By Isha Qarsoon [1]

In a federal system, elections are more than just mechanisms for choosing leaders—they are a test of fidelity to democracy and a measure of federal balance. To uphold both democracy and federalism, elections must not only be free and fair, but also constitutionally grounded and consensually administered. They must reflect the distinct authority of regional governments, whose participation affirms both their autonomy and the legitimacy of the broader union. When regions help shape and oversee the electoral process, federalism is strengthened. But when the central government seizes control—setting the rules, appointing the referees, and dismissing regional objections—elections cease to be instruments of democratic choice. They become tools of domination. In such cases, the electoral process does not affirm the federation; it fractures it.

This is precisely the danger posed by Somalia’s new electoral law. Though dressed in the formalities of legislation, it violates the Provisional Constitution by centralizing control over elections—a domain that, under federal principles, must involve and respect member states. By establishing a federal electoral commission without constitutional legitimacy and imposing electoral procedures unilaterally, the law erodes both democracy and federalism. The legislative process that produced it—rushed, exclusionary, and contemptuous of constitutional constraints—only deepens the crisis. Elections held under this framework may appear legal, with ballots cast and results announced, but the constitutional order beneath them is already hollowed out. It is not federal democracy being renewed—it is rule by law replacing rule of law.

In Somalia today, the erosion of federalism and democracy is not occurring through military coups or revolutionary overthrows. Instead, it is happening through the slow and steady manipulation of legal mechanisms. The country is entering a stage where the outward appearance of legality masks a deeper abandonment of constitutionalism. Authoritarian legalism, where the law is no longer a constitutional constraint on power but a carefully sharpened tool of control, is taking hold in Somalia. Laws, electoral decrees, commissions, and presidential directives are no longer instruments of accountability but of entrenchment. This is not a technical deviation from good governance. It is a grave and systemic transformation of a federal system to an authoritarian legalism and it demands Somalis’ attention.

At the heart of this transformation lies the replacement of the rule of law with rule by law. Under the rule of law, power is restrained by constitutional principles, checks and balances, and negotiated consensus. Rule by law, however, empowers leaders to manipulate legal forms to their advantage, all while maintaining the facade of legality. Somalia’s 2024 electoral law is the most visible and troubling manifestation of this shift. Pushed forward without constitutional negotiation and in clear violation of Articles 3, 50, 51, 54, 111G, and 120 of the Provisional Constitution, the measure centralizes electoral authority in the federal government. While Article 111G of the Provisional Constitution mandates the establishment of the National Independent Electoral Commission (NIEC), the commission has been granted sweeping powers that exceed—and violate—the narrow and specific scope outlined in the article. What was intended to be a neutral body for administering federal elections has become a vehicle for political control, wielded by a commission now claiming authority over member state elections in direct violation of Article 111G. While elections managed by this unconstitutional commission may retain the appearance of democracy, their structure is fundamentally anti-federalist.

This trend is not unique to Somalia. Many democracies have died not through force but through legal manipulation. Elected leaders subvert democracy incrementally, using laws, parliamentary majorities, and legalistic justifications to undermine opposition and centralize power. In Somalia, the same pattern is unfolding: unratified agreements are signed with foreign powers; security forces are deployed to enforce mandates not grounded in constitutional consensus; and documents labeled as “laws” are issued absent the necessary legislative and constitutional process. These actions are technically legal in form but deeply illegitimate in substance. What is more dangerous is that these tactics do not alarm the public or international stakeholders in the way that violent seizures of power do. Their subtlety is their strength—and their threat.

The state of perpetual transition in Somalia has created the perfect vehicle for this drift. Constitutional dictatorships often emerge when provisional arrangements—meant to guide short-term transitions—are manipulated into permanent instruments of rule. In Somalia, the transitional provisions of the Provisional Constitution, rather than serving as a pathway to a finalized constitutional order, have been transformed into a durable state of exception. The federal government increasing relies on selectively interpreted provisions to bypass public scrutiny, marginalize federal member states, and postpone the very reforms the constitution was meant to facilitate. Transitional legitimacy is being weaponized to suppress democratic development. The very language of reform is being inverted—used not to improve governance, but to centralize it.

The consequence is an erosion of the very foundations of federalism. For example, under the new election law, Federal Member States, once envisioned as sovereign political units within a shared union, are now treated as administrative subdivisions. They are commanded to implement measures they did not consent to—mandates that carry the appearance of legality but not the substance of constitutional law. Their powers over elections and governance are usurped. This mirrors what political theorists describe as the paradox of federalism: when federalism is co-opted by the center to enforce conformity rather than mediate diversity, it becomes a source of instability. A federation that cannot guarantee autonomy for its member states becomes a federation in name only. When federal structures are perceived as instruments of coercion rather than compromise, the social contract begins to unravel.

There is also a growing risk that the process of constitutional finalization itself could become a tool for consolidating power, rather than resolving Somalia’s transitional crisis. When the National Consultative Council proposes amendments and Parliament approves them without meaningful scrutiny, it opens the door to reforms that may be procedurally legal but substantively illegitimate. This dynamic risks transforming the constitutional order into an instrument of rule by law—where the legal process is used not to uphold constitutionalism, but to undermine it. A clear example is the potential amendment of Article 111G to authorize a federal body to administer member state elections. If such an amendment were formally adopted (which the writer considers quite likely), it would frustrate core principles of federalism, including Article 54, which requires that powers not expressly assigned to the federal government be negotiated with member states. This is not just a risk to electoral integrity—it is a threat to the constitutional balance of power. If this approach continues, Somalia may finalize its constitution not to end the transitional period, but to entrench a centralized and coercive political order under the cover of legality.

The Ethiopian experience is a cautionary tale. As documented in comparative studies of contemporary Ethiopian politics, federal-state disputes—especially over the right to hold regional elections—were central to the collapse of constitutional order and the outbreak of civil conflict. When the central government attempts to impose a unitary vision under the cloak of legality, federal units respond with resistance. Somalia now stands at a similar crossroads. It can either return to negotiated constitutionalism or risk descending into confrontation over imposed centralism. The idea that legal uniformity ensures national unity is not just flawed—it is historically disproven. Diversity that is denied legal expression finds other, more disruptive outlets.

This weaponization of legality is the hallmark of authoritarian legalism. Such regimes do not abandon the law. They co-opt it. Somalia’s legal system is increasingly used not to mediate power or resolve disputes, but to confer a false legitimacy on executive overreach. Independent institutions are restructured. Parliament is marginalized. Security organs are retooled to implement political objectives. The law becomes a mechanism not for justice but for dominance. The result is an autocratic system that masquerades as democratic, where dissent is outlawed through procedural mechanisms rather than outright bans, and where the executive governs through compliance rather than consent.

Although the federal government claims to be focused on nation-building and institutional development, it is increasingly creating institutions without regard for their legitimacy. Capacity—and efforts to build it—certainly matter. But in any institution, legitimacy is paramount. In Somalia, laws passed without constitutional procedure, commissions established without agreement from federal member states, and decrees issued without parliamentary oversight all signal a troubling trend: institutional capacity may be growing, but legitimacy is diminishing. A strong state without legitimacy is not a functioning democracy—it is a centralized structure prone to instability and collapse. True legitimacy demands more than operational offices or formal texts; it requires a political order rooted in public consent and faithful to the constitutional framework on which it claims to stand.

The international community’s continued engagement with Somalia often confers unearned legitimacy on federal government that is increasingly hostile to scrutiny and dissent. In April 2025, Mogadishu expelled Swedish Consul Anna Högberg over human rights concerns and threatened to expel the African Union envoy, Sivuyile Thandikhaya Bam, for remarks deemed too frank about Al-Shabaab’s enduring presence. These incidents are not aberrations. They form part of a pattern in which foreign partners are tolerated only if they remain compliant—if they speak only in applause, not critique.

This authoritarian reflex is even more severe when directed inward towards Somalia’s own federal member states.  For example, Jubaland and its president have faced systematic retaliation for political dissent. Following disputes over electoral procedures, the federal government accused Madobe of treason and issued threats of prosecution—first in early 2025 and again in recent days. Military deployments and parallel administrative structures have been used to destabilize Jubaland from within. These are not the tools of constitutional federalism, but instruments of central control. The message is clear: dissent—whether from diplomats, journalists, or regional leaders—will be punished. [2]

The crackdown extends further still. In March 2025, following an Al-Shabaab bombing targeting the presidential convoy, Somali police arrested 19 journalists covering the incident, confiscated their equipment, and deleted their footage. Earlier, in July 2024, journalist AliNur Salaad was detained for 45 days for reporting that questioned the professionalism of security forces. Lawyers and civil society activists operate under constant threat of reprisal. The law, in this environment, has become a tool of selective enforcement designed to suppress independent voices.

The international community is not merely watching; it is underwriting this system. Foreign donors, multilateral institutions, and development partners frequently treat the outward rituals of governance—elections held on schedule, legislation passed, agencies formed—as signs of progress. But legality without constitutionality is a mirage. Supporting institutions that violate the Provisional Constitution weakens the foundations of peace and state-building. Somalia’s international partners must distinguish between the appearance of order and the substance of legitimacy. Even well-meaning engagement that prioritizes technical benchmarks can reinforce authoritarianism when those benchmarks are divorced from constitutional norms and inclusive, federal processes.

Somalis themselves are not powerless in this unfolding crisis. There is growing opposition to the so-called electoral law, and there are voices—among political leaders, scholars, and civil society—warning of its dangers. Yet despite these objections, the registration process moves forward. Many Mogadishu residents, either unaware or resigned, continue to participate in a system that threatens their own constitutional rights. Worse still, some are actively complicit—not out of support for the system, but out of clanistic calculation. Rather than rejecting the process on principle, they focus instead on maximizing clan participation, believing that a strong numerical showing will secure future political leverage. This tactical participation may seem pragmatic, but it feeds the very system that undermines constitutional governance and collective national interests. By prioritizing sub-clan advantage over federal integrity, they inadvertently legitimize a framework that is designed to hollow out the autonomy of all.

The opposition itself also bears a share of responsibility. Much of the resistance to the electoral law is framed in terms of political rivalry, exclusion, or a perceived power grab by the current administration. While these concerns are not unfounded, they often fail to articulate the deeper constitutional violations at stake. Few opposition figures have grounded their objections in any of the relevant provisions of the Provisional Constitution or federalism principles, which makes their critique weaker and easier to dismiss. This lack of principled, constitutional argumentation undermines the legitimacy of their challenge and deprives the public of a clear understanding of what is truly at risk: the dismantling of federalism through unconstitutional means.

Modern authoritarian regimes rarely emerge through violence alone. Often, they arise through the cumulative distortion of legal norms. Minor changes to procedures, seemingly routine decrees, and small erosions of institutional independence can—over time—hollow out a republic. Somalia may not yet exhibit classical totalitarianism, but the pattern of legalism replacing justice is unmistakable. The shift is not abrupt, but deliberate. And it is being carried out in the name of law. Silence, both domestic and international, enables this process. So does the illusion that written laws are a substitute for constitutional fidelity.

This is no longer a question of electoral preferences or administrative disagreements. It is a constitutional emergency. If the federal model is to survive, if Somalia is to remain a republic governed by consent and law, then its institutions must be anchored on the foundational principle that all power derives from the provisional constitution—not command. The constitution must be more than a symbol. It must be the standard. Without it, rule by law will continue to flourish, and the republic it claims to govern will continue to unravel—one decree at a time. The choice before Somalia is stark: establish constitutional order or watch the state be governed by legality without legitimacy, power without limits, and law without justice.

Isha Qarsoon
Email:  Ishaqarsoon1@gmail.com

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Notes and References

[1] sha Qarsoon- is a platform dedicated to addressing critical issues pertaining to good governance, corruption, and social challenges. It emphasizes investigative journalism as a means to uncover and disseminate information, enabling the public to engage with and understand the realities of the country. Through its focus on transparency and accountability, the forum aims to foster informed public discourse and contribute to societal awareness and reform.

[2] There is a strong argument that President Madobe’s actions—including the constitutional amendment he initiated and the subsequent elections held in Jubaland—were illegal and inconsistent with the member state’s own constitution. However, these actions did not occur in a vacuum. They were triggered by the federal government’s push to enact a national electoral law through the National Consultative Council and later Parliament—legislation widely viewed by regional actors as an overreach into member state electoral authority. Madobe’s response, while legally questionable, was politically reactive: a preemptive maneuver against what he and others perceived as a centralization of electoral control in violation of the federal framework.

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