There are moments in a nation’s history when silence is betrayal, and today, Somalia stands on such a threshold. What is sold to the public as federalism is not federalism. What we celebrate as decentralization is, in practice, disintegration. And Jubaland—far from being a functioning federal state—is the canary in the coal mine, a warning of what happens when statehood is replaced by strongholds and foreign policy is subcontracted to local militias.
Having served in Somalia’s Ministry of Defence during a time when the state still understood what it meant to be a state, I do not speak from theory. I speak from a memory soaked in decisions, briefings, field reports, and military intelligence. I saw how territory was defended, not negotiated. I saw how sovereignty was protected, not pleaded for. That experience gives me clarity on what is happening today, and what is being hidden beneath layers of media spin and diplomatic decorum.
Jubaland, as it stands, is not the product of a national process. It is the product of geopolitical necessity. It is Kenya’s buffer zone, not Somalia’s federal state. The port of Kismaayo, once a strategic national asset, has become a commercial chess piece. The leadership of the region, while framed as constitutional, is in fact tactical—installed through clan leverage, regional force projection, and external sponsorship. And yet, we call this federalism.
To understand how we got here, we must revisit where we began. The Somali Youth League (SYL), once a nationalist movement demanding independence, ended up silencing political plurality and laying the groundwork for the military takeover of 1969. The Somali Revolutionary Socialist Party (XHKS), framed as the engine of unity, collapsed under the weight of its own absolutism, giving way to civil war and fragmentation. We have walked this path before—where a system designed to unite ultimately disfigures itself from within.
During the Ogaden War, when I watched Somali forces stretch beyond their limits, it became clear to many of us that we had no friends in the region—only temporary partners. After the war, when the SSDF and other resistance groups emerged, the illusion of unity cracked. Jubaland, in its current form, is a continuation of that historical fracture. A region led by a former warlord, backed by regional armies, operating under the guise of constitutional legitimacy—it is a symptom, not a solution.
What we are witnessing is not federal balance but geopolitical containment. Federalism in Somalia is being weaponized to create zones of influence, not zones of governance. It is no longer about empowering regions to manage their own development—it is about dividing the country into manageable sectors, each with its own foreign sponsor, its own militia economy, and its own political currency.
Ahmed Madobe is not the issue. He is simply a mirror—reflecting the nature of a system that rewards militarized loyalty and punishes national coherence. The problem is structural. It is embedded in a constitution drafted in haste, under pressure, and with no binding force in realpolitik. Somalia today is a loose arrangement of camps, not a federation. Kismaayo’s stability is not due to governance but due to agreements made outside of Somalia’s constitutional courts—in Nairobi boardrooms and Addis Ababa intelligence channels.
If Somalia continues on this path, the outcome will not be a collapse in flames, but a quiet expiration. Borders will not be redrawn by war, but by disuse. Federalism, unless redefined around unity, legitimacy, and shared national vision, will become the very weapon that ends Somalia’s sovereignty.
Let us be clear: the international community is not neutral. They are managing Somalia, not supporting it. They prefer local administrators over national reformers because local politics is easier to manipulate. Jubaland is useful as it is—divided, dependent, and distracted. And that usefulness comes at the cost of national strength.
My forecast is this: if this model continues unchecked, Somalia will not break—it will dissolve. The people will still call it Somalia, but the systems will function like disconnected islands. Ports will answer to foreign investors, not Mogadishu. Security will be handled by clan militias, not national command. Elections will be theater, not sovereignty.
I do not say this as a pessimist. I say it as a man who has watched states die from the inside. I do not warn as a politician. I warn as a man who has seen maps change, leaders fall, and nations disappear. And Somalia, my country, is sleepwalking toward erasure—one federal illusion at a time.
By Joocaar Galaayuus
Former Staff, Ministry of Defence (1980–1986) | PhD in State Formation
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