By Mohamed A Yasin

In stable governance systems, the line between politics and administration is not blurred, it is protected. Civil servants mandate is to operate as a professional, nonpartisan engine of government, serving the state with continuity and integrity regardless of who holds power. That line is now under strain in Puntland, and the implications are far more serious than a single public statement.

What began as a routine rebuttal to an opposition figure has now escalated into a test of institutional discipline—one that Puntland’s leadership cannot afford to ignore.At the center of the controversy is not the Calmiskaad campaign itself, nor even the criticism leveled against it by former Finance Minister Hassan Shire Abgaal. Governments are challenged; opposition figures contest official narratives. That is the nature of politics. The real issue is who chose to respond—and what that response represents.

In this case, it was not a minister, not a government spokesperson, and not the presidency. It was the Director General of the Ministry of Finance, Mr. Ahmed Jama Jowle—a career civil servant—who stepped forward to issue a strongly worded political rebuttal. In doing so, he crossed a line that, in functioning systems, is not merely symbolic but foundational.

And then there is the question of character—because in politics, patterns matter.What makes this episode particularly see-through is the Director General’s own trajectory. Mr. Ahmed Jama Jowle, was two years back the personal secretary to the very same former Finance Minister, Hassan Shire Abgaal, whom he now publicly rebukes.

That is not a trivial detail—it is telling. It suggests not a shift in principle, but a shift in alignment. Yesterday’s subordinate has become today’s accuser, without any change in role—only a change in where power sits.

This raises a simple but uncomfortable question: is this about defending policy, or defending position? If loyalty can pivot this easily, then what we are seeing is not institutional discipline, but political opportunism. And when opportunism enters the civil service, neutrality disappears.

Today it is a former minister of Finance Mr. Hassan Abgaalow. Tomorrow, it could be the current leadership – President Dani. That is not service to the state—it is service to power.

Civil servants are not political actors. Their authority rests precisely on their neutrality. They are expected to implement policy, not defend it in the public arena; to serve the state, not engage in partisan disputes. Once that boundary is breached, the distinction between government and administration begins to collapse.

And history—both in Africa and beyond—offers clear warnings about where that path leads.

In Kenya, the politicization of the civil service during periods of intense electoral competition has repeatedly undermined public trust in state institutions. Senior bureaucrats, seen as aligned with ruling parties, lost credibility as neutral administrators, weakening the effectiveness of governance itself.

In Nigeria, similar patterns have emerged. When civil servants publicly take political positions, it not only erodes institutional integrity but also fuels perceptions of state capture—where the machinery of government is viewed as an extension of political power rather than a service to the public.

Even in more stable systems, the principle is strictly guarded. In the United Kingdom, civil servants are bound by a code of conduct that explicitly prohibits political engagement in their official capacity. Violations can end careers—not because of the content of their views, but because of the importance of preserving institutional neutrality.

The lesson is consistent across contexts: once civil servants become political voices, institutions begin to lose their balance.

Puntland is now dangerously close to that line. The Director General’s statement, regardless of its intent, has injected the civil service into a political confrontation. It has transformed what should have been a government response into an institutional misstep. And in doing so, it risks setting a precedent that others may follow.

That risk is not theoretical. Somalia has already witnessed the consequences of such overreach. A 2025 incident in Mogadishu saw the then Director General of the Federal Ministry of Transport and Civil Aviation, Mr. Bashir Ma’alin Ali, make inflammatory public remarks about the people of South West State—comments that sparked outrage and triggered a political crisis lasting months. The damage was not limited to rhetoric; it strained relations between federal and regional authorities and exposed the fragility of intergovernmental trust. He was eventually dismissed by Prime Minister Hamza on August 20, 2025.

That episode should have served as a cautionary tale. Instead, it appears to be repeating itself.

The Calmiskaad campaign, which the Puntland government rightly regards as a significant security achievement, deserves to be defended. But that defense must come from those who are politically mandated to do so—the Minister of Information, the Presidency, or other elected officials accountable to the public. When a civil servant assumes that role, the message becomes confused.

Is this the voice of the state, or the voice of a political faction?
Is this policy, or advocacy?

Such ambiguity is corrosive. It weakens the very institutions that are meant to provide stability, particularly in a region where governance structures are still consolidating and public trust remains fragile.

There is also a deeper danger: normalization. If this action goes unchallenged, it will not remain an isolated incident. Other civil servants may feel emboldened to enter political debates, to defend policies, or to attack critics. Over time, the civil service risks becoming politicized not by design, but by default. And once that transformation occurs, reversing it becomes exceedingly difficult.

The consequences are far-reaching. A politicized civil service cannot effectively mediate between competing political interests. It cannot provide impartial advice. It cannot command the confidence of all stakeholders. In short, it cannot function as a stabilizing force. For Puntland, which has long prided itself on relatively stronger institutional frameworks compared to other parts of Somalia, this is a particularly serious moment.

The response must therefore be clear—and decisive. The Director General should resign. Not as an act of punishment, but as an act of institutional preservation. Resignation, in this context, is not an admission of wrongdoing in substance, but an acknowledgment that roles matter, that boundaries matter, and that the integrity of the civil service is worth protecting—even at personal cost. Anything less risks sending the wrong signal—that such breaches are acceptable, that neutrality is optional, and that the lines between governance and politics can be crossed without consequence. That is a path Puntland cannot afford to take.

The Calmiskaad campaign beyond any doubt stand as a military success in Africa. But military victories do not compensate for institutional erosion. In the long run, it is the strength of institutions—not the outcomes of individual battles—that determines the stability of a state.

This moment, then, is about more than a statement. It is about whether Puntland chooses to reinforce its institutional foundations—or allow them to weaken under the weight of short-term political reactions. The choice should not be difficult. But it is urgent.

Mohamed A Yasin
Email: moyasin680@gmail.com