An Ode to Professor Samatar

Who is Professor Samatar ?

For the uninitiated, Professor Samatar is a distinguished scholar and educator renowned for his expertise in global political economy, African development, and Somali studies. Born in Gabiley, Somaliland, he pursued higher education in the United States, earning a B.A. magna cum laude from the University of Wisconsin–La Crosse in 1978, followed by an M.A. and Ph.D. from the University of Denver in 1981 and 1984, respectively.

At Macalester College, Professor Samatar holds the title of James Wallace Professor of International Studies and is the founding Dean of the Institute for Global Citizenship. His academic contributions include authoring or editing five books and over forty articles and reviews, with notable works such as “Somalia: State Collapse, Multilateral Intervention, and Strategies for Political Reconstruction” and “The African State: Reconsiderations.”

Beyond his written scholarship, Professor Samatar is the founding editor-in-chief of “Bildhaan: An International Journal of Somali Studies” and has edited multiple volumes of “Macalester International,” journals that contribute significantly to undergraduate education and internationalism. His academic career is complemented by a commitment to public service and leadership. In 2012, he took a sabbatical from Macalester College to run for the presidency of Somalia, reflecting his dedication to the political and social development of his homeland. 

Professor Samatar’s influence extends globally through lectures at esteemed institutions, including Cornell, Harvard, the London School of Economics and Political Science, and Somali National University. His work continues to inspire students and scholars worldwide, particularly in the fields of leadership, state-building, and the dynamics of globalization and Islamic consciousness.

I met Professor Samatar during my final semester at Macalester College—perhaps the most devastating, cursed and humiliating season of my life. Until then, he had been little more than a myth to me: the most feared and respected professor on campus, the man who reformed the International Studies department and single-handedly turned a laughingstock of a program into one of academic rigor and relevance. For thirty years, he poured his life’s work into Macalester, yet most students spoke of him in hushed tones, cautious of his intensity, fearful of his wrath against intellectual laziness—or worse, the word like.

His reputation preceded him. “Don’t use the word like, or he’ll count how many times you say it,” they told me. “He’ll tear you apart if you aren’t prepared.” It was enough to make anyone tread carefully. And so I did, when I first met him—prim, proper, and ready. I was there for logistical reasons, advocating for an honors project. I pitched a vision that never came to be, asking for compromises I did not get. It was not an ideal introduction.

And yet, it was there that he extended an invitation—to take his course, Capitalism and the World Disorder. An invitation to think, to learn, and to be challenged. I accepted, unknowingly walking into a classroom that would break me down and rebuild me in ways I could not have imagined.

Destroying the Old World

To say Professor Samatar challenged me would be an understatement. In his class, there was no room for pretense, no hiding behind half-baked ideas. He made me think critically about everything I thought I knew. He destroyed the last remnants of my old worldview—a worldview that had been gasping its final breaths by my fourth year at Macalester. The website that has hosts this article and the others would never be here if it wasn’t for him destroying old and outdated paradigms.

Coming from Dubai, I had lived in a bubble—a place of comfort, order, and unquestioned realities. I was isolated and alienated by my peers because I had interests in the way and the reasons why things were the way they were and so I left searching for answers. Professor Samatar gave me the sense to understand there world around me and what drives it. I shall expose that in a future article has that is deeply complex. Regardless, he forced me to see the world for what it truly is: complex, broken, and deeply entangled. The books he made us read felt like eating glass—painful, sharp, and necessary. They hurt because they mattered. They hurt because it made sense. They hurt because it was the sacrifice required to talk control of my life and reality.

There was one moment I remember vividly. In class, one of my peers fell into the dreaded trap—using the word like twenty times in five minutes. Professor Samatar stopped her. In his iconic way, he explained why filler words dilute meaning. “You could have the cure for cancer,” he said, “but if you say like ten times, no one will listen to you.” He was unrelenting, precise, and merciless in his demand for clarity and substance.

Then it was my turn to speak, and I, too, let the word like slip only once. I cringed and let my intrusive thoughts take over: “Oh no, I used the word like. Now whatever I say has no worth.” To my surprise, Professor Samatar chuckled. “No,” he said, “it’s okay to use the word. Just use it reasonably. You don’t have to ban it from your vocabulary.” The entire class had a moment of catharsis, and in that moment, I saw something rare—his humanity, his humor, his care. There are so many such moments, too many to recount but all I carry and store in my hidden heart.

The Senior Dinner: A Moment of Truth

I shall recount where was a truly unironic moment. For every graduating class the International Studies department host a Senior Dinner and it was in the Weyerhaeuser Hall, the Admissions Office building, the one everyone went to the least. I was wearing my gray blazer, white shirt, blue trousers and leather boots. I had just come from an intense interview for being an assistant to an attorney in a migration law firm (by the way I didn’t get the job but jokes on them they missed out.) My public display on the Faces of Russian Resistance was outside in public with the entire campus engaging and talking about it.The future was frankly looking bright.

But here I was standing a lot awkwardly with a drink knowing that for most of my colleagues I was a pariah and weirdo. A person who lives in the small village of the Russian Studies Department. A person people knew but never wanted to be associated with. As the crowds came in and member of friend groups and cliques met up with each other, it was never so naked how isolated I look. I did want I always do in these moments, just pre-occupy myself with my thoughts. Then a man with a grey beard, beige blazer approached me and said “Amman if the title of your essay is any indicator of your work then I am excited to read your paper”. It was none other than Professor Samatar himself. I was happy to hear that but was also quite stressed hoping that I meet his expectations and that I did not clickbait too hard.

We all proceeded to another hall where we had the run of the mill things that take place in a function such as awards and speeches of which surprisingly Professor Samatar didn’t partake but only acted as an organizer and a host. He had decided to sit next to me (which I didn’t expect) but got up to do the final activity of the event. He had asked the graduating class; to share their most memorable moment in the International Studies department.

Professors were praised for being kind, relatable, and supportive. And then there was Professor Samatar—barely mentioned, almost overlooked. One student spoke of him briefly, but even then, it was in relation to other professors. He was just standing there watching and listening in a similar way I was moments earlier. Sooner than later it was my turn to speak. I was the last one. I had the final say and the whole cohort was looking at me. I stood up with the confidence of a public speaker to share my memorable moment. I had said the following:

We all know that Professor Samatar is famous for his hate for the word like and my favorite moment relates to this fact. Before I met Professor Samatar, I only heard things. If you use the word like to many times that you were gonna get it from him and that he was strict and he would call you out randomly. There was never a moment of peace. There was an unfortunate day where one of my colleague in Professor Samatar’s senior seminar class, Capitalism and the World Disorder, used the word like many times. He very sternly told that colleague the importance of not use like as it dilutes your point and that nobody would listen to you. I was unfortunately next to contribute to the discussion and I accidentally use the word like once. However I let my intrusive thoughts speak for me “oh no, I used the word like. Now whatever I say has no worth.” Then our Professor kindly assured me is that I can use to word like once or twice.

The entire room filled with relatable laughter. Even the faculty was giggling. Professor Samatar seems to look like he was a little embarrassed that I pointed out his famous ideosyncrasy but saw an iconic smile that he gives whenever he makes a good point. I continued:

Coming from a bubble known as Dubai, I always wondered how the world really worked, the nuances of geopolitics and the dynamics that define our world today. My time overall in this department bursted that bubble. Destroyed my worldview. Shifted my paradigms. All the courses in the department but especially Professor Samatar’s senior seminar, allowed be to see the world for what it is — a complex and nuanced system with millions of moving parts. For that I am eternally grateful and if it weren’t for Professor Samatar’s leadership we wouldn’t be there.

The room burst with applause content with the finally impromptu speech of the day. I looked around and felt the irony, the outcast gets a small fleeting moment of recognition. I breifly glanced at my Professor. He had the face of a man who just achieved something. That recognizable smile, I know he makes when he hears a really good response. But those words came from the bottom of my heart. In reality it was his class and himself alone that I had wanted to appreciate but alas we all must conform the conduct of society at some level. My words of gratitude was for him. I spoke from the heart because he had earned that respect. Later, he would tell me it was a shame we hadn’t met earlier—a comment that meant more to me than I can fully express.

On Greatness and Relatability

Reflecting on that dinner, I wondered why so few people mentioned him. Why was a man of such immense intellect, vision, and impact not celebrated more? The answer, I realized, lay in the tension between greatness and relatability.

Greatness is not always relatable. It does not pander or seek validation. Greatness stands apart, demanding more of us—more thought, more effort, more substance. Relatability, on the other hand, is comforting. It is easy, familiar, and mundane. For someone to be relatable, they must dilute themselves, flattening their edges so others can see themselves reflected back.

Professor Samatar was never relatable on mass because he never diluted himself. He was unapologetically authentic, fiercely intellectual, and unwavering in his standards. And perhaps that’s why I respect him so deeply. He embodied the kind of greatness that doesn’t need to be understood by everyone to exist. An example I wish to emulate.