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Warsame Policy & Media Network (WAPMEN) — Critical analysis, news and commentaries
Talking truth to power in an undemocratic and tribal context

Veteran Somali political writer Ismail Haji Warsame has released a new two-volume book on contemporary Somali political history. The books are now available through major international retailers and digital libraries, including Amazon (in multiple country stores), Barnes & Noble, Apple Books, Scribd, and Smashwords, among other large booksellers and digital libraries worldwide. Each volume is priced at $11.99, or less.

What the Book Offers

Warsame’s work provides a detailed account of Somalia’s recent political history, making it a valuable reference for anyone seeking to understand the forces that have shaped the country’s political landscape.

Because of its depth and clarity, the book also lends itself well to educational use. Teachers could draw on it as a learning tool for essay writing and English composition at the high school, college, and university levels, helping students engage with real-world political content while developing their writing skills.

Who Should Read It

The book’s relevance extends beyond the classroom. It is a useful resource for:

• Somali politicians, who can draw on it for historical context and perspective
• Foreign diplomats, seeking a deeper understanding of Somalia’s political dynamics
• Researchers, looking for a well-informed source on Somali affairs

Where to Find It

Both volumes are widely available and can be purchased from most major online bookstores and digital libraries, making the book accessible to readers around the world.

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Source: Warsame Policy & Media Network (WAPMEN)

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/194yAtVpH7/

By Ismail H. Warsame | Warsame Digital Media (WDM). REPUBLISHED.

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Preface

When the Puntland State of Somalia was founded in August 1998, it was more than a political experiment: it was an organized act of resistance against national collapse. As Director General at the Presidency, I stood at the center of a new state trying to balance vision, power, and governance. Those early years were defined by enthusiasm, fear, and fierce debate over Puntland’s role in rebuilding Somalia. Inside the corridors of Garowe’s Presidency, even routine decisions carried historical weight.

This memoir tells the untold story of my recurring, sometimes stormy disagreements with President Abdullahi Yusuf — a man both revered and feared — and of my own struggle to hold the principle of statehood above the pressures of politics.

1. The Arta Conference: To Engage or to Boycott? (2000)

When the Djibouti-sponsored Arta Peace Conference convened in mid-2000, Abdullahi Yusuf’s instinct was total rejection. He dismissed it as a political trap set by outsiders seeking to dilute Puntland’s federalist vision.

I disagreed. My position was grounded in statecraft: legitimacy is never gained through absence. I argued that even limited participation could protect Puntland’s interests and prevent its isolation — that engaging with the process, however imperfect, was safer than boycotting it outright.

History proved the point. Puntland’s empty seat at Arta was filled by others, who went on to claim the title of “Transitional National Government” and write Somalia’s next political chapter without us.

To make my position clear, I offered my resignation — not once, but several times. The President rejected each one. “Warsame,” he told me, “you are not leaving me in the middle of this storm.” Still, my conscience was clear: leadership sometimes means standing firm against the tide of unquestioned authority.

2. The Controversial Extension of the Puntland Legislature (Late 2000)

As Puntland’s first three-year mandate neared its end in late 2000, Abdullahi Yusuf moved to extend the House of Representatives’ term — and, by extension, his own presidency.

I opposed this. The legislative term had expired, and renewing it required fresh political consensus, not a decree dressed up in legal language. Allowing convenience to override the constitution, I believed, would set a dangerous precedent for every government that followed.

I told him plainly: “Mr. President, no constitution survives when convenience dictates its interpretation.” He was just as direct in response: “Warsame, politics is not a textbook exercise.”

I submitted my resignation again, believing that moral protest carries more weight than silent compliance. He refused it again, insisting that “the system cannot afford to lose its thinkers” — a paradoxical compliment wrapped in political defiance.

3. The Bosaso Confrontation with Jama Ali Jama (Late 2001–Early 2002)

Nothing tested Puntland’s integrity like the confrontation in Bosaso. When Abdullahi Yusuf rejected the results of the November 2001 Garowe Constitutional Conference, which had elected Jama Ali Jama as President, he regrouped militarily in Galkayo and Qardho and moved to retake the port city by force.

I opposed the use of arms. Puntland’s legitimacy, I argued, could not be built on fratricide; leadership demanded restraint, dialogue, and patience instead. But the militarist instinct prevailed. Tanks rolled, shells fell, and the state paid for its “victory” with the erosion of its own unity — a tragedy disguised as triumph.

In protest, I wrote the President a detailed memorandum reaffirming that the path of reconciliation was still open. I was told to “stay in my lane.” My response was another resignation letter, and once again, a firm rejection. “Warsame,” he said, “you may disagree, but you don’t abandon ship.”

4. The “Fadlan” Culture: Politics of Patronage (1998–2004)

A further disagreement grew from the President’s habit of distributing public money — euphemistically called “Fadlan” (“please”) — to buy the loyalty of individuals and groups.

I called it what it was: a dangerous welfare populism dressed up as generosity. State resources were not personal property to be handed out for political gain, and a system built this way would breed dependency, inflate expectations, and hollow out public institutions. I warned that “Fadlan politics” would eventually corrode the foundations of Puntland governance. It did.

When I challenged these disbursements and questioned their legality, I was told I was “too bureaucratic for Somali politics.” My response, as before, was to submit my resignation — my way of putting dissent on the record in a system allergic to accountability.

5. Family Interference: The Silent Cost of Nepotism (1999–2004)

My most difficult confrontation with Abdullahi Yusuf concerned family interference in the Presidency. Decisions that should have stayed within the professional bureaucracy were instead influenced, and at times dictated, by his close relatives — a creeping parallel governance in which personal ties overrode administrative order.

I protested quietly at first, then formally in writing. My position was simple: a state cannot function once the line between family and government dissolves. Abdullahi Yusuf saw my resistance as disloyalty; I saw silence as a betrayal of the public trust. Each time I raised the issue, I resigned. Each time, he refused it. “Warsame,” he would say, “you are stubborn — but loyal.” I took it as the highest form of reluctant respect he was capable of showing.

Epilogue: Loyalty, Dissent, and the Burden of Conscience

Despite these repeated disagreements, I never lost my respect for Abdullahi Yusuf’s courage or his role in Somalia’s history. But leadership is not defined by courage alone — it is measured by a willingness to be guided by principle rather than power.

In those turbulent years, I came to understand that dissent, when it defends the truth, is the highest form of loyalty. My conscience demanded that I speak — not against Abdullahi Yusuf the man, but against a political culture that mistakes obedience for patriotism.

The untold story of those years is not one of rebellion or disloyalty. It is the story of defending the moral architecture of Puntland. History may forget the memos, the meetings, and the midnight debates, but it cannot erase this truth: building a state requires people willing to disagree, even when their resignations are never accepted.

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End.

The Ministry of Discouragement Never Sleeps

By Ismail H. Warsame

A friend of mine said something the other day that was both hilarious and tragic.

“If you share a business idea with government officials or businesspeople in Mogadishu, they immediately become curious. They ask questions. They want to know how it works. Some even try to persuade you to join them in a business partnership. But in Puntland, before you have finished your first sentence, someone interrupts: ‘Forget it. It will never work here.”

Whether that observation applies in every case is beside the point. It captures a mindset that many entrepreneurs have encountered. But, the situation is a becoming almost an echo chamber here.

Welcome to Puntland—the only place where failure is declared before the feasibility study is even written.

Elsewhere, people ask, “How can we make this work?”

Here, the first question is, “Why bother?”

Elsewhere, investors look for opportunities.

Here, self-appointed experts look for excuses.

Elsewhere, entrepreneurs search for markets.

Here, pessimists search for reasons why markets cannot exist.

It is almost a science.

No business proposal is too small to be discouraged.

“I want to establish a fish-processing factory.”

“It won’t work.”

“I want to export livestock products.”

“It won’t work.”

“I want to manufacture building materials.”

“It won’t work.”

“I want to establish a software company.”

“It won’t work.”

“I want to develop renewable energy.”

“It won’t work.”

“I want to build a tourist resort.”

“It won’t work.”

By the end of the conversation, one begins to wonder how Puntland itself still manages to exist, given that apparently nothing works.

The unofficial national anthem has become:

“It won’t work here.”

One is tempted to establish a Ministry of Discouragement.

Its motto?

“Destroying optimism since 1998.”

Its departments would include the Directorate of Doubt, the Bureau of Negative Predictions, and the National Authority for Killing New Ideas.

Their annual performance report would proudly announce:

“This year we successfully discouraged another 500 entrepreneurs before they invested a single dollar.”

Mission accomplished.

The irony, of course, is that many of the same people who dismiss every local idea will enthusiastically celebrate the very same concept once it succeeds elsewhere.

If someone opens the identical business in Nairobi, Dubai, or Mogadishu, suddenly the conversation changes.

“I always knew it would succeed.”

Of course you did.

After telling everyone it would fail.

No society has ever become prosperous by manufacturing pessimism.

Every successful economy began with someone whom others considered unrealistic.

Every major company was once “a foolish idea.”

Every innovation was once dismissed.

The difference is that dynamic societies allow ideas to compete.

They test them.

They refine them.

They finance them.

They learn from failure.

They try again.

Societies that instinctively ridicule enterprise eventually discover that their brightest minds quietly relocate to places where ambition is welcomed rather than mocked.

Investment follows confidence.

Innovation follows freedom.

Prosperity follows both.

Puntland does not suffer from a shortage of ideas.

It suffers from a shortage of belief.

The greatest natural resource any nation possesses is not oil, minerals, ports, or livestock.

It is the imagination of its people.

The day a society begins discouraging imagination, it starts importing everything except excuses.

Perhaps it is time to retire the old national slogan of pessimism.

Instead of asking, “Why will it fail?”

We should begin asking,

“What would it take to make it succeed?”

That single change in attitude may prove more valuable than any foreign aid package, donor conference, or development strategy ever written.

Because nations are not built by those who predict failure.

They are built by those stubborn enough to ignore the experts who insist that nothing can ever be done.

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By Ismail H. Warsame

History often records not only the decisions leaders make, but also the advice they refuse to hear. In politics, ignoring sound counsel can prove more costly than making an honest mistake. Puntland today finds itself confronting exactly such a moment.

At the height of the escalating constitutional, political, and governance confrontation between the Federal Government of Somalia and Puntland, the then Puntland State Commission (TCFN) prepared what may have been one of the most constructive policy proposals presented to President Said Abdullahi Deni. It was not a document of confrontation. It was not a declaration of secession. It was not an emotional political statement. It was a roadmap for preventing Somalia from sliding once again into constitutional collapse and political fragmentation.

The proposal warned against repeating Somalia’s tragic history.

Using then crisis in Gedo as an example, it argued that disputes should never be settled through coercion, military pressure, flight restrictions, collective punishment, or marginalization of stakeholders. Instead, dialogue, compromise, and consultation with traditional elders, religious scholars, and community leaders were presented as the only sustainable path.

That warning has since proved remarkably prescient.

More importantly, the proposal went beyond criticism. It outlined an eleven-point national agenda that could have fundamentally reshaped Somalia’s federal future.

It called for:

• A genuine National Reconciliation Conference.
• A new political compact between the Federal Government and Federal Member States.
• A consensual national constitution approved through a popular referendum.
• Respect for existing Federal Member State constitutions until such a constitution exists.
• A negotiated settlement on revenue sharing, foreign aid, and political power.
• Agreement on debt relief, public finance, and fiscal management.
• Protection against unilateral federal legislation affecting member states.
• Consensus on the electoral system.
• Agreement on national security architecture and armed forces.
• Joint cooperation against terrorism.
• A negotiated settlement regarding the status of Somalia’s capital.

Even today, one would struggle to identify a single point that is unreasonable.

Indeed, virtually every constitutional crisis Somalia currently faces revolves around one or more of these unresolved issues.

Yet President Deni chose another path.

Instead of transforming Puntland into the intellectual and political leader of a nationwide constitutional dialogue, his administration increasingly confined itself to reactive politics. Every federal provocation was answered after the fact. Every constitutional violation became another political dispute rather than an opportunity to rally Somalis around a coherent alternative vision.

Leadership is not merely resisting what one opposes.

Leadership is offering the country a destination.

That opportunity was missed.

Today Somalia finds itself trapped in precisely the constitutional deadlock the proposal sought to avoid. Relations between the Federal Government and several Federal Member States remain deeply strained. Constitutional legitimacy continues to be contested. Questions surrounding elections, power-sharing, resource allocation, security-sector governance, and the status of Mogadishu remain unresolved.

None of these crises emerged overnight.

They accumulated because political actors repeatedly substituted tactical victories for strategic settlement.

The tragedy is not that Puntland lacked ideas.

The tragedy is that it failed to champion its own ideas.

The TCFN proposal demonstrated that Puntland possessed the intellectual capacity to articulate a genuinely national vision—one based on negotiation rather than coercion, constitutionalism rather than improvisation, and consensus rather than unilateralism.

Instead, that vision remained largely confined to internal papers while day-to-day politics consumed the national agenda.

History rarely offers second chances.

But it does offer lessons.

The lesson is unmistakable: federalism cannot survive if every disagreement becomes a constitutional confrontation. Equally, Somalia cannot be governed indefinitely through unilateral decisions emanating from Mogadishu while expecting Federal Member States to accept outcomes they neither negotiated nor endorsed.

Federalism is not simply an administrative arrangement.

It is a permanent culture of negotiation.

The ignored proposal understood that fundamental truth.

Events since then have only reinforced its wisdom.

Somalia still requires a comprehensive political settlement. It still requires an inclusive national reconciliation conference. It still needs a mutually agreed constitutional order. It still needs a consensus on elections, national security, public finance, and the status of the capital.

In other words, the solutions proposed years ago remain the solutions required today.

The cost of ignoring good advice is now visible across Somalia’s fractured political landscape.

The question is no longer whether that proposal was correct.

The question is whether Somalia’s leaders are finally prepared to rediscover the wisdom they once chose to ignore.

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“Anaga oo aragtidaa ka duuleyna, Dawladda Puntland waxay u soo jeedineysaa dadweynaha Soomaaliyeed, Dawladda Federaalka, Dawladaha Xubnaha ka ah iyo Beesha Caalamkaba:
1.In la qabto Shirweyne Dib-u-Heshiisiin Qaran oo aragti midaysan ka yeesha dawlad-dhiska Soomaaliya;
2.In la dhiso Madal Cusub iyo Heshiis Qaran oo u dhaxeeya Dawladda Federalka iyo kuwa Xubnaha ka ah, si loo helo hannaanka cusub oo si dhab ah ku salaysan wada xaajood iyo go’aan qaadasho wada ogol ah;

3. In la helo Dastuur Qaran oo Soomaali oo dhan heshiis ku tahay, afti dadweynana loo qaado;
   4.In la ixtiraamo Dastuurada Dawladaha Xubnaha ka ah Hannaanka Federaalka inta laga helayo Dastuur Qaran, sida ku xusan qodobka (3);
   5.In dib-u-eegis iyo isla ogol lagu sameeyo wadaaga khayraadka, deeqaha caalamka, awood-qaybsiga, iwm;
   6.In laga heshiiyo geedi-socodka Deyn-Cafinta, Maamulka iyo Maaraynta Maaliyada;
   7.In aan Baarlamaanka Soomaaliya la horgeyn karin Hindise-Sharciyeed wax u dhimaya arrimaha masiiriga ee dawladaha Soomaaliya (FGS & FMSs);
   8.In laga heshiiyo, si wada ogol ah, Hannaanka Doorashooyinka Dalka.
   9.In laga heshiiyo, si wada ogol ah, dhismaha Ciidamada Xoogga Dalka iyo ciidamada amniga ee kala duwan ee Dawladda Federaalka hoos yimaada;
   10.In lala wada dagaalamo argagixisada;
   11.In meel la saaro Maqaamka Caasumadda Dalka, si wada ogol ah. Madasha Wadatashiga Qaran iyo Gobol keli ah oo ku lifaaq ah meel ma wada geli karaan”

Structural Failures in Puntland: Why Institutional Reform Must Become the Foundation of Sustainable Governance

By Abdiladif Ahmed, Security Intelligence Analyst and Public Policy Researcher

Introduction: Stability Without Strong Institutions Is an Illusion

For more than twenty-five years, Puntland has frequently been presented as one of Somalia’s most stable federal member states. Compared with many other parts of the country, it has maintained relative political continuity, established functioning governmental structures, contributed significantly to counter-piracy operations, and played an important role in combating violent extremism. These achievements deserve recognition.

Yet political stability should never be confused with institutional maturity.

A government may survive political transitions, but unless its institutions become stronger than the individuals who lead them, stability remains inherently fragile. Sustainable governance depends not merely upon elections or political leadership but upon resilient public institutions capable of delivering services, enforcing the rule of law, managing public resources responsibly, and implementing long-term national strategies.

Many of Puntland’s current governance challenges are not temporary political problems. They are symptoms of deeper structural weaknesses that have accumulated over decades through institutional underinvestment, inconsistent reform, administrative inefficiency, and limited state capacity.

The central political question confronting Puntland today is therefore not simply who governs, but whether the state’s institutions possess the professional capacity to govern effectively regardless of who occupies political office.

The Institutional Deficit: When Governments Depend on Individuals Instead of Systems

One of the defining characteristics of effective states is that institutions outlast governments.

In mature political systems, leadership changes without disrupting public administration because institutions preserve continuity, professional standards, institutional memory, and policy implementation.

In Puntland, however, governance has frequently remained personality-driven rather than institution-driven.

Political authority often becomes concentrated within executive structures while ministries and public agencies continue to experience limitations in administrative professionalism, technical expertise, inter-agency coordination, and long-term strategic planning.

This institutional imbalance produces several structural consequences.

Government performance becomes dependent upon the competence and priorities of individual officeholders rather than standardized administrative procedures.

Policy implementation becomes inconsistent across ministries.

Institutional memory is frequently lost during political transitions.

Long-term national planning gives way to short-term political management.

Without institutional continuity, governments spend considerable time rebuilding administrative capacity rather than advancing development.

The lesson from successful states worldwide is clear: durable governance requires institutions that function independently of political personalities.

Governance and the Rule of Law: The Cornerstone of Political Legitimacy

No democratic government can sustain public confidence if laws are applied selectively or institutions appear inconsistent in their enforcement.

Political legitimacy is strengthened when citizens believe that government decisions are governed by constitutional principles rather than political expediency.

Several governance challenges continue to weaken institutional credibility.

These include inconsistent implementation of legislation, limited administrative transparency, delays in public service delivery, weak oversight mechanisms, and uneven enforcement of regulatory frameworks.

The cumulative effect is a gradual erosion of public trust.

Where accountability mechanisms are weak, citizens increasingly perceive governance as unpredictable.

Where transparency is limited, confidence in public institutions declines.

Where legal institutions lack sufficient independence, political disputes become institutional disputes.

Strengthening governance therefore requires more than legislative reform.

It requires robust oversight institutions, independent auditing bodies, professional public administration, accessible public information systems, and a judiciary capable of enforcing constitutional principles impartially.

Public Financial Management: The Architecture of State Capacity

Financial governance is ultimately a measure of state effectiveness.

Without transparent budgeting, accountable procurement systems, effective expenditure monitoring, and independent financial oversight, development policies rarely produce sustainable outcomes.

Puntland continues to confront structural fiscal constraints.

Domestic revenue generation remains relatively narrow.

Budget execution frequently encounters implementation challenges.

Financial auditing capacity remains limited.

Dependence upon external financial assistance continues to influence development priorities.

These challenges are institutional rather than purely economic.

Modern public financial management requires integrated digital budgeting systems, transparent procurement procedures, regular independent audits, strengthened parliamentary oversight, and evidence-based expenditure planning.

Financial accountability is not merely an accounting exercise—it is a political instrument that strengthens public confidence and improves the legitimacy of government.

Security Sector Reform: From Tactical Success to Strategic Modernization

Security has long been regarded as one of Puntland’s comparative strengths.

Its security institutions have contributed significantly to counterterrorism operations, maritime security, and regional stability.

However, contemporary security threats have evolved considerably.

Today, governments confront increasingly sophisticated forms of terrorism, organized crime, illicit financial networks, cyber-enabled criminal activity, human trafficking, weapons smuggling, and transnational extremist organizations.

Traditional security structures alone are insufficient to address these multidimensional threats.

Modern security governance requires integrated intelligence coordination, advanced forensic capabilities, digital investigations, cyber resilience, border management modernization, professional police services, and interoperable command structures.

Equally important is ensuring that modernization occurs within a robust legal framework that protects civil liberties, strengthens judicial oversight, and reinforces public trust.

Security institutions derive lasting legitimacy not only from operational success but from adherence to the rule of law.

Justice Sector Reform: The Foundation of Democratic Governance

An effective judiciary remains one of the most important indicators of institutional maturity.

Courts provide legal certainty, protect constitutional rights, resolve commercial disputes, and reinforce investor confidence.

Where judicial institutions lack sufficient capacity, governance itself becomes less predictable.

Persistent challenges include shortages of qualified legal professionals, case backlogs, inadequate forensic support, limited judicial infrastructure, and unequal access to justice in rural communities.

Judicial reform should therefore prioritize professional legal education, institutional independence, digital case management systems, expanded legal aid services, forensic modernization, and procedural efficiency.

A credible justice system strengthens every other institution of government.

Civil Service Reform: Professionalizing the State

No government can outperform the quality of its civil service.

Professional bureaucracies create continuity across political administrations.

Merit-based recruitment strengthens institutional competence.

Performance evaluation improves administrative efficiency.

Career development encourages professionalism.

Political neutrality protects institutional integrity.

Where appointments are determined primarily by political considerations rather than competence, administrative effectiveness inevitably declines.

Civil service reform should therefore become a central pillar of Puntland’s institutional modernization agenda.

Political Governance: Managing Competition Through Institutions

Political competition is an essential characteristic of democratic governance.

However, prolonged constitutional uncertainty, political polarization, and institutional confrontation divert attention from long-term national development.

Strong political systems resolve disagreements through constitutional mechanisms rather than administrative paralysis.

Institutional resilience depends upon respect for constitutional procedures, constructive political dialogue, effective legislative oversight, peaceful conflict resolution, and meaningful citizen participation.

Stable democracies are distinguished not by the absence of political disagreement but by the strength of the institutions that manage it.

Economic Diversification: Reducing Structural Vulnerability

Although livestock continues to serve as Puntland’s principal economic sector, excessive dependence upon a limited economic base increases vulnerability to climate shocks, market fluctuations, and external disruptions.

Long-term resilience requires diversification.

Strategic investment should prioritize fisheries, agriculture, renewable energy, logistics, transportation, manufacturing, digital technology, tourism, and small and medium-sized enterprises.

Economic diversification not only increases government revenue but also creates employment opportunities, expands exports, and reduces fiscal dependence.

The private sector should increasingly become the principal engine of economic growth while government focuses on creating a predictable regulatory environment.

Human Capital: The Most Valuable National Investment

Economic transformation begins with people.

Investment in education, healthcare, vocational training, scientific research, entrepreneurship, and digital literacy generates long-term national competitiveness.

Puntland’s youthful population represents one of its greatest strategic advantages.

However, without sufficient employment opportunities, vocational training, and innovation ecosystems, demographic potential may instead become a source of economic frustration and social instability.

Human capital development should therefore be viewed not as social expenditure but as strategic national investment.

Transparency and Accountability: Restoring Public Confidence

Public trust is earned through consistent accountability.

Citizens increasingly expect governments to demonstrate openness, integrity, and measurable performance.

Institutional reforms should strengthen anti-corruption agencies, improve procurement transparency, require asset declarations for senior public officials, enhance internal auditing systems, protect whistleblowers, and expand public access to government information.

Transparency reduces opportunities for corruption while increasing administrative legitimacy.

Accountability transforms political authority into public responsibility.

Climate Governance and Environmental Security

Climate change has become a governance issue rather than solely an environmental concern.

Recurring droughts, water scarcity, land degradation, desertification, and pressure on pastoral livelihoods increasingly threaten economic stability and social resilience.

Government planning should integrate climate adaptation into broader national development strategies through sustainable water management, renewable energy investment, environmental restoration, disaster preparedness, and climate-resilient agriculture.

Environmental governance is now inseparable from national security.

Digital Transformation: Modernizing Public Administration

Digital governance represents one of the most significant opportunities for institutional modernization.

E-government services can improve administrative efficiency, reduce bureaucratic delays, strengthen public financial management, enhance transparency, and expand citizen access to government services.

Digital identity systems, electronic procurement, integrated public records, cybersecurity frameworks, and online public services should become central components of administrative reform.

Technology cannot substitute for good governance, but it can significantly strengthen institutional effectiveness.

Decentralization: Bringing Government Closer to Citizens

Effective governance begins at the local level.

Municipal administrations remain the primary interface between citizens and the state.

Yet many local governments continue to face limited financial autonomy, inadequate technical capacity, and constrained administrative resources.

Meaningful decentralization requires fiscal empowerment, local planning capacity, stronger municipal institutions, and greater citizen participation in development priorities.

Strong local governance strengthens national governance.

A Strategic Roadmap for Institutional Renewal

Puntland’s long-term stability will ultimately depend not on political personalities but on the resilience of its institutions.

Institutional reform should therefore become a comprehensive national project guided by measurable objectives.

Priority reforms include strengthening judicial independence, professionalizing the civil service, modernizing public financial management, enhancing transparency and accountability, reforming security and intelligence institutions within constitutional oversight, expanding digital governance, empowering local government, diversifying the economy, investing in human capital, and institutionalizing evidence-based policymaking supported by monitoring and evaluation systems.

Such reforms require political commitment, administrative professionalism, and sustained public engagement.

Conclusion: Building a State That Endures Beyond Politics

Puntland possesses considerable strategic advantages.

Its entrepreneurial population, experienced public servants, strategic geographic location, and history of resilience provide a strong foundation for future development.

Yet history consistently demonstrates that nations do not prosper because of temporary political stability alone.

They prosper because they build institutions capable of adapting, innovating, and serving successive generations with professionalism and integrity.

The future of Puntland will therefore be determined less by electoral cycles than by the quality of the institutions it leaves behind.

Governments come and go.

Institutions endure.

The ultimate legacy of political leadership is not measured by the duration of its tenure but by whether it leaves behind stronger institutions, more accountable governance, a more capable state, and greater opportunities for future generations.

For Puntland, the challenge is no longer identifying its structural weaknesses. The challenge is transforming institutional reform from an aspirational objective into the central organizing principle of governance. Only then can stability evolve into sustainable development, public confidence, and enduring democratic legitimacy.

By Ismail H. Warsame

Every time violence erupts in Galkayo, the political class reaches for the same tired script. More police. More checkpoints. More emergency meetings. More promises. Then, after the shooting subsides, everyone congratulates themselves until the next crisis arrives.

Nothing changes.

That is because they continue treating the symptoms while ignoring what many regard as the deeper structural problem.

In my view, Galkayo’s greatest challenge is not simply criminality or clan rivalry. It is the absence of a sufficiently rooted civic population with a long-term stake in preserving law, order, and public institutions. Too much of the city’s political energy has historically been shaped by continual population movement rather than stable civic development.

Cities become peaceful when people build permanent lives there—buy homes, establish businesses, educate their children, invest in neighbourhoods, and expect future generations to inherit what they have built. Such citizens have everything to lose from instability.

Galkayo has struggled to reach that point.

For decades, the city has served as a magnet for migration from surrounding rural areas and neighbouring jurisdictions. Migration itself is neither unusual nor undesirable; every successful city grows through newcomers. The problem arises when rapid demographic change intersects with weak institutions, political competition, and clan mobilisation. Under those conditions, population movement can become part of political strategy rather than simply economic opportunity.

Compounding this problem, many social divisions that originate elsewhere are carried into the city rather than left behind. In my assessment, some sub-clan communities continue to view one another primarily through the prism of historical rivalry instead of as neighbours sharing a common urban future. Old feuds are transplanted into the city, producing recurring cycles of revenge killings, criminal violence, armed robbery, and retaliation. The idea of citizenship becomes secondary to sub-clan allegiance, while loyalty to public institutions weakens.

The consequences are profound. The rule of law struggles to establish itself because public authority is constantly challenged by competing loyalties. Police and security agencies are forced into reacting to violence rather than preventing it. Political leaders spend more time managing crises than building institutions. Meanwhile, the greatest losers are the educated, the professionals, and the entrepreneurial members of society. Instead of investing in Galkayo’s future, many choose to leave, taking with them the skills, capital, and civic leadership needed to transform the city into a stable commercial centre. Instability therefore becomes self-perpetuating: violence discourages investment, investment declines, opportunity disappears, and yet another generation leaves.

History offers uncomfortable reminders.

General Mohamed Farah Aideed’s political claim over the whole of Mudug did not emerge in a vacuum. It reflected a broader contest over territory, influence, and political legitimacy during one of Somalia’s most turbulent periods. Whether those claims were justified or not, they demonstrated how demographic realities and political ambitions could become intertwined.

Today, many leaders still refuse to confront these structural questions honestly.

Instead, every outbreak of violence is explained away as an isolated security incident. It is not. It is the recurring consequence of weak governance, inconsistent law enforcement, poor urban planning, and the failure to cultivate a shared civic identity that rises above temporary political alignments.

Breaking that cycle requires more than armed patrols.

Galkayo needs institutions that command respect rather than fear; policing based on investigation rather than reaction; municipal governance that protects property rights and public services; and political leadership willing to speak honestly about long-term urban development instead of exploiting every crisis for short-term political gain.

Above all, the city needs a stronger sense of shared civic ownership. Stability is ultimately secured not by barricades but by residents who believe that protecting the city is in their own enduring interest. Equal citizenship—not perpetual sub-clan competition—is the foundation upon which peaceful cities are built.

The tragedy is that Galkayo possesses enormous economic and strategic potential. It sits at the crossroads of Puntland, central Somalia, and the Somali interior. Properly governed, it could become one of Somalia’s great commercial centres. Instead, it too often finds itself trapped in a cycle of recurring instability that benefits only opportunistic politicians, criminal networks, and those who thrive in disorder.

The future of Galkayo will not be decided by the next security operation. It will be decided by whether its leaders can build institutions strong enough to transform a city of competing interests into a city of common purpose.

Until then, every celebration of “restored peace” will remain temporary.

Peace without citizenship is temporary. Peace without institutions is an illusion. Peace without permanent stakeholders is impossible.

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By WDM – Commentary and Critical Analysis

Politics in Somalia has always suffered from one incurable disease: the belief that what cannot be achieved through ideas can somehow be accomplished through intrigue. Whenever leaders exhaust vision, they compensate with conspiracy. Whenever they fail to persuade, they begin searching for shortcuts. It is an old Somali political habit, and like many bad habits, it refuses to die.
Today, political rumours once again swirl around alleged efforts to destabilize Puntland. Whether these whispers mature into political action or remain the product of Mogadishu’s rumor mills is almost secondary. What matters is the mindset behind them—the persistent illusion that Puntland is merely a temporary political arrangement waiting to collapse if enough pressure is applied.
That illusion has survived for nearly three decades. Reality has survived even longer.
Former President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, whose constitutional mandate has long expired,  and who now finds himself politically isolated in Villa Somalia, appears determined to replay familiar political scripts instead of confronting the country’s deeper governance crisis. When leaders run out of legitimacy, they often seek relevance through confrontation. Unfortunately, Somalia has witnessed this pattern too many times.
Meanwhile, Puntland President Said Abdullahi Deni remains remarkably consistent—perhaps too consistent. His governing philosophy often appears to be waiting until events force his hand. Initiative is replaced by reaction. Strategy gives way to improvisation. Rather than shaping political events, his administration frequently appears occupied with responding to them after they have already unfolded.
If political pressure emerges, Puntland deserves proactive leadership, not permanent crisis management.
Yet this debate is larger than either Hassan Sheikh Mohamud or Said Abdullahi Deni.
Every few years, Garowe experiences a familiar political ritual. A handful of dissatisfied political actors suddenly rediscover revolutionary enthusiasm. Prosperity becomes boring. Stability becomes unfashionable. Comfort somehow becomes a political problem requiring dramatic correction.
It is a uniquely Somali paradox.
Communities spend decades constructing institutions, restoring security, attracting investment, and rebuilding public confidence. Then, just as normal life begins to resemble normality, someone inevitably concludes that the entire house requires shaking—simply because it has stood peacefully for too long.
Political déjà vu becomes a national pastime.
Some observers attribute such cycles to shifting alliances or local grievances. Others see external encouragement. Whatever the explanation, history offers one stubborn lesson that every aspiring political engineer eventually discovers.
Puntland was not manufactured in Villa Somalia.
It was not designed by foreign embassies.
It was not created through presidential decree.
It emerged from grassroots political consensus, historical necessity, local reconciliation, and the determination of its own society after the collapse of the Somali state. Institutions born from society cannot easily be erased by politicians operating outside that society.
This is precisely the strategic mistake repeatedly made by Puntland’s opponents.
They confuse governments with states.
Governments come and go.
Presidents win elections, lose elections, resign, retire, or are replaced.
States endure because society sustains them.
Even if Said Abdullahi Deni were to leave office tomorrow, Puntland would remain.
Even if every cabinet minister resigned, Puntland would remain.
Even if every politician changed sides, Puntland’s social and historical foundations would remain.
That is the difference between a political administration and a historical political entity.
Those imagining that Puntland can be dismantled through outside pressure fundamentally misunderstand what they are confronting. They are attempting to negotiate with history itself.
History rarely negotiates.
The greatest satire in this entire drama is that politicians continue believing they possess powers they have never demonstrated. Every few years someone confidently announces the impending collapse of Puntland. Every few years Puntland continues existing while the political prophets quietly disappear into Somalia’s long archive of failed predictions.
Reality has an unpleasant habit of humiliating political fantasies.
None of this excuses Puntland’s own leadership shortcomings. Reform is necessary. Accountability is necessary. Better governance is necessary. Strategic vision is urgently necessary.
But there is an equally important political truth.
If Puntland is ever to experience genuine regime change, it will come from Puntland society itself—through its elders, intellectuals, political class, civil society, constitutional processes, and ultimately its own people.
It will not be manufactured in Mogadishu.
It will not be imported through political intrigue.
It will not be engineered by disgruntled factions hoping outside sponsorship can substitute for public legitimacy.
Those still entertaining such ambitions would benefit from studying Puntland’s history before attempting to rewrite it.
Political reality is a far more stubborn opponent than political imagination.

By Ismail H. Warsame

There is a profound difference between rejecting federalism and failing to understand how federalism works. Somalia’s political class continues to confuse the two, and the consequences have been devastating. Instead of confronting political reality, many leaders remain trapped in the illusion that the country can simply return to the highly centralized state that collapsed with the First Somali Republic in 1991.
History, however, is indifferent to political wishes.
Somalia’s federal system did not emerge because constitutional scholars designed an ideal model of government. It emerged from the ashes of one of Africa’s longest and most destructive civil wars. It was born out of necessity rather than ideology. It represented a political settlement between communities that had lost confidence in centralized rule after decades of dictatorship, state collapse, and violent fragmentation.
Whether one likes it or not, that historical process cannot simply be reversed by political speeches in Mogadishu or by unilateral constitutional amendments.
Federalism today is a de facto political settlement. It reflects realities created by history, geography, security, and the emergence of clan-based territorial administrations. Puntland, Jubaland, Galmudug, Hirshabelle, South West, and Somaliland each developed their own political institutions in response to the vacuum created by the collapse of the Somali state. One may criticize how these administrations function, but pretending they do not exist is not politics—it is denial.
Some in Mogadishu appear to believe that federalism is already badly wounded—that its institutions have been weakened by constitutional disputes, political confrontation, and repeated attempts to concentrate power at the centre—and that this presents an opportunity to roll it back in favour of a centralist agenda. This is perhaps the greatest strategic miscalculation facing Somalia today. Weakening federal institutions does not erase the historical forces that produced them. Every attempt to recentralize power without broad national consensus only reinforces regional resistance and deepens mistrust between the Federal Government and the Federal Member States. Federalism may be bruised and imperfect, but it remains the constitutional expression of Somalia’s post-civil war political reality.
More importantly, those advocating a return to centralized rule misunderstand the direction of political evolution. If federalism were ever to fail, the logical destination would not be a stronger unitary state. It would be the opposite: an even looser constitutional arrangement in the form of confederalism, where regional governments retain greater sovereignty and delegate only limited powers to a common national authority. Political history rarely moves backwards. Failed attempts at recentralization tend to accelerate decentralization, not reverse it.
Many of Somalia’s political elites therefore continue to wage an imaginary war against federalism instead of improving it. They expend enormous political capital trying to recover powers that history has already redistributed, rather than building trust, cooperation, and effective institutions between the Federal Government and the Federal Member States.
The tragedy is that federalism itself is rarely the real problem.
The real problem is poor leadership.
Successful federations around the world function because their leaders understand that federalism is not a contest over who controls power, but a constitutional framework for sharing it. Somalia’s leaders too often approach it as though one level of government must destroy the other in order to survive. That mindset guarantees perpetual instability.
Critics frequently argue that Somali federalism rests upon clan-based territorial boundaries. They are correct.
But that observation should lead to understanding—not denial.
Those clan enclaves were not invented by the 2012 Provisional Constitution. They evolved over decades of conflict as communities organized their own security, administration, and governance. Federalism merely acknowledged an existing political reality. Constitutions do not create history; they codify it.
Ignoring that reality will not make it disappear.
No decree issued from Villa Somalia can erase more than three decades of political evolution. No presidential ambition can rewind Somalia to 1990. No constitutional manipulation can compel communities to abandon institutions they have painstakingly built over a generation.
Leadership means working with reality rather than against it.
National unity cannot be imposed from above.
It must be negotiated, respected, and continuously renewed through constitutional dialogue, mutual trust, and genuine power-sharing.
Those who genuinely oppose federalism must answer one simple question: What realistic constitutional alternative commands nationwide legitimacy today?
No convincing answer has yet been offered.
Somalia has already paid an enormous price for political experiments driven by personalities instead of institutions. It cannot afford another.
The sooner Somalia’s leaders accept that federalism is not a temporary political inconvenience but the constitutional consequence of the civil war, the sooner they can focus on the real national priorities: restoring security, rebuilding institutions, strengthening the rule of law, promoting economic development, and reconciling a fractured nation.
History has already rendered its verdict.
Federalism is no longer merely a constitutional choice. It is the political foundation upon which Somalia’s future must be built. If that foundation is recklessly undermined, the country is unlikely to return to centralization. It is far more likely to fragment further into an even looser confederal order.
Wise nations build upon historical realities.
Foolish nations spend generations fighting them.

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Why Closed-Door Governance Is Un-Somali, Strategically Self-Defeating, and Harmful to Somali National Unity

A WAPMEN Policy White Paper

By Ismail H. Warsame, MSc, PhD Candidate

Executive Summary

Puntland has historically distinguished itself as a constructive political actor within Somalia’s federal system. Since its establishment in 1998, it has exercised influence not through military dominance or demographic advantage but through political engagement, constitutional advocacy, and institution building. This tradition is now under strain.

The increasing reliance on political isolation, refusal to engage regularly with Somali counterparts, and the adoption of closed-door governance represent a significant departure from Puntland’s founding philosophy. While disagreements with the Federal Government of Somalia are genuine, disengagement is not an effective strategy for resolving constitutional disputes or advancing Puntland’s interests.

This paper argues that isolation is neither a Somali political tradition nor a sustainable leadership model. Rather, it reflects a deeper crisis of political imagination, strategic thinking, and leadership capacity.

Introduction

Somali politics has always revolved around dialogue. Traditional Somali governance depended upon consultation (shir), mediation, negotiation, and consensus-building. Political legitimacy emerged through persuasion rather than permanent exclusion.

Even during periods of armed conflict, Somali leaders maintained communication channels because negotiation remained essential to conflict resolution.

The abandonment of dialogue therefore contradicts both Somali political culture and modern democratic governance.

Puntland’s Historical Political Tradition

Since 1998, Puntland has pursued influence through engagement rather than withdrawal.

Previous administrations consistently:

• Participated in national reconciliation conferences.
• Negotiated constitutional arrangements.
• Engaged political rivals.
• Worked with international partners.
• Defended federalism through political argument rather than political absence.

This strategy established Puntland as one of Somalia’s most influential regional governments.

The Rise of Isolation Politics

Recent years have witnessed a shift toward political disengagement.

Characteristics include:

• Limited political dialogue with Somali counterparts.
• Reduced participation in national political initiatives.
• Preference for public confrontation over negotiation.
• Increasing inward-looking governance.
• Declining diplomatic outreach.

Rather than strengthening Puntland’s bargaining position, this approach has reduced its national political influence.

Why Isolation Is Un-Somali

Somali society is built upon relationships.

Historically, conflicts were managed through:

• Elders’ conferences.
• Clan negotiations.
• Peace conferences.
• Religious mediation.
• Continuous consultation.

Isolation has never been recognised as a permanent political solution.

Dialogue is therefore not weakness.

Dialogue is Somali statecraft.

Leadership Versus Protest

Governments are expected to govern.

Opposition movements may boycott institutions temporarily.

Governments cannot permanently boycott politics itself.

Leadership requires:

• Negotiation.
• Coalition building.
• Strategic communication.
• Policy development.
• Long-term vision.

When leaders refuse engagement, they surrender the political arena to others.

Governance Grievances Are Not Enough

Puntland possesses legitimate concerns regarding:

• Constitutional amendments.
• Federal power concentration.
• Electoral arrangements.
• Fiscal federalism.
• National security.
• Resource sharing.

These issues require stronger—not weaker—political engagement.

Successful constitutional politics depends upon convincing others rather than avoiding them.

The Bankruptcy of Political Ideas

When governments cease engaging politically, observers inevitably question whether the problem lies not in the grievances themselves but in the inability to articulate persuasive alternatives.

Leadership depends upon:

• Clear policy proposals.
• Intellectual confidence.
• Effective communication.
• Strategic vision.

Isolation often becomes a substitute where leadership lacks these qualities.

Strategic Consequences

Closed-door politics carries significant costs.

Internally

• Weakens democratic culture.
• Reduces accountability.
• Encourages groupthink.
• Limits policy innovation.

Nationally

• Reduces Puntland’s influence.
• Weakens federal negotiations.
• Increases political polarization.
• Undermines trust.

Internationally

Partners prefer governments capable of dialogue.

Isolation reduces diplomatic credibility and investment confidence.

Lessons from Puntland’s Founding Generation

Puntland’s founders understood that influence required engagement.

Despite severe disagreements with successive Somali governments, they continued negotiating because they recognised that politics is the management of differences rather than the avoidance of them.

That strategic culture enabled Puntland to become a respected constitutional actor.

Policy Recommendations

Puntland should:

1. Restore structured political dialogue with all Somali stakeholders.
2. Develop a comprehensive constitutional reform agenda instead of reactive politics.
3. Establish permanent channels of communication with federal institutions.
4. Invest in research-based policy development.
5. Strengthen public diplomacy nationally and internationally.
6. Encourage open debate within Puntland itself.
7. Build alliances with other federal member states on shared constitutional concerns.
8. Replace personality-driven politics with institution-based engagement.

Conclusion

Political isolation is not a strategy for safeguarding Puntland’s interests. It is a symptom of declining political confidence.

Somali history demonstrates that dialogue has always been the foundation of governance. Puntland itself was created through negotiation, compromise, and consensus.

Leadership is measured not by the ability to withdraw from difficult conversations but by the ability to shape them.

If Puntland wishes to retain its historic role as a leading defender of Somali federalism and constitutional governance, it must rediscover the principles upon which it was founded: openness, engagement, persuasion, and strategic vision.

The politics of closed doors cannot build the future.

Only the politics of dialogue can.

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Selected References

• I. M. Lewis. A Modern History of Somalia. 4th ed.
• Ken Menkhaus. “Governance without Government in Somalia.”
• United Nations. Provisional Constitution of the Federal Republic of Somalia (2012).
• Interpeace. The Search for Peace in Somalia.

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By Ismail H. Warsame

Many commentators conveniently rewrite history by portraying Donald Trump as the politician who ushered America into the age of digital politics. That narrative is historically incomplete. The digital presidency did not begin with Donald Trump’s tweets. It began with Barack Obama’s BlackBerry.
When Barack Obama entered the White House in 2009, he insisted on keeping his beloved BlackBerry. What appeared to be a personal preference immediately became a matter of national security. Intelligence agencies, the Secret Service, cybersecurity experts, and White House lawyers all understood what many politicians around the world still fail to grasp today: the communication device of a head of state is not a private possession. It is a potential national security vulnerability.
The controversy exposed a profound reality. In the twenty-first century, political leadership had entered a new battlefield. Wars would no longer be fought only with tanks, aircraft, and missiles. They would also be fought through smartphones, data networks, cyber espionage, digital surveillance, and information warfare.
Obama eventually retained a heavily modified and tightly secured BlackBerry, accessible only through strict security protocols. The compromise demonstrated an important constitutional principle: no president, however popular or powerful, stands above the security requirements of the state.
Years later, Donald Trump’s prolific use of social media generated a different controversy. His posts could move financial markets, influence diplomacy, unsettle allies, provoke adversaries, and dominate the global news cycle within minutes. The issue was no longer simply the security of the device but the unprecedented political power of instantaneous, unfiltered presidential communication.
Yet Trump’s digital politics did not emerge from a vacuum. The foundation had already been laid during the Obama years. Obama’s BlackBerry controversy was America’s first public confrontation with the constitutional, legal, and security implications of governing in the digital age.
The lesson reaches far beyond Washington.
Many developing countries continue to treat official communication as a personal affair. Presidents, ministers, generals, and senior officials routinely use unsecured phones, commercial messaging applications, and personal social media accounts for sensitive government business. Such practices expose states to espionage, manipulation, cyberattacks, and foreign influence operations.
Somalia is no exception. Political leaders eagerly embrace digital platforms for propaganda and political theatre while neglecting the institutions, laws, cybersecurity infrastructure, and record-keeping systems required to protect state communications. The obsession with publicity often exceeds the commitment to statecraft.
Technology is politically neutral. It can strengthen democracy or accelerate institutional decay. It can enhance transparency or become a weapon of deception. It can unite nations or deepen polarization. Everything depends on whether leaders possess the wisdom and discipline to govern technology rather than become governed by it.
The Obama BlackBerry episode should therefore be remembered not as a trivial dispute over a smartphone but as the moment the modern digital presidency was born. It was the first clear warning that every technological innovation brings new constitutional, legal, and national security challenges.
History deserves accuracy. Donald Trump transformed the politics of social media, but Barack Obama forced America to confront the realities of digital governance. The BlackBerry was more than a device; it was the opening chapter of a new era in which cyber power, information dominance, and digital communications became integral components of national power.
States that fail to understand this lesson will discover, sooner rather than later, that sovereignty can be compromised not only by invading armies but also by the devices carried in the pockets of their own leaders.

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By Ismail H. Warsame

A diplomatic note rarely attracts public attention. It contains no fiery rhetoric, no threats, and no dramatic headlines. Yet some of the most consequential shifts in international politics begin with carefully worded diplomatic correspondence. The recent note from the United States Mission to the African Union is one such document.
Its language is diplomatic. Its implications are strategic.
The central message is unmistakable: the United States will no longer support the continuation of the UN Support Office in Somalia (UNSOS) beyond the current authorization ending on December 31, 2026. Washington further states that while it does not object to renewing the African Union Support and Stabilization Mission in Somalia (AUSSOM), it will oppose any renewal that continues to depend upon UN logistical or operational support.
This is not simply an accounting decision. It is a fundamental reassessment of nearly two decades of international security policy toward Somalia.
Since 2007, according to the note, the United States has contributed nearly US$2 billion to UNSOS and its predecessor, US$1.6 billion in bilateral support to troop-contributing countries, hundreds of millions to Somali security forces, and billions more in humanitarian and development assistance.
Yet Somalia has failed to achieve sustainable security ownership. It has not sustained progress against Al-Shabaab. It has not taken full responsibility for its own security functions. It has not undertaken serious security-sector reform. Internal rivalries and political infighting continue to undermine the fight against Al-Shabaab and ISIS.
In diplomatic language, this is a vote of no confidence.
The Era of Unlimited International Subsidies Is Ending
For years, Somalia’s security architecture has depended on external financing. Foreign governments have paid for troop stipends, logistics, aviation, medical evacuation, fuel, transport, communications, military planning, and institutional support.
Without UNSOS, these pillars become uncertain.
Washington is effectively declaring:
Somalia cannot indefinitely outsource its national security while postponing the political reforms necessary to sustain it.
There is an even larger strategic reality that Somalia’s political leaders appear to have ignored. Think about it. The United States is reassessing its global military posture. It is reducing overseas commitments, consolidating military bases, and demanding that allies assume greater responsibility for their own security. Even in strategically vital regions such as the Middle East and Europe, Washington is curtailing aspects of its military footprint and pressing partners to carry a larger share of the burden.
In that global context, does anyone seriously believe the United States will continue indefinitely subsidizing Somalia’s security?
The answer is increasingly obvious. America’s global strategic reach is under growing strain as it confronts fiscal pressures, rising competition from China and Russia, and competing security priorities across multiple theaters. Washington is becoming far more selective in where and how it commits its resources. Somalia should not assume that it will remain an exception.
That is precisely why this diplomatic note is so significant. It is not merely about UNSOS or AUSSOM. It reflects a broader transformation in American strategic thinking: partners must increasingly finance, manage, and take ownership of their own security. The era of open-ended international subsidies is drawing to a close.
Political Dysfunction Has Become a Security Liability
The diplomatic note identifies internal political infighting as one of the principal reasons for Somalia’s limited progress.
This should surprise no one.
Political disputes between the Federal Government and Federal Member States have repeatedly disrupted national security coordination. Constitutional disagreements remain unresolved. Electoral controversies have consumed political attention while Al-Shabaab exploits institutional fragmentation.
The United States appears to have concluded that military assistance alone cannot compensate for political dysfunction.
A Message to Hassan Sheikh Mohamud and Somalia’s Political Class
President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, his political allies and cronies, and the leaders of Somalia’s Federal Member States should read this diplomatic note carefully—and repeatedly. It is not merely a routine communication between Washington and the African Union. It is an unmistakable signal that it is no longer business as usual.
For years, Somalia’s political elite have behaved as though international partners would continue paying the bills regardless of endless constitutional crises, expired mandates, political infighting, patronage networks, corruption, and institutional paralysis. That assumption has now been fundamentally challenged.
The United States is effectively saying that political legitimacy, constitutional order, institutional reform, and national responsibility can no longer be postponed while expecting the international community to continue underwriting Somalia’s security. Foreign assistance is not a permanent substitute for governance.
This message applies equally to Villa Somalia and the Federal Member States. Neither Mogadishu nor the regional administrations can continue blaming one another while expecting foreign taxpayers to finance Somalia’s security indefinitely. The politics of confrontation, unconstitutional extensions of power, fragmented command structures, and perpetual disputes have weakened the Somali state and emboldened its enemies.
President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud should recognize that Somalia’s international partners are increasingly measuring success not by speeches but by governance, constitutional compliance, and institutional performance. Likewise, the leaders of Puntland, Jubaland, Galmudug, Hirshabelle, and Southwest State cannot exempt themselves from this criticism. They, too, bear responsibility for the fragmentation of national politics and the failure to build effective institutions.
The era of assuming that donors will always fill Somalia’s financial and security gaps is ending. Washington’s message is clear: reform your politics, reform your institutions, take ownership of your security—or prepare to shoulder the consequences.
A Historic Turning Point
History may remember this diplomatic note as the beginning of a new chapter in Somalia’s relationship with the international community.
The era in which foreign donors automatically renewed costly security missions appears to be drawing to a close. Future support is likely to become increasingly conditional, based on measurable progress in governance, constitutional order, institutional reform, accountability, and security-sector professionalism.
For Somali policymakers, the lesson could not be clearer.
Security cannot be rented forever. Sovereignty cannot be outsourced indefinitely. National independence demands national responsibility.
Whether Somalia’s leaders recognize this reality before December 2026 may determine not only the future of AUSSOM but the future of the Somali state itself.
The time for excuses has passed.
The time for responsible national leadership has arrived.

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