Introduction
Somalia’s experiment with federalism is under intense scrutiny amid signs that power is gravitating back to Mogadishu. Nominally a federal republic, the country is showing symptoms of de facto centralization that betray the promises of its constitution.
Recent developments amplify this concern: the Puntland State has openly withdrawn cooperation with the Federal Government, even refusing to recognize Mogadishu’s authority until a constitutional settlement is reached. Other regional leaders are equally wary. Jubaland’s President, for instance, accuses Villa Somalia (the Somali presidency) of undermining his administration’s autonomy and security for political ends.
These rifts reflect growing suspicions that the federal model is being subverted. This article offers a sober diagnosis of Somalia’s political trajectory – questioning whether Somalia is truly governed as a federal republic or sliding into a centralized “capital-state” – and issues a strategic warning against the dangers of this trend.
Fragile federalism
Somalia’s federal system was conceived in the mid-2000s as a grand bargain to end decades of civil strife. The 2004 Transitional Federal Government (TFG), born out of reconciliation conferences in Kenya, was built on a 4.5 power-sharing formula to distribute power among clans and warlords.
It laid the groundwork for a decentralized order, including an Independent Constitutional Committee tasked with drafting a federal constitution. By 2012, Somalia had a Provisional Federal Constitution and a new Federal Government, and in the ensuing years federal member states like Jubaland and Puntland were formed. The vision was clear: a nation reunited through autonomy and power-sharing after years of fragmentation.
Yet that vision remains painfully fragile. Over a decade since the federal project began, the balance of power between Mogadishu and the regions is still bitterly contested. Far from ushering in harmony, the federal framework has often been reduced to a symbolic façade.
Today, Mogadishu’s actions increasingly sideline federal member states instead of empowering them. Puntland – once a staunch proponent of federalism – has repeatedly protested what it sees as unilateral overreach by the center. It first pulled out of federal-state collaboration forums in 2021 and 2022, and by 2024 it fully suspended ties, accusing President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud of derailing the federal project with unconstitutional maneuvers.
Jubaland, for its part, has bristled at interference in its local affairs; its leader Ahmed Madobe even pursued independent diplomatic contacts and security arrangements when relations with Villa Somalia soured. In late 2024, Jubaland openly boycotted federal meetings after Mogadishu attempted to influence the extension of state administrations’ mandates without local consent.
Such episodes underscore that Somalia’s “federalism” often operates in name only. Instead of genuine shared governance, power has tilted toward the center, raising fears that federalism is being treated merely as a box to tick. The historical promise of reconciliation and autonomy is at risk, as central authorities tighten their grip and regional actors grow increasingly defiant. This tug-of-war between center and periphery keeps Somalia’s statehood precarious and its federal ideals fragile.
Constitutional reforms and power centralization
The flashpoint of Somalia’s current political crisis is the ambitious constitutional reform agenda pursued by President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud’s administration. In 2023–2024, Villa Somalia championed a raft of constitutional amendments billed as overdue updates to Somalia’s governance charter – but which critics say were designed to concentrate power at the center.
These amendments, pushed through Somalia’s bicameral parliament in March 2024, made sweeping changes: the president now has explicit power to appoint and dismiss the prime minister at will, removing the previous requirement of parliamentary confidence for a PM.
The term of all elected bodies was standardized to five years, and the door was opened for a streamlined party system, ostensibly to pave the way for universal “one person, one vote” elections. Proponents argued these steps would strengthen national institutions and end the era of indirect clan-based politics.
However, the process and content of the reforms raised alarms about a creeping centralization of authority. President Mohamud’s push for amendments was widely seen as unilateral and rushed – “a bid to centralize authority” in the words of observers.
The changes initially even contemplated abolishing the prime minister’s post entirely in favor of a presidential system with a vice-president, until that notion was dropped under pressure. Puntland’s leadership vehemently objected to the amendment drive from the outset. Puntland’s President, Said Abdullahi Deni, refused to sign onto the reform process, warning that Mogadishu was overriding the consensus-based approach that federalism requires.
When parliament proceeded to approve the new chapters regardless, Puntland declared the outcome illegitimate and suspended its cooperation with the Federal Government, effectively withdrawing from the federation until a “mutually agreed constitutional process” could be established. This marked an unprecedented showdown: a federal member state openly rejecting the federal government’s constitutional authority.
Puntland officials argued that the hurried amendments – notably the introduction of universal suffrage and reconfiguration of executive powers – were less about democratization and more about consolidating Villa Somalia’s control.
Their fears were echoed by a coalition of Somali political heavyweights (including two former prime ministers and ex-presidents) who issued a joint statement condemning President Mohamud for leading the nation “down a dark path” and jeopardizing state-building by forcing through controversial constitutional changes without broad buy-in.
Dismissing these concerns, the federal government insists the reforms aim to strengthen national governance and accountability. Yet the question remains: are these changes truly in service of a stronger Somalia, or simply a means for the central government to tighten its hold over the country’s political system? The opaque manner of their adoption – with minimal consultation of federal member states or civil society – suggests the latter to many.
Indeed, opposition voices warn that lofty initiatives like “one person, one vote” have been used as a pretext for power entrenchment; what should be a democratic milestone is seen instead as “a façade for extending the president’s term” and sidelining rivals.
The constitutional overhaul, rather than renewing a social contract, risks deepening the trust deficit between Mogadishu and the regions, fueling the narrative that central authorities are rewriting the rules to serve themselves.
The international factor
Somalia’s internal power struggle does not occur in a vacuum – it is enmeshed in a web of regional and global influences that often amplify the centralization trend. Mogadishu today is courted by multiple foreign powers whose strategic agendas sometimes encourage a stronger central government (to be their primary interlocutor) at the expense of the federal balance.
Chief among these actors is Turkey, which over the past decade has become Somalia’s closest military and economic patron. Turkey established a major military training base in Mogadishu in 2017 and has trained elite Somali units (Gorgor commandos) since then.
In 2024, Ankara doubled down with two high-profile agreements: a maritime security pact granting Turkey a role in rebuilding Somalia’s navy and a share of 30% of revenue from Somalia’s maritime resources, and an oil exploration deal positioning Turkish state companies to help exploit Somalia’s hydrocarbon reserves.
These deals deepen Somalia’s dependence on Turkey and solidify Ankara’s influence over Somali policy. Turkey portrays its involvement as mutually beneficial – enhancing Somalia’s security and prosperity – but it undeniably boosts Ankara’s leverage in Villa Somalia. Indeed, when Somalia’s parliament passed the controversial constitutional amendments in 2024, Turkey was quick to expand support, even deploying 500 troops to Mogadishu in early 2025 to bolster Somali forces against Al-Shabaab.
This unprecedented deployment, done at Somalia’s request, underscores how entwined Somalia’s security has become with foreign guardianship. Qatar, an ally of Turkey, has likewise offered unwavering support to Somalia’s federal government, pledging aid and investment while backing Mogadishu’s sovereignty and unity.
Counterbalancing this Turkish-Qatari axis is a rival bloc centered on the United Arab Emirates and its partners. The UAE historically regarded Somalia (and the wider Horn of Africa) as critical to its Red Sea interests and engaged by building influence with autonomous regions when relations with Mogadishu turned sour.
Notably, the UAE cultivated ties with Somaliland and Puntland – financing port projects and training local security forces – which some viewed as undercutting Somalia’s unity. Tensions spiked in the late 2010s when Mogadishu tilted toward Qatar; the UAE responded by scaling back direct aid and instead bolstering breakaway Somaliland with investments in Berbera port and even discussing recognition.
In early 2023, Abu Dhabi seemingly encouraged Ethiopia to strike a controversial bargain with Somaliland: exchanging Ethiopian diplomatic recognition of Somaliland for access to Somaliland’s Red Sea ports and a military base lease.
This maneuver, effectively bypassing Somalia’s federal authority, highlights how external powers can play Somalia’s regions against the center in pursuit of their own interests. After Mogadishu’s 2024 pivot toward Turkey (with the oil and security MOUs), the UAE reacted sharply – drastically cutting its support for the Somali National Army, including a halt to stipends it had been paying to thousands of Somali soldiers.
UAE officials viewed Somalia’s Turkish deals as a threat to their influence, and they doubled down on backing Somalia’s peripheral actors. Analysts note that Abu Dhabi is likely to “reinforce its position” by investing further in Puntland, Somaliland, and even Ethiopia, rather than channel support through Villa Somalia.
This great-power rivalry has effectively turned Somalia into a proxy arena: Mogadishu’s policies are often swayed by whichever foreign partner is ascendant. While President Mohamud’s government welcomes foreign assistance as vital for state-building, there is a fine line between partnership and patronage.
Ethiopia’s role is a case in point. Long a dominant player in Somali affairs, Ethiopia under Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed has its own ambitions – notably securing Red Sea access. Addis Ababa officially supports Somalia’s federal government, contributing troops to the African Union mission, but it has also not hesitated to pursue unilateral interests.
The reported Ethiopia-Somaliland understanding for port access in exchange for tacit recognition was a wake-up call: it signaled Ethiopia’s willingness to reshape Somalia’s territorial integrity to serve Ethiopian strategic needs.
Furthermore, Ethiopian forces have occasionally intervened in Somali regions (like Gedo) without clear coordination with Mogadishu, reflecting a mindset that treats Somalia as a sphere of influence. All these external entanglements raise the question: Is Somalia’s current centralization drive partly a product of foreign designs? To some extent, yes. A strong Villa Somalia can be advantageous for allies like Turkey and Qatar who prefer dealing with one central authority, whereas rivals like the UAE might then empower dissenting regions.
The danger Is that Somalia becomes a mere platform for others’ geostrategic contests – its governance molded less by the needs of its people and more by the calculus of Ankara, Abu Dhabi, or Addis Ababa. The critique here is not a call for isolationism; Somalia benefits from international support.
Rather, it is a call for pro-sovereignty engagement: partnerships that bolster Somali institutions without usurping them. Without careful management, external influence can further distort Somalia’s federal project, as deals are struck and troops deployed in ways that recentralize power or aggravate regional divides.
Somalia’s leaders must avoid letting the country devolve into a patchwork of foreign spheres of influence, and insist that international help strengthens an inclusive national framework instead of undermining it.
Governance and institutional integrity
The health of Somalia’s nascent institutions is another barometer of its political direction – and the readings are troubling. Under the current administration, key pillars of governance that should undergird a federal republic have been bent toward serving a central agenda. The Federal Parliament, for instance, has largely ceased to function as an independent legislative check.
The speaker of the Lower House proudly announced that the constitutional amendments passed in 2024 did so unanimously, with not a single dissent. Such unanimity, in a polarized polity, is less a sign of consensus than of acquiescence. Indeed, Somali MPs themselves (a dissident caucus of them) lament that Parliament has been reduced to a rubber stamp for Villa Somalia’s decisions. Instead of robust debate and accountability, lawmakers are accused of prioritizing personal gain and presidential favor over the national interest.
The result has been the passage of questionable laws and the approval of major initiatives without proper procedure or inclusive deliberation. This erosion of parliamentary independence hollows out one of federalism’s core guarantees – that all communities have a genuine voice in central governance.
A similar pattern is visible in the judiciary and other institutions. Somalia still lacks a Constitutional Court, meaning constitutional disputes (such as the legality of Mogadishu’s recent reforms) have no neutral arbiter. Yet instead of building an impartial judiciary, the federal leadership has been accused of exploiting courts for political ends.
In the Jubaland standoff, for example, courts and security agencies were reportedly used to harass opponents and lend a veneer of legality to what were nakedly political moves. “Politicizing the judiciary undermines its independence, eroding public confidence in state institutions,” a group of Somali parliamentarians warned in late 2024. Rule of law suffers when judges toe the line of the executive, and citizens come to see justice as an arm of Villa Somalia. Likewise, the security forces have seen their integrity compromised by political capture.
The National Intelligence and Security Agency (NISA) and segments of the army have frequently been led by figures with close personal loyalty to the president of the day, a trend that continues. Reports indicate that national forces have been selectively deployed not just against Al-Shabaab, but against domestic rivals or restive regions.
In one striking allegation, troops and resources meant to fight terrorists were diverted to “destabilize peaceful areas” like Jubaland’s Gedo region for political agendas. Such actions fracture the army along clan lines and regions, exactly what a federal system aims to avoid. When soldiers from one clan or state are ordered to meddle in another state’s affairs, it breeds resentment and undermines the concept of a unified national force.
Perhaps the most telling symptom of institutional decay is the climate of fear and mistrust that pervades Somali politics today. Instead of a confident federation debating its future openly, there is a “fear culture” setting in. Opposition politicians and regional leaders operate under constant threat of intimidation or coercion.
Former President Sharif Sheikh Ahmed recently sounded the alarm about the safety of opposition figures, warning that the government’s heavy-handed disarmament campaigns – ostensibly aimed at security – are actually leaving political rivals defenseless and silencing dissent. “All voices must be able to participate… without fear,” Sharif urged, highlighting the need to protect political freedoms even as the government pursues security objectives.
His plea hints at an atmosphere where critics of Villa Somalia feel unsafe, and where voicing disagreement can carry risks. Such fear is anathema to healthy federalism, which requires trust and open dialogue between center and states. Instead, the prevailing model incentivizes loyalty to the center and punishes divergence – federal member state presidents who fall out with Mogadishu face financial cuts, political isolation, or worse.
The net effect is a steady loss of institutional integrity. Parliament’s subservience, judiciary’s compromise, and a muzzled opposition all combine to undermine the legitimacy of the federal government. A government that cannot tolerate scrutiny or alternate viewpoints quickly loses credibility in the eyes of its people.
If federalism’s promise was a government of national unity in diversity, the reality is looking more like one-party or one-clique rule in much of the country. Without urgent reforms to strengthen checks and balances – empowering parliamentary committees, establishing a constitutional court, professionalizing the civil service and army – Somalia’s institutions will remain brittle.
This brittleness is dangerous: it means that when crises arise, people may place their loyalties in clans or militias rather than in national bodies that they see as captured. The current trajectory, if not corrected, points toward a collapse of public faith in the very institutions that Somalia has labored to build over the past decade.
Security and Al-Shabaab
One of the most devastating consequences of Somalia’s political dysfunction has been its impact on national security, specifically the fight against Al-Shabaab. After some progress in the previous two years, Somalia’s campaign against the Al-Shabaab insurgency has faltered, and the group is resurging in 2024–2025. In the summer and fall of 2022, President Mohamud declared a “total war” on Al-Shabaab and initially, local clan militias (Ma’awisley) and the Somali National Army (SNA) scored notable victories, pushing the militants out of parts of central Somalia.
But those gains have proven difficult to sustain. By late 2024, Al-Shabaab demonstrated a chilling resurgence: it launched a series of counteroffensives that reclaimed lost ground and more. In one instance, Al-Shabaab forces overran a major army base at Adan Yabal in Middle Shabelle region, a former stronghold that government troops had liberated just a year earlier.
This assault was not an isolated incident – it came after the militants methodically advanced through dozens of towns and villages in the Hiran and Shabelle areas, rolling back the government’s short-lived territorial gains. The development sent shockwaves through the country, heightening fears that Al-Shabaab was not defeated at all but merely biding its time.
Indeed, despite heavy casualties inflicted on the group by U.S. airstrikes and Somali operations, Al-Shabaab retains the ability to mass forces and strike hard where the national forces are overstretched.
That word – overstretched – encapsulates the plight of Somalia’s security forces. The SNA and police are attempting to do it all: hold liberated areas in the south, continue offensive operations in the center, secure major urban centers, and also respond to clan conflicts or political flare-ups instigated by the center-periphery dispute.
With the drawdown of the African Union’s ATMIS peacekeepers (scheduled to fully exit by end of 2024), Somali forces face even greater pressure to fill security gaps. Yet the Somali military, for all its bravery, remains a patchwork rather than a cohesive national army.
Endemic clan loyalties and political rifts have prevented the emergence of a unified command; instead, the SNA is composed of regional militia integrations and elite units trained by different foreign patrons. While special forces like Danab (trained by the U.S.) and Gorgor (trained by Turkey) are relatively effective, they are small in number and “heavily dependent on external funding and expertise.”
Basic infantry units often lack equipment, regular pay, and even clarity of mission – problems exacerbated when federal and state leaders squabble. International donors have poured resources into Somalia’s security sector (the U.S., EU, Turkey, UAE, and others collectively finance salaries, training, and logistics), yet the return on investment is questionable.
Morale among Somali troops has been tested by high casualties and the sense that they are fighting an endless war with insufficient support. It does not help morale when soldiers perceive that their sacrifices are undermined by political games. For example, troops from one federal state are reluctant to risk their lives in another region if they believe it’s to prop up Mogadishu’s influence rather than purely to defeat Al-Shabaab.
The stagnation of the anti-Shabaab offensive in 2024 is partially attributed to such issues: the frontlines stalled as some local clan fighters refused to advance further without greater federal-local coordination, and as the army got bogged down guarding territory while dealing with political distractions.
Critics point out that even as the international community funnels weapons and funds to fight Al-Shabaab, Mogadishu’s leadership has been diverting attention to sidelining domestic rivals. A blunt assessment by Somali MPs at the end of 2024 noted that the war effort “stagnated” because national forces were being misused – divided along clan lines and sent to stabilize or destabilize political arenas rather than focusing on the common enemy.
This is a dangerous predicament. A demoralized, divided security force gives Al-Shabaab exactly the opening it seeks. Already, the militants have been quick to exploit Somali clan grievances, portraying themselves as an alternative source of justice and order in areas where the government appears absent or biased.
They continue to run shadow administrations in large swathes of the countryside, collecting taxes and dispensing harsh but accepted judgments, thereby maintaining a support base or at least acquiescence from segments of the population. If the federal government cannot dramatically improve both the unity and the effectiveness of its security approach, Al-Shabaab stands to gain further in 2025. Somalia’s international partners are alarmed at this prospect – the prospect that, after almost two decades of support, Somalia could slide backward in its fight against terrorism.
There are even whispers among analysts of worst-case scenarios: a fragmented Somali state where Al-Shabaab controls much of the south and the internationally recognized government is reduced to a city-state in Mogadishu protected by foreign troops.
That outcome must be averted at all costs, but it is not impossible if current trends continue. Saving Somalia from such a fate will require depoliticizing the security forces, reconciling with disenfranchised communities that Al-Shabaab preys upon, and restoring confidence that the federal government is prioritizing the war over its own power intrigues.
Conclusion and strategic warning
Somalia today stands perilously at a crossroads. The noble vision of a federal republic – where power is shared to unite a diverse nation – is slipping away, replaced by a narrow focus on Mogadishu’s dominance.
Increasingly, Somalis warn that the country is evolving into “Xamar Koofureed,” a term of foreboding that implies Somalia becoming little more than “Mogadishu and its southern environs,” in effect a centralized capital-state ruling over a fragmented periphery.
All evidence in 2024–2025 points to this trajectory: unilateral constitutional changes, estranged federal member states, foreign deals struck without consensus, and a weakening of any institution that could check the center. If this path continues, Somalia risks a return to the bad old days – not necessarily of all-out civil war, but of de facto partition and chronic instability.
Puntland’s flirtation with independence and Jubaland’s armed standoffs with federal troops are early warning signs of what further fragmentation could look like. In the face of an emboldened Al-Shabaab insurgency, such political disunity is nothing short of an existential threat.
The strategic warning is clear. Somalia’s leaders, especially in Villa Somalia, must pull back from the brink of centralist overreach. Rebalancing the federal arrangement is not a luxury or a foreign-imposed nicety; it is the only formula by which Somalia can endure as a unified nation. The country’s own recent history shows that attempts to impose centralized rule (in the 2010s or under past dictators) inevitably met fierce resistance and collapse.
To avoid repeating that cycle, Mogadishu should immediately seek an inclusive dialogue with all federal member states and political stakeholders – a national reconciliation and reform conference akin to those that birthed the federal system two decades ago. The goal should be to address grievances and revise the constitutional framework in an inclusive manner, recommitting to genuine power-sharing.
Somalia needs to rediscover a national vision that goes beyond clan and personal interests, a vision that brings Puntland, Jubaland, Southwest, Galmudug, Hirshabelle, and Somaliland (should it choose to re-engage) into a shared project of state-building. Without such a course correction, the current approach will lead to irreversible damage: the collapse of what little trust remains in the federal government, the emboldening of secessionist sentiments, and potentially the loss of vast territories to insurgents.
As one group of Somali parliamentarians starkly put it, *“Somalia is at a crossroads. Wisdom and national interest must prevail before irreversible damage is done.” Now is the time to heed that warning. Somalia’s international partners, too, should condition their support on steps toward inclusive governance, lest their aid inadvertently bankroll a march toward authoritarianism or state failure. In conclusion, the trend toward a centralized “Xamar” statelet can and must be halted.
With inclusive reform and a renewed commitment to the federal balance, Somalia can still revive the promise of unity in diversity that federalism offered. The alternative is a dismembered republic – something Somalis and their friends around the world must work tirelessly to prevent. The hour is late, but not too late for Somalia to choose a different path.
By: Joocaar A. ”Galaayuus” is a Somali political analyst and former Ministry of Defence official (1980–1986).
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author(s) and do not necessarily represent the official stance of Caasimada Online or its members.
