The day after 15 May

The eyes of those concerned with Somalia reflect a similar color: a familiar uncertainty. The elections remain uncertain. The current administration has announced, through the prime minister, that they will remain in office for one more year. Yes, it’s not the first time Somalia is dealing with overdue elections. We faced the same situation in 2016 and subsequently in 2021. Yet this time, it feels more uncertain than familiar. For the first time since the federal system began twenty-five years ago, Somalis, divided along clan and administrative lines, are operating under two constitutions and different political systems. They also seem to have lost faith in persuading one another through dialogue.

Although the disagreement revolves around the electoral process, as it has always done, this time it coincides with a novel development that further complicates the situation. Somalia’s provisional constitution has been amended, and a new constitution has been adopted. The federal parliament has greenlit the new constitution, and Somalia’s president, Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, has signed it into law. This has effectively put the country into a constitutional crisis. This constitutional rupture has led to the collapse of the stakeholder principle, which balanced the powers of the federal government and its member states and, in turn, fostered trust among the clans in the system.

The federal government and its member states have always sought to expand their powers at the expense of the other; however, two factors have hindered their aims. The first was the constitutional norm of dividing power among clans, which created checks and balances among political actors. This norm, for example, gave almost equal powers to the president and the prime minister, and since it often led to political deadlock between the two, presidents did not like it. None of them, however, could escape its shackles until former president Mohamed Abdullahi Farmaajo found a way. He nominated a prime minister who would be lenient toward him, and, in turn, the prime minister assembled a cabinet, most of whom were members of parliament.

The president managed to avoid conflicts with his prime minister, and the prime minister was safe from impeachment. On the other hand, the move made the parliament and the executive branch a single entity rather than two separate counterbalancing institutions. It also united the interests of the president and the prime minister, which made the latter lose the trust of the clans he represented until he broke with the president.

The current president followed in his predecessor's footsteps. Not only did he nominate a loyal prime minister, but he also adopted a new constitution that shifted the country’s political system from parliamentary to presidential. Although the president later retracted some of these changes, the prime minister's position remains virtually powerless. Consequently, the clans represented by the prime minister have lost their stake in the government and have withdrawn their trust in him. As a result, the prime minister, who could have been integral to resolving the current electoral disagreements, cannot even visit his home state.

More significantly, the adoption of the new constitution has shaken up the federal system, prompting Puntland and Jubbaland to declare their withdrawal from the federation in response to the reforms. This means the stakeholder principle has effectively ended, as both its clan and state layers have collapsed.

Now that the stakeholder principle is out the window, we are left only with the second factor that has always curbed politicians' ambitions and carved out roadmaps when Somalis ran out of roads: the international community.

The international community has played two major roles in Somali politics over the past two decades. First, it served as the ultimate arbiter whenever stakeholders reached an impasse, mediating their positions and, when needed, issuing verdicts, such as removal from office, as the Kampala Accord did. However, this role has largely faded since the federal government transitioned from a transitional to a permanent government in 2012. Yet it has its international legitimacy card, which it played four years ago when the country faced a similar problem.

Second, the international community has been the bondholder that determines the stake each political actor can have and the costs they may incur if they overstep their share. These bonds existed both as development projects and as a means of international legitimacy. For instance, they decided which states were legitimate, even when that contradicted the federal government, and paused aid or threatened to do so when a stakeholder did not heed them. These international bonds held the stakeholders together, even when their interests clearly pointed to dividing the country into spheres of influence among them, just as the warlords before them had.

Unfortunately, the international community is no longer the sole bondholder. Regional powers, such as the UAE, Qatar, and Turkey, have recently provided stakeholders with development funds, arms, and even hard cash. Given their overwhelming influence and Israel’s recent recognition of Somaliland, Somalia increasingly dances to the tune of Middle Eastern politics rather than to that of the Horn. As a result, these actors, pursuing their own conflicting interests, have sidelined the international community’s goal of rebuilding Somalia as a single nation.

The receding influence of the international community also stems from internal factors. Faced with financial constraints and limited progress on the nation-building project on the ground, donor countries were already disappointed with the country's political trajectory. Trump’s America First foreign policy, including halting aid to Somalia, may have been the final nail in the coffin for the international community.

As the stakeholder principle collapsed and the international community is no longer as influential as it used to be, what is likely to happen the day after 15 May?

There are four likely scenarios, of which only one offers hope. The hopeful and somewhat more likely scenario is to resuscitate the federation by returning to the previously agreed-upon constitution and establishing a consensus electoral process. The international community is, of course, the only party that can make that possible at this stage. It is indeed less influential now due to the aforementioned reasons, but it still retains both financial and legal leverage to exert pressure, particularly on the president.

The second scenario is parallel governments. Some opposition candidates have already hinted that they will hold their own elections as Plan B. This alternative, however, faces two challenges. The first is funding for these elections. The second and more serious obstacle is whether all the opposition sides would agree upon this process. It is not, for instance, clear what Puntland and Jubbaland would gain from this alternative process.

This leads me to the third scenario, which I call the wait-and-see approach. While opposition candidates in Mogadishu will soon begin challenging the man in power, leaders in Puntland and Jubbaland may opt to wait it out. This mirrors what the elites in the North-Eastern regions did as Ali Mahdi and Aidid faced off in Mogadishu, before they finally decided to move on and build their own administration, Puntland, eight years later.

The wait-and-see approach may finally lead to one of two possibilities. One, the elites in Mogadishu may reach a settlement that Puntland and Jubbaland can agree to join. Two, it may lead to a prolonged civil war in Mogadishu, pushing Puntland and Jubbaland to pursue their own statehood.

This brings me to the final scenario, which I call 1991 on steroids. Two things happened after the state collapsed in 1991. The first was the armed conflict between the fronts over power and legitimacy in Mogadishu. The second was the declaration of Somaliland's secession from the union. Neither is far-fetched after 15 May. First, Mogadishu is replete with arms in the hands of the people, as the opposition likes to remind the government. Order in Mogadishu, therefore, results more from people’s allegiance to the legitimate authority than from the government’s security apparatus.

Second, declaring separation from Somalia is the least costly way for Puntland and Jubbaland to renegotiate with Mogadishu, given the collapse of the federal system, and to draw the international community's attention. Of course, their declaration will not be followed by international recognition. Still, it will give them status as status quo states, which other states have no choice but to deal with as such, especially if the rest of the country descends into civil war. Moreover, these two states can maintain the pretext that Mogadishu, not they, first broke away from the federation when it annulled the constitution, thereby lending public support to their course of action. Given these calculations, the 1991 on steroids may be more likely than many might think.

Whatever happens after 15 May, Somalia might not be the same. This outgoing administration and its predecessor have proven right those who fear repression, looting, or killing in the name of the state. The administrations in Mogadishu have begun resorting to violence as a preferred option when they disagree with member states, as they did in Jubbaland and, more recently, in the South West State. This has partly accelerated Somaliland's warm embrace of Israel. Others, such as those in Puntland, are feeling a sense of déjà vu of the Barre regime. This behooves member states to secure greater power concessions from the federal government before it turns into a leviathan.