WARSAME DIGITAL MEDIA (WDM) EDITORIAL

The signs are unmistakable. The air in Garowe smells of déjà vu — the year is 2000 all over again. Back then, the same shadows moved across the landscape: suspicious invitations to foreign capitals, traditional elders lured to “witness celebrations,” and a slow but deliberate orchestration of political replacement masked as reconciliation. What was once called the Arta Conference now has a reincarnation — this time, in Djibouti again, under the familiar fingerprints of President Ismail Omar Guelleh and his ally in Mogadishu, Hassan Sheikh Mohamud.

Déjà Vu: The Djibouti Connection

It is not coincidence — it is choreography. When traditional elders of Puntland are suddenly summoned to Djibouti “for talks,” when meetings of elders quietly multiply in Bosaso and Garowe, when Hassan Sheikh’s aircraft lands in Djibouti with no public itinerary, the alarm bells should be deafening.

In 2000, Puntland was betrayed by those who went to Arta claiming to represent the Northeast Somalia. They came back as Trojan horses, ushering in a foreign-engineered “regime change” and dismantling the foundations built through sweat and sacrifice since 1998. That same pattern is reemerging — only this time, the threat is more cunning, wrapped in the language of “renewal,” “dialogue,” and “New Puntland.”

The “New Puntland” Trap

Who is behind this phrase — New Puntland? It is not the people. It is the echo chamber of Villa Somalia’s ideological architects — the same Damul Jadiid strategists who undermined SSC-Khaatumo, fractured Jubaland, and now seek to neutralize the last bastion of autonomous federalism: Puntland.

“New Puntland” is not a slogan — it’s a sedative. It’s the language of infiltration, meant to disarm vigilance and weaken political resistance. Those who whisper it are not reformers; they are emissaries of Mogadishu’s centralizing project — a regime whose survival depends on dismantling any model of local autonomy that dares to challenge its illegitimacy.

Foreign Hands, Familiar Patterns

President Guelleh’s Djibouti has always played both arsonist and firefighter in Somali politics. From Arta to today, Djibouti thrives on Somali instability, using “peace conferences” as smokescreens for influence operations. The recent series of Hassan Sheikh’s “consultations” in Djibouti are not about friendship — they are strategic briefings. Something is being cooked, and Puntland is once again on the menu.

If Puntland leadership continues to underestimate the pattern — to dismiss this as routine diplomacy — they are sleepwalking into a trap that history already scripted once before.

A Call to Wake Up

The lesson of 2000 was written in betrayal, but it does not have to be repeated. Puntland’s stability is not guaranteed by its borders — it is guarded by its political consciousness. The moment Puntland allows foreign capitals to dictate its internal dynamics, the spirit of 1998 dies.

Every elder must now ask: Who invited you, and why? Every official must ask: Who benefits from your silence? Every citizen must remember: A state is not lost by invasion — it is lost by negligence.

The battle for Puntland’s soul has begun again — quietly, cunningly, and under diplomatic disguise. Those who built this state must rise once more to defend it, or risk watching it collapse into another Arta-style disaster.

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WARSAME DIGITAL MEDIA (WDM) EDITORIAL

When a foreign state openly invites large delegates of Somali citizens—comprising traditional elders, businesspeople, and ordinary civilians—from Puntland territory, the question writes itself: Has Puntland surrendered its sovereign agency over its own citizens?

Let’s be clear. This is not a mere cultural visit, nor an innocent diplomatic courtesy for several persons. This is huge active intelligence measures by Djibouti flexing its political muscles in Somalia’s northern theatre—a carefully choreographed act of soft subversion disguised as hospitality. In the age of proxy politics, every “invitation” carries a message, and every banquet has a price.

The Anatomy of Negligence

How did a sovereign regional government—one that claims political maturity and institutional capacity—allow an entire delegation of its residents to be dragged across borders by a foreign regime, without public consultation, without vetting, and without accountability?

This isn’t just poor coordination. It is a security breach of the first order. A lapse in intelligence coordination, an insult to Puntland’s authority, and an open mockery of its sovereignty. Where are the internal security agencies, the Ministry of Interior, and the political advisors who are supposed to defend the state’s interests?

When elders, who carry moral legitimacy in their communities, are courted by foreign regimes, they become tools of influence. And when a state like Djibouti—whose leadership thrives on manipulation and transactional diplomacy—hosts such delegations, the intent is rarely benign.

Who Bears the Blame?

Responsibility must be traced to those who looked the other way.

The Puntland security apparatus, for failing to regulate or monitor the movement of such groups.

The Counter-intelligience Agency.

And ultimately, the Puntland Presidency, for tolerating the erosion of the state’s external dignity.

In any functional state, this would trigger an inquiry. In Puntland, however, it risks becoming yet another “non-event” swept under the rug of political convenience.

Djibouti’s Political Theatre

Let us not be naïve. Djibouti’s aging autocrat, Ismail Omar Guelleh, has a well-documented record of meddling in Somali politics—from the infamous Arta Conference that fractured Somalia’s political landscape, to his more recent manipulations in the Horn.

By inviting Puntland citizens, Guelleh is not extending friendship. He is testing Puntland’s vigilance, probing for weakness, and possibly cultivating new agents of influence.

After SSC-KHAATUMO: The Price of Complacency

This intrusion comes right after the SSC-KHAATUMO episode, when Puntland leadership chose to ignore repeated warnings about Mogadishu’s covert campaign to destabilize the region. That neglect—born of political arrogance and diplomatic inertia—opened cracks in Puntland’s internal cohesion.

Now, as Djibouti steps into the vacuum, Puntland’s complacency has turned into a liability. When a state fails to defend its peripheries politically, others will gladly claim them diplomatically.

The Cost of Silence

Every time Puntland remains silent in the face of external interference, it loses another inch of its political sovereignty. Today, it’s Djibouti inviting traditional elders. Tomorrow, it could be another foreign state funding local factions or shaping Puntland’s future behind closed doors.

If Puntland is to survive as a state—not as a symbolic region under endless manipulation—it must assert its diplomatic independence, regulate foreign engagement, and draw red lines that no external power, however rich or connected, can cross.

Silence, in this case, is not diplomacy. It is complicity.

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WARSAME DIGITAL MEDIA (WDM)

It seems the octogenarian ruler of Djibouti, Ismail Omar Guelleh, has perfected the dark art of self-recycling — not just of his own presidency, but of political fossils from Somalia’s forgotten past. This week, Guelleh pulled off what can only be described as a legislative coup d’état in broad daylight, rewriting the constitution to ensure that he will remain in office not only for life, but possibly beyond — through hologram, embalming, or divine decree, whichever comes first.

But that’s not the whole circus. What truly adds insult to injury is the guest list. For reasons known only to the Sheikhs of recycled politics, Guelleh has chosen to invite the very men who betrayed Puntland’s founding spirit at the 2000 Arta Conference — those who signed away regional autonomy for the applause of foreign dignitaries and the empty promise of “national unity” under the UN tents of Djibouti. These are the same relics who couldn’t represent Puntland even then, yet have now reappeared in Guelleh’s court like ghosts who never learned shame.

Whom do they represent today? Puntland? Hardly.
Somalia? Don’t make us laugh.
The people? Not even their own clans.

No — these are the wandering souls of Somalia’s political graveyard, summoned by Guelleh for one last séance. His motive? Perhaps he dreams of another Arta-style coup, not against Mogadishu this time, but against Puntland itself — the last surviving experiment in Somali federalism. Maybe Guelleh believes he can once again broker a “Somali dialogue” where he sits on the throne and the same faded actors read from the same old script written by foreign consultants and funded by French francs.

The Sultan of Longevity and the Sheikh of Betrayal Guelleh, the self-crowned “Sultan of Stability,” has outlasted four French presidents, seven Somali transitional charades, and an entire generation of Djiboutian youth who can’t find work unless they shine the shoes of Chinese contractors at Doraleh Port. Yet he insists that only he can keep Djibouti from falling apart — the same excuse used by every dictator from the Red Sea to the Nile. His parliament, meanwhile, has become a rubber-stamp factory, whose only product is eternal servitude.

Now, as he builds his next chapter of immortality, Guelleh seeks to dress up tyranny in pan-Somali robes, importing faded faces from Puntland’s past to legitimize his aging dream. Hassan Sheikh Mohamud’s fingerprints are not far either — for no Somali president ever misses a chance to meddle in Puntland affairs through proxies and puppets.

But Puntland is not Arta. Not anymore.
The Puntland of 2025 is not a desperate refugee camp searching for relevance; it is a state with its own institutions, its own people, and a long memory. Those who betrayed it once will not be allowed to do so again.

Let Guelleh play emperor in his tiny French protectorate. Let him rewrite his constitution until the paper turns to dust. Puntland has seen far greater men rise and fall.

And when Guelleh finally meets his Creator — constitutionally or otherwise — perhaps he will realize that no ruler, however long his rule, can outlive the truth.

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WARSAME DIGITAL MEDIA (WDM) EDITORIAL

It’s that time again — another delegation from Mudug, led by the ever-patient Islaan Bashiir Islaan Cabdille, marching to Garowe with the same civic optimism, the same PowerPoint dreams, and the same eternal hope that this time, the promises might stick.

The scene? Predictable as a Ramadan moon sighting. The Mudug Regional Development Committee, diaspora businesspeople, and Galkacyo City Administration — all lined up like a tired choir, singing praises to the “development” symphony with President Said Abdullahi Deni, maestro of repetitive pledges.

Act I: Security — or the Art of Announcing Announcements

The President solemnly “informed” the people of Mudug that a new police force may be latter sent to the city, but not now- you are on your own— the same promise that’s been “on its way” since Puntland was young. The people nodded.

What they didn’t ask was who will pay them at that time, equip them, or lead them.
Security in Galkacyo has become an industry of words, not deeds. For years, each crisis births a press release, not a police reform. Yet, they still clap — as if applause can stop the bullets at night.

Act II: The Water Mirage

Ah, the water project — Galkacyo’s longest-running joke since the “joint administration” era. This time, the President confirmed that $1 million is “ready.” The diaspora nodded. The committee smiled.

Let’s recall: WDM has reported before on the stench of decay, the collapse of the drainage system, and the municipal paralysis that turned Galkayo into a city of dust and disease. Yet here we are, back at the conference table — talking water while people queue for jerrycans.

They say $3 million has been allocated, but $10 million is needed.
Translation: we are still thirsty.

Act III: The Airport Dream That Refuses to Land

The business community, brave as ever, proposed to invest in the airport, a noble dream buried in every administration’s promise book. The President agreed — as Presidents always do when the bill isn’t theirs.

$20 million, they say, will resurrect the Abdullahi Yusuf International Airport. Perhaps. But the people of Galkayo have already contributed enough: their patience, their remittances, their dignity. What they lack is leadership that delivers — not another round of mutual congratulations.

Act IV: The Grand Finale — The “Unity” Script

As usual, the meeting ended with “understanding and prayers.”
The President ticked his talking points:
✅ Galkayo–Bacaadweyn Road.
✅ Galkayo Airport.
✅ Water Supply.
✅ Garacad–Goldogob Road.

It sounds impressive until you drive through Galkacyo’s streets — where open sewers, clan checkpoints, and uncollected garbage greet every visitor long before the President’s promises do.

Epilogue: A City of Meetings Without Progress

If meetings built cities, Galkayo would be Dubai by now. Instead, it remains a tragic metaphor of Puntland’s politics — where every handshake is a headline, every “understanding” a delay, and every “prayer” a substitute for policy.

The people of Mudug don’t need more meetings; they need action.
They don’t need “forces on the way”; they need security they can feel.
They don’t need speeches about water; they need clean water that flows.
And they don’t need airport blueprints; they need leaders who land on reality.

Until then, the Delegation of Hope will keep coming — as the Government of Promises keeps smiling.

In conclusion, President Deni has advised Galkayo residents to mend their own affairs, including the construction of the airport.

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