement created by the project could fuel insurgent recruitment.
Environmental and climate risks are also high. Independent reviews find that the project’s environmental impact assessment understates potential harm, including lacking a rigorous biodiversity baseline study for the deep-sea environment.
This pattern—external actors driving their own agendas rather than responding to locally defined and articulated priorities—is not unique.
A decade earlier, Japan’s own ProSAVANA project in northern Mozambique followed a similar path. Launched in the early 2010s by the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA) with Mozambican and Brazilian partners, it aimed to convert land to agricultural use, particularly soybean cultivation for export to Japan. Modeled on Brazil’s Cerrado “green revolution” of the 1970s, it was promoted as a way to promote agricultural and economic development in Mozambique.
In reality, the project facilitated land grabs covering 14 million hectares in the Nacala Corridor, displacing small farmers. Civil society groups denounced the opaque consultation process and backed local farmers’ resistance. After years of protest, the Japanese government ended its involvement in July 2020, belatedly acknowledging these concerns.
Both Mozambique LNG and ProSAVANA demonstrate how “development” promoted from the Global North can harm communities and the environment. When public finance is involved, the risks—and the responsibility—are even greater.
Better outcomes require meaningful, transparent consultation with affected communities, robust due diligence, and genuine accountability. Without these, development risks becoming extraction by another name.
As leaders gather at TICAD to shape Africa’s future, we urge Japan and all participating governments and businesses to focus on the needs and aspirations of African people themselves, and to avoid—or even redress—the mistakes of the past.
The question remains as urgent as ever: Who is this development really for?