In the theatre of Somali politics, loyalty is rarely permanent, and betrayal is never forgotten. The unfolding drama in Southwest is not an accident—it is a consequence. A delayed bill finally presented. And in Baidoa, the political chickens have indeed come home to roost.
For years, the leadership of Southwest State, under Abdiaziz Hassan Mohamed Laftagareen, operated not as a pillar of federalism but as an extension of central power. Respect—both from the Somali public and within the federal architecture—is not granted by title; it is earned through principle. And Southwest, regrettably, traded principle for proximity to power.
Let us not forget the political symbolism of Baidoa once being floated as a “temporary capital” of Somalia. It was less a strategic national vision and more a fleeting political experiment—one that neither inspired national consensus nor commanded institutional respect. It exposed a deeper problem: the absence of legitimacy rooted in the will of the people.
The more consequential misstep, however, was not symbolic—it was constitutional.
When the 2012 Provisional Constitution emerged as a fragile but vital covenant among Somalis, it represented something rare: consensus after collapse. It was not perfect, but it was shared. It was the political glue holding together a broken state. And yet, in the face of unilateral amendments and federal overreach by Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, Southwest did not stand as a defender of that covenant. It aligned. It endorsed. It legitimized.
That decision has now come full circle.
Because power, once centralized, does not distinguish between allies and adversaries—it consumes both. The same machinery of overreach that Southwest once enabled has now turned its gaze inward. The illusion of protection under Villa Somalia has evaporated. What remains is the stark realization that political submission does not buy security—it only delays vulnerability.
And yet, here lies the paradox.
In this late hour, Laftagareen has shown a flicker of resistance. A moment—however belated—of political clarity. Standing up to Hassan Sheikh Mohamud now is not just an act of defiance; it is an implicit admission that the earlier path was flawed. That federal overreach is real. That the system Southwest helped empower is now tightening around it.
This shift deserves recognition—but not romanticization.
Because credibility in politics is cumulative. It is built over time and eroded just as steadily. One act of resistance cannot erase years of accommodation. But it can mark a turning point—if, and only if, it is sustained.
The real question is not whether Laftagareen stood up today. The real question is whether Southwest is prepared to redefine its role in Somalia’s federal order going forward:
Will it become a defender of constitutionalism and consensus?
Or will this be another temporary posture in the endless cycle of political survival?
Somalia stands at a dangerous crossroads. The erosion of the 2012 constitutional framework, the normalization of unilateralism, and the weakening of federal member states are not isolated events—they are interconnected symptoms of a deeper crisis.
Baidoa is not just a city in this story. It is a warning.
A warning that political convenience has consequences.
A warning that silence in the face of overreach eventually becomes complicity.
And a warning that those who help dismantle consensus should not be surprised when they are left without it.
If Southwest truly seeks respect—from its people and from the nation—it must now do what it failed to do before: stand firmly, consistently, and unapologetically for the constitutional order it once helped undermine.
Because in Somali politics, redemption is possible.
But it is never free.
Warsame Policy & Media Network (WAPMEN) 