By Ismail H. Warsame

GAROWE – In Puntland, the dream of democracy is not dead; it has been taken hostage. The ransom is the presidential ambition of one man: Said Abdullahi Deni. His grand promise of “one person, one vote”—a reform pledged to transform this federal state into Somalia’s democratic vanguard—has evaporated like a mirage, leaving behind the familiar, cracked earth of clan-based selection politics.

The international community applauded. Donors opened their coffers. Puntland’s intellectuals and youth dared to hope. For a fleeting moment, it seemed the region would make history, becoming the first in Somalia since 1969 to elect its leaders by direct public suffrage. The machinery was set in motion: voter registration drives, civic education campaigns, and a timeline that pointed toward a transformative election.

Then came the siren call of Villa Somalia.

The Calculated Betrayal

In 2022, instead of shepherding Puntland’s fragile democratic experiment to maturity, President Deni pivoted. State resources, political capital, and the goodwill of his constituents were mobilized not for local elections, but for a lavish, high-stakes campaign in Mogadishu. He arrived with a coterie of lobbyists and a portfolio of political IOUs, chasing the federal presidency.

The result was a foregone conclusion: a resounding defeat. The cost, however, was borne not by Deni alone, but by all of Puntland. The democratization process was shelved indefinitely. The political capital was squandered. The state was left more polarized and disillusioned than before his gambit. Get me right. There is nothing wrong for Puntland State producing able and competent national candidates, however, we are sick and  tired of using Puntland resources for personal political ambitions.

Déjà Vu: The 2026 Re-Run

Now, in 2025, the promises have returned. The rhetoric of elections is being dusted off. But the calculus remains just as cynical. Deni’s new currency for his second bid is not reform, but militarism. The ongoing offensive against ISIS militants in the Cal Miskaad mountains is being meticulously packaged and paraded as Exhibit A of his strong leadership. The objective is clear: to transmute security victories into electoral currency at the federal level, making him an indispensable candidate for a nation besieged by Al-Shabaab.

But this is a devastating bargain. The citizens of Puntland are once again being asked to mortgage their own democratic future to fund their leader’s national campaign. The blood and treasure spent in Cal Miskaad should secure Puntland’s stability, not serve as a stepping stone for one man’s ambition.

The Laascaanood Catastrophe: A Strategic Surrender

If the betrayal of democratization was Said Abdullahi Deni’s first political sin, the Laascaanood debacle was his second — and the one that will define his legacy. Puntland poured blood and treasure into the liberation of SSC (Sool, Sanaag, and Cayn) territories from Somaliland’s occupation. Puntland soldiers fought and died in the trenches of Goojacade and Tukaraq. The state treasury was emptied to finance the war effort. Every ounce of political capital Puntland had accumulated since 1998 was staked on the cause.

History has long memories. General Mohamud Muse Hersi “Adde Muse” was punished at the ballot box after losing Laascaanood to Somaliland in 2007. Yet Deni — despite presiding over its liberation — committed an even greater crime: allowing the victory to be hijacked and rebranded in Mogadishu.

Through a stunning mixture of political negligence, reckless opportunism, and strategic myopia, Deni presided over Puntland’s single greatest geopolitical loss in its modern history. SSC, once the northern buffer and strategic depth of Puntland, was surrendered not to Somaliland but to Villa Somalia — a hostile, Damul Jadiid–aligned federal project intent on dismantling Puntland as the last functioning federal member state.

This was not merely a blunder. It was a strategic self-destruction, a gift-wrapped victory for Mogadishu’s centralizers and Puntland’s fiercest rivals. Deni’s political ambition blinded him to the cost: the slow-motion erosion of Puntland’s northern frontier, the demoralization of its armed forces, and the fracturing of its social contract. The “Laascaanood Catastrophe” will be remembered as the moment when Puntland’s hard-won territorial leverage was bargained away in exchange for nothing — except Deni’s second ill-fated dream of Villa Somalia’s top seat.

The Silent Coup: Elite Complicity in a Rigged System

To lay the blame solely at Deni’s feet, however, is to ignore the rotten foundation upon which his rule is built. Puntland’s political class—a constellation of clan elders, complicit parliamentarians, and business oligarchs—is deeply invested in the status quo. They engage in a carefully choreographed theater of debating democracy while quietly ensuring the selection-based system remains intact. This system is their insurance policy, a mechanism that guarantees the continuous recycling of power within a closed, elite circle without the messy uncertainty of the public will.

They are not bystanders; they are co-conspirators in the deferral of democracy.

The Reckoning

Puntland stands at a precipice. President Deni’s failure to deliver public suffrage is more than a broken promise; it is an existential crisis that threatens to nullify Puntland’s founding claim to be Somalia’s most stable, functional, and progressive state.

The path forward is not complicated, but it requires courage. The citizens of Puntland—its youth, its intellectuals, its business community—must now make a choice. They can continue to acquiesce to the endless cycle of ambition and neglect, or they can demand that their future be prioritized over one man’s pursuit of power in Mogadishu.

The message must be clear: If Said Abdullahi Deni wishes to chase Villa Somalia once more, he is free to do so. But he must do it on his own time and with his own resources. Puntland’s democracy is not his campaign fund. It is time to leave the mirage behind and build the real thing.