Somaliland elections postmortem: did you say change?

On 13 November, Somalilanders went to the polls in an election widely expected to be a decisive moment in its history. The stakes were high. This was not merely about electing a president or deciding which political associations would attain the coveted status of recognised parties. It was, in effect, a referendum on the direction of a nation wrestling with discontent, uncertainty, and a growing demand for change. When the results were announced, the outcome was unequivocal: Abdirahman Mohamed Abdullahi Irro of the Waddani Party had secured a decisive victory over the incumbent with 63% of the vote, Muse Bihi Abdi of the Kulmiye Party.

This was not merely about Irro’s victory and he seemed to realise that too. In a televised address after the result was announced he said: “This election is not a win or loss for the candidates. It was an election of unity and fraternity and pushing ahead the Somaliland nation”. It was a resounding rejection of the Kulmiye administration’s 14-year grip on power. Under Bihi, Somaliland endured a tumultuous era marked by delayed elections, political repression, and economic stagnation. His tenure alienated not only the opposition but also significant segments of the electorate, particularly the youth. The Kulmiye government’s failure to deliver on key promises—most notably securing international recognition—became emblematic of broader shortcomings in governance. Meanwhile, the crisis in Las Anod, worsened by a heavy-handed response to protests, underscored Bihi’s inability to tackle the country’s deep-rooted challenges.

The youth, many of whom have only known Somaliland under Kulmiye’s rule, were central to the election’s momentum. They turned to platforms such as Facebook and TikTok to voice their frustrations over unfulfilled promises and rising inequality. The election became a rallying point, with the Waddani Party serving as a vehicle for their aspirations, even if its platform lacked concrete and specific solutions. Their slogan of walaalayn—“brotherhood”—struck a chord.  

While the opposition’s “force for change” mantra garnered significant support however, they lacked clarity and a coherent agenda beyond mobilising general dissatisfaction with the status quo. This dissatisfaction had been exacerbated by a period of profound geopolitical and economic turmoil globally which meant Bihi was bound to end up in what Financial Times has called 2024’s “graveyard of incumbents”. This sentiment resonated particularly strongly among those who, despite their calls for change, were uncertain about the concrete reforms being proposed, raising questions about the extent to which this was just a vote against Bihi.  

While the opposition’s “force for change” mantra garnered significant support however, they lacked clarity and a coherent agenda beyond mobilising general dissatisfaction with the status quo.

At the heart of this election lay a critical question: what did “change” actually mean? The pre-election climate was rife with ambiguity. While the Waddani Party positioned itself as a force for transformation, its rhetoric often felt hollow, relying on slogans rather than offering a clear plan for governance. Critics rightly pointed out that Waddani’s proposals appeared to echo Kulmiye’s playbook of vague promises, offering little substance beyond presenting a fresh face.

This scepticism reflected a deeper malaise within Somaliland’s political landscape. The election was not merely a choice between Irro and Bihi but a broader commentary on a political system dominated by ageing elites who recycled alliances and loyalties for personal gain. In a widely viewed interview with BBC Somali for example, Bihi was unable to outline even a single difference between himself and Irro on policy. The phenomenon of “political tourism,” where figures move between parties with little regard for ideology, has further disillusioned voters. Among the ten political associations vying for recognition, seven were led by individuals deeply entrenched in the existing system, ensuring that, for many, the promise of change remained elusive.

Somaliland’s unique political framework, which limits the number of recognised parties to three, added an extra layer of significance to this election. This system, designed to prevent the chaos of unchecked party proliferation seen in the 1960s, requires parties to compete for survival every decade. This year, Waddani and Kulmiye retained their positions, while the Kaah Association ousted the long-standing UCID Party. While this mechanism fosters competition, it also entrenches the dominance of established elites, making genuine political reform an uphill struggle.

It creates an insurmountable barrier to entry for new players.

On election day, voters turned out in substantial numbers, reflecting a populace eager to make their voices heard despite the system’s flaws. Observers reported a peaceful and orderly process, underscoring Somaliland’s commitment to democratic practices. However, the lead-up to the vote was far from smooth. The campaign period was marred by incidents that exposed the fragility of Somaliland’s democracy. Armed individuals were spotted at a Kulmiye rally, violent clashes erupted between supporters of rival parties, and nighttime rallies were eventually cancelled, highlighting the tense atmosphere.

In his victory speech, Irro sought to heal these divisions. He framed his win not as a triumph for one party but as a milestone of unity and progress for the nation. His words resonated with a public weary of the divisions and stagnation that had defined the past decade. Yet, translating this rhetoric into meaningful action will be a monumental challenge.

He framed his win not as a triumph for one party but as a milestone of unity and progress for the nation. His words resonated with a public weary of the divisions and stagnation that had defined the past decade.

The challenges Irro inherits are immense. As Matthew B. Gordon noted in an interview with Geeska, the centralisation of power under the Bihi administration, coupled with the superficial formalisation of state politics, has created a situation where leaders no longer have the same incentives to compromise, “instead relying on foreign patrons and technologies of statecraft to subordinate challengers, sometimes with violent consequences”.

This has weakened what he describes as the “intimate” bonds that hold the people of Somaliland together. The most dramatic example of this is in Sool, where Hargeisa has lost control of the region to local forces, and access to and from it remains blocked on the highway east. The outgoing administration’s militarised approach has only deepened grievances, and Irro’s pledge to pursue dialogue will test his ability to navigate the complexities of clan politics.  

On the international stage, Somaliland’s unrecognised status remains its greatest obstacle. While the country’s democratic practices have garnered widespread admiration, they have yet to translate into the legitimacy required to secure meaningful international support.  

There have, however, been encouraging signs for Somalilanders, with the incoming Trump administration appearing poised to appoint sympathisers such as Peter Pham, according to Rashid Abdi. Abdisalam Yassin, a professor in Hargeisa, has also pointed out that a stronger Republican grip on the Senate may provide greater room for manoeuvre for other allies of Somaliland, such as James E. Risch. Gavin Williamson, a Tory MP dubbed an “independence hero” by the Times for his support for Somaliland’s secession, told the Independent this week that he expects the Trump administration to recognise Somaliland’s independence following meetings with his officials. “They should agree to it, though when he assumes office it will probably all take a little longer than we hope,” he said. “But had really good meetings with his policy leads so fingers crossed.”

This all comes off the back of an extremely turbulent year in which Bihi signed a deal with Ethiopia which apparently promised recognition for a part of Somaliland’s coast.  

While these signs are promising, Irro must avoid the missteps of Bihi. His unwillingness to engage the public has alienated sections of Somaliland’s population and turned several key regional countries, including Djibouti, against Hargeisa.

It was all this that Somaliland’s public thoroughly rejected.  

This election was not merely about leadership; it was about the very fabric of Somaliland’s political culture. For decades, clan allegiances and entrenched elites have shaped the republic’s trajectory at the expense of genuine reform. With Irro, Somaliland has seen change—but what kind of change? Is he simply the new face of the same disappointing politics, or can Waddani deliver a new dawn?

This election was not merely about leadership; it was about the very fabric of Somaliland’s political culture.

Somaliland’s government has demonstrated remarkable durability. In East Africa, the lifespan of regimes tends to be around three to four decades. Omar al-Bashir’s Al-Ingaz regime endured from the late 1980s until 2018. Siad Barre ruled from 1969 to 1991 before his regime collapsed, while both Mengistu Hailemariam and Meles Zenawi held power for a similar length of time. This is a testament to what has been achieved, but for Somaliland, resting on its laurels and accepting praise for merely maintaining peace cannot be sufficient.

It is fair to assert that Somaliland has succeeded in establishing a democratic foundation and a model of free voting, granting citizens the opportunity to effect change. This is a privilege unavailable in many neighbouring countries and nearly impossible in the Arab world today following an autocratic counterevolution. Such a significant achievement must be safeguarded, with each individual voting according to their convictions. However, alongside this progress, we must work tirelessly to ignite meaningful discussions about genuine change. The “change” championed by a chorus of social media influencers (whom I hesitate to call intellectuals) must not obscure the pressing challenges that threaten Somaliland's very existence as a political entity.

If I may offer some suggestions to improve Somaliland’s political process, I find myself compelled to reiterate the points I made during the 2017 elections. First, the House of Elders should be dissolved and replaced with an elected chamber, similar to other councils. Its existence poses a significant obstacle to Somaliland’s democratic transition. Second, the political field should be opened to allow individual candidacies for council seats, rather than restricting them to party systems. Finally, party-switching must be banned. Any member who resigns from the party, list, or coalition through which they were elected should automatically forfeit their status as a representative of the people.

Somaliland’s democratic experiment, for all its imperfections, remains a beacon in a region plagued by authoritarianism and instability. However, its survival depends on more than peaceful transitions of power. It requires addressing the deeper issues that undermine its progress—an ossified political elite, reliance on clan politics, and an economic model that fails to uplift its citizens.  

Irro’s victory represents a moment of potential, an opportunity to redefine what Somaliland can become. Yet it is also fraught with risk. If the Waddani administration fails to deliver, public cynicism will only deepen, and the hope for change could give way to widespread disillusionment. Somaliland stands at a crossroads, and its future depends not on the promises of its leaders but on their ability to act decisively and inclusively. This election may have marked the end of an era, but whether it ushers in the beginning of something truly new remains to be seen.