Silence Is the Real Fraud

Fighting fraud strengthens my community—it does not harm it. Ignoring it, or worse, defending it, only deepens the damage. Yet in Maine, we are increasingly seeing people in positions of influence frame legitimate concerns about fraud as political attacks, rather than confronting the problem honestly.

I say this not as an outsider, but as someone deeply rooted in both my Somali heritage and my life here in Maine. I am a proud naturalized Somali American. I have worked as a translator, a columnist, and within the nonprofit sector. I have seen firsthand how these systems are supposed to serve vulnerable communities—and how, at times, they fail.

I also have personal knowledge of Abdullahi Ali, the founder of Gateway Community Services. When he first launched the organization in 2016, I was there. I helped set up furniture at Gateway’s original location on Forest Avenue in Portland. At the time, Ali had very little. Five of us, including Ali shared a small two-bedroom apartment off Washington Avenue. Some of us slept on couches because of how crowded it was.

But being close to the beginning also meant I saw how things operated behind the scenes. I witnessed how clients were recruited, often through tight-knit family and social networks. In Lewiston, relatives—brothers, cousins, and close connections—were frequently brought in, sometimes filling hours that were not meaningfully served or served at all. This pattern is not unique to Maine. Somali communities in places like Minnesota have faced similar issues, where family and close associates become entangled in systems meant to provide public support.

These networks can make accountability difficult. When people are connected by family, friendship, or shared background, speaking out becomes risky. Many in the community remain silent—not because they don’t see the problem, but because they fear the consequences of challenging powerful figures.

This is part of a broader issue within some immigrant-led nonprofits. Instead of focusing solely on service, they can become tightly controlled networks, where leadership, staffing, and influence overlap with personal relationships. Organizations like Gateway, MEIRS and others often reflect these dynamics, with circles of trust built more on loyalty than transparency.

What makes this especially troubling is the contrast between where things started and where they are now. A decade ago, we were struggling to get by, sharing cramped living spaces. Today, there is visible wealth, political ambition, and international investment. Meanwhile, many in the community still need basic support—job training, pathways into the workforce, and help navigating and integrating into American society.

The real loss here is not just financial—it is the erosion of trust. It is the missed opportunity to invest in people who are trying to build stable, meaningful lives in this country.

We all saw the message delivered by Deqa Dhalac during her visit to the Somali embassy in Turkey while serving as a Maine legislator. She encouraged Somali Americans to invest in Somalia and to focus their efforts on rebuilding the country of origin. On the surface, that may sound admirable—many of us still care deeply about where we come from. But the problem is not pride in Somalia; the problem is the message it sends about where our future should be.

When leaders emphasize investing “back home” while downplaying investment in the United States, they risk discouraging Somali Americans from fully committing to the country where they live, work, and raise their families. It creates confusion about identity and belonging. It suggests, even unintentionally, that our stake in America is temporary or secondary.

That is a mistake.

This is our home now. Our responsibility—and our opportunity—is to build strong, stable lives here. That means investing in our communities in Maine: in education, in small businesses, in job training, and in civic engagement. Encouraging people to look elsewhere for their primary investment, especially when many are still struggling to establish themselves here, pulls energy and resources away from where they are most urgently needed.

We can care about Somalia without neglecting America. But leadership must be clear-eyed about priorities. For a community still working to gain economic footing and long-term stability, the focus should be on succeeding here—not creating divided loyalties or unrealistic expectations.

Fraud, likewise, is not a cultural issue. Calling it out is not an attack on any community—it is a defense of the very people these programs are meant to serve. Protecting public resources and ensuring they are used honestly is essential to preserving both trust and opportunity.

We need leadership that is transparent, accountable, and committed to the well-being of the community over personal or political gain. Leadership that is not afraid to say clearly: fraud is wrong, no matter who commits it.

The fact that these issues are now being brought to light matters. It is uncomfortable, but it is necessary. Because real support for a community begins with honesty—and with the courage to confront what is wrong so that something better can take its place.