Introduction
Puntland State, a semi-autonomous region in northeastern Somalia, has long been hailed for its resilience in maintaining stability amidst Somalia’s protracted civil war. This stability was anchored in its time-tested system of traditional clan leadership, which filled the governance vacuum after the collapse of the central government in 1991. However, the relationship between Puntland’s traditional elders and its political leaders has grown increasingly fraught since the establishment of the Puntland State in 1998. This essay explores the transformation of this relationship, from one of collaboration to contention, and its implications for Puntland’s governance and stability.

Historical Context: The Pillars of Traditional Leadership
In Somali society, clan elders (Isimmo, Guurti) have historically served as custodians of customary law (Xeer), mediators in conflicts, and representatives of communal interests. Their role became indispensable after 1991, when Somalia descended into stateless chaos. In the northeastern regions (now Puntland), elders leveraged their moral authority and social networks to prevent large-scale violence, fostering a fragile peace. This contrasted sharply with southern Somalia, where clan militias fueled protracted conflict. Puntland’s elders thus emerged not just as cultural figures but as de facto governors.

The Founding of Puntland State: A Constitutional Role for Elders
In 1998, Puntland formalized its governance structure through a constitutional framework that recognized traditional elders as key stakeholders. The founding president, Abdullahi Yusuf Ahmed, a former military leader, collaborated with elders to establish legitimacy. The constitution enshrined elders’ roles in resolving constitutional crises and selecting members of the House of Representatives, blending traditional and modern governance. This hybrid model initially appeared successful, as Puntland avoided the factionalism plaguing other regions.

Cracks in the Foundation: The Overreach of Elders
The first major rupture occurred in 2001, when traditional elders, citing grievances over Yusuf’s authoritarian tendencies and his bid to extend his term, orchestrated his removal. This decision, while rooted in legitimate concerns, set a precedent for elders intervening directly in executive affairs—a move perceived as overstepping their advisory mandate. Yusuf’s ouster exposed tensions between the elders’ role as arbiters and the need for apolitical governance. His successors, wary of similar challenges, sought to curb elders’ influence.

Political Backlash: The Marginalization of Traditional Authority
Subsequent leaders, notably Abdirahman Faroole (2009–2014), and Said Abdullahi Deni, the current president, systematically weakened the elders’ political clout. Their administrations bypassed traditional selection processes, handpicking loyalists for the House of Representatives to consolidate power, a direct violation of Puntland Indirect Election Rules and Regulations. This marginalization alienated elders, who viewed such actions as undermining their constitutional role and the principles of inclusive governance. The erosion of trust between the two groups created a toxic dynamic, with political leaders dismissing elders as obstacles to reform, while elders accused the government of corruption and exclusion.

External Alliances and Internal Divisions
Compounding these tensions, some elders began seeking alliances with the federal government in Mogadishu (symbolized by Villa Somalia), ostensibly to counterbalance Puntland’s administrations. This shift risked drawing external actors into Puntland’s internal politics, potentially undermining its semi-autonomous status. For Villa Somalia, courting Puntland’s elders offered leverage in negotiations over resource-sharing and federalism. However, such alliances risked fragmenting Puntland’s political cohesion and fueling clan-based discord.

Consequences for Governance and Stability
The rift between traditional and political leaders has profound implications. Elders, once pillars of conflict resolution, now find their legitimacy questioned, weakening a critical mechanism for social cohesion. Meanwhile, political leaders face accusations of authoritarianism, as centralized decision-making alienates grassroots communities. The resulting governance vacuum could destabilize Puntland, which has already seen sporadic clashes over elections and resource disputes.

Conclusion: Toward a Balanced Governance Model
Puntland’s experience underscores the challenges of transitioning from traditional systems to formal state structures. While political leaders seek centralized authority, elders remain vital to local legitimacy. A sustainable path forward requires reconciling these spheres: elders must respect institutional boundaries, while political leaders should integrate traditional mechanisms into governance. Reviving the constitutional spirit of 1998—where elders advise rather than dictate—could restore balance. Ultimately, Puntland’s stability hinges on respecting its dual heritage: honouring the past while building an inclusive future.

Religious leaders across traditions are often expected to serve as moral guides, addressing societal injustices and advocating for ethical governance. In the Muslim world, however, critics have observed a perceived silence from many clergy (ulema) on pressing issues such as corruption, exploitation by foreign powers, and human rights abuses. This essay explores the complex reasons behind this phenomenon, considering historical, political, cultural, and theological factors that shape clerical engagement—or disengagement—with such topics.

1. Political Constraints and Fear of Repression

In many Muslim-majority countries, religious institutions operate under authoritarian regimes that tightly control public discourse. Clergy who criticize corruption or foreign exploitation risk persecution, imprisonment, or loss of patronage. For example, in Saudi Arabia, Egypt, or Pakistan, state-aligned religious bodies often avoid condemning government malpractice to maintain their institutional privileges. Conversely, dissenting voices—such as those of Iran’s reformist clerics during the 2009 Green Movement or Egypt’s Al-Azhar scholars during the 2011 revolution—have faced severe backlash. This climate of fear incentivizes silence, reducing clerical discourse to “safe” topics like ritual observance.

2. Historical Prioritization of Ritual Over Structural Reform

Classical Islamic scholarship emphasized personal piety and legal compliance (fiqh) over systemic critiques of power. While the Quran and Hadith explicitly condemn oppression (zulm), many traditional scholars historically focused on individual morality rather than holding rulers accountable. This legacy persists in conservative seminaries, where curricula prioritize theology and jurisprudence over political philosophy. As a result, some clergy lack the intellectual framework to connect Islamic ethics to modern issues like corporate exploitation or foreign-funded wars.

3. Co-option by Power Structures

Religious institutions in Muslim societies have often been financially and politically dependent on ruling elites. Ottoman caliphs, Mughal emperors, and modern Gulf monarchs have historically patronized clerics to legitimize their rule. Today, this dynamic continues: state-appointed muftis in countries like Malaysia or Morocco rarely challenge policies linked to foreign investors or military alliances. When clergy benefit from these relationships, their critiques of corruption or foreign interference become muted or selective.

4. Sectarian and Identity Politics

In fragmented societies like Iraq or Syria, clergy may prioritize sectarian solidarity over universal moral issues. For instance, during the Syrian civil war, some Sunni clerics framed the conflict as a sectarian battle against Shia-aligned forces, overshadowing critiques of war profiteering or foreign mercenaries. Similarly, in Pakistan, clerical groups often focus on blasphemy laws or Sunni-Shia tensions rather than systemic corruption. This sectarian lens distracts from broader injustices that transcend communal divides.

5. Geopolitical Alignments and Anti-Imperialist Narratives

Some clergy avoid criticizing foreign exploitation because their governments are complicit in it. For example, Gulf states’ alliances with Western powers—often criticized for militarism and resource extraction—are rarely condemned by local religious leaders. Conversely, in anti-Western contexts like Iran, clerical rhetoric may focus overwhelmingly on resisting “Western imperialism” while downplaying domestic corruption or human rights abuses. These narratives serve political agendas but leave systemic issues unaddressed.

6. Institutional Conservatism and Lack of Renewal

Many Islamic seminaries resist modernizing their curricula, leaving clergy ill-equipped to address 21st-century challenges. While the Quranic mandate for hisbah (public accountability) and amr bil ma’ruf (enjoining good) could inspire activism, rigid interpretations of texts often prevail. Additionally, the decline of ijtihad (independent reasoning) in conservative circles stifles innovative responses to issues like migrant labor exploitation in the Gulf or Chinese oppression of Uyghurs.

7. Exceptions and Countercurrents

It is crucial to acknowledge clerics who defy these trends. Figures like Tunisia’s Rached Ghannouchi, Indonesia’s Abdurrahman Wahid, and South Africa’s Farid Esack have blended Islamic ethics with critiques of tyranny and neoliberalism. Grassroots movements, such as Egypt’s pro-democracy clerics during the Arab Spring, also demonstrate the potential for Islamic leadership to confront injustice. However, their marginalization by both states and conservative religious establishments limits their influence.

Conclusion: Toward a Courageous Moral Voice

The silence of many Muslim clergy on critical issues stems not from indifference but from complex entanglements with power, tradition, and survival. Breaking this silence requires institutional reforms—such as democratizing religious education, reviving ijtihad, and fostering alliances with civil society—to empower clergy to speak truth to power. As the Quran reminds believers, “Do not let hatred of a people prevent you from being just” (5:8). For the ulema to reclaim their role as moral leaders, they must transcend political expediency and address the urgent struggles of their communities.

“[5.8] O you who believe! Be upright for Allah, bearers of witness with justice, and let not hatred of a people incite you not to act equitably; act equitably, that is nearer to piety, and he careful of (your duty to) Allah; surely Allah is Aware of what you do.”