By Bashir M. Sheikh-Ali

Somalis share more than a language or a religion. They share customs, values, and a rhythm of life shaped by generosity, endurance, and the shared struggle of living from the land and livestock. Across regions and generations, Somalis tell similar stories rooted in oral tradition, mark the passage of time by the rains and the seasons, and mourn their dead with rituals that bind community and faith. These are not superficial traits. They are the raw material of a nation.

When the two Somalilands hastily joined to form a new republic in 1960, these shared cultural bonds offered a powerful foundation on which to build a genuine Somali nation. There was hope that a common heritage could lead to a common purpose. But the political leaders of the time squandered that rare opportunity, not out of malice or indifference, but because their deepest ambition was to unite all Somalis under one flag, even those still living under colonial rule in neighboring territories. That dream, noble as it was, consumed the energy and focus that might have been used to strengthen the institutions of the state and nurture a shared national identity.

A second opportunity emerged in the wake of Siad Barre’s collapse. For a brief moment, there was a sense that the cultural inheritance shared by Somalis might form the basis of a common political future. People hoped that the hardship of war and the longing for order could bring the country together in new ways.

But that promise never took shape. Instead, it was suffocated by political structures that reward mistrust, harden divisions, and make it dangerous to imagine a future beyond clan or faction. The possibility of nationhood was not lost all at once. It was steadily eroded by choices that favored short-term advantage over collective purpose.

In a previous essay, I argued that Somalia’s political collapse cannot be repaired without first confronting the civic ignorance that has taken root in its public life. [1] Citizens were never given the tools to understand the systems governing them or the constitutional rights meant to protect them. This gap left the public vulnerable to manipulation, unable to distinguish performance from principle or authority from service. In a second piece, I reflected on the hollow nature of the Somali nation, the absence of a national identity strong enough to sustain a unified state, and how the political leaders were distracted from the urgent need to cultivate belonging and nation (not state) building.[2] This essay completes that arc. It examines how the 4.5 power-sharing system put a lid on the implementation of federalism and, in doing so, unraveled the very possibility of a Somali nation.

The story of this unraveling does not begin with federalism. It begins with the 4.5 system, a clan power-sharing formula devised during the Arta process in 2000 as a transitional arrangement to ensure broad clan representation after the civil war. Under the 4.5 system, each of Somalia’s four major clans is allocated one full political share, while all minority communities together receive only half a share. It was intended as a temporary fix. But over time, it became a permanent structure—one that institutionalized exclusion, reduced representation to clan arithmetic, and froze the idea of citizenship into a quota system. This system predates Somalia’s federal experiment and was never meant to become part of a constitutional order. Yet it endures, deeply embedded in the country’s political DNA. It shapes not only the formation of cabinets and the selection of parliamentarians, but also the appointment of directors general, ambassadors, and even mid-level officials. It entrenches clan quotas across nearly every layer of government.

Federalism came later, formally introduced in 2004 through the Transitional Federal Charter and reaffirmed in the 2012 Provisional Constitution. It was meant to provide a political settlement that could hold the country together, allowing diverse communities to govern themselves while contributing to a unified national project. The idea was not to replace the state but to remake it—through decentralization, cooperation, and a new form of trust. Federalism was the grand bargain to prevent domination by any single clan or region. It was supposed to reflect the reality of Somalia’s internal diversity while building a framework for unity. But that vision never had a chance to materialize.

The reason federalism failed to take root was because it was grafted onto a political culture already captured by the 4.5 formula. Instead of displacing that formula, federalism was forced to coexist with it. The result is a hybrid structure in which the vocabulary of decentralization is used to mask a system still driven by clan-based allocation. Federalism became a slogan, not a system. No serious effort was made to build the institutions it required. There was no civic education to explain what federalism meant or how it was supposed to work. No structures were created for intergovernmental cooperation, constitutional enforcement, or peaceful dispute resolution. Federalism was reduced to a new map of competing jurisdictions, each claiming legitimacy but none offering a genuine vision of shared governance.

The public, never consulted in the design of these systems, became more alienated. People were told that federalism would bring government closer to them. In reality, it brought more layers of bureaucracy, less transparency, and a deeper sense that politics served only the elite. Local administrations were not built around service delivery or public accountability. They became tools for clan dominance under the 4.5 power sharing, with specific institution often monopolized by single groups with little regard for broader legal or constitutional standards. At the national level, institutions remain weak and fragmented, their legitimacy constantly undermined by suspicions of clan favoritism and political overreach.

This is not the federalism Somalia signed up for. True federalism is a form of shared sovereignty. It relies on clear constitutional roles, mutual respect between levels of government, and institutional mechanisms for negotiation and cooperation. It does not reward zero-sum thinking. It does not conflate decentralization with fragmentation. It asks leaders to resolve conflicts through law and dialogue, not brinkmanship and coercion. But Somalia never built that kind of federalism. It inherited the label while discarding the substance, using it not to empower citizens, but to distribute power among elites under the 4.5 system.

The damage has been profound. Instead of holding the country together, the version of federalism shaped by 4.5 has deepened its divides. Each region now follows its own political logic, with little interest in national coordination, undermining the legitimacy of the federal government. The central government lacks the tools to pull the parts together. In this fractured landscape, the idea of a Somali nation, a people bound by a shared identity and future, has faded. People speak of regions, clans, and alliances, but rarely of the country as a whole. What remains of the national idea is vague, sentimental, and politically irrelevant.

In the absence of shared institutions, mistrust has become a political principle. Appointments are viewed as clan victories. Resources are seen as spoils. Laws are interpreted through the lens of power, not principle. This is not mere dysfunction. It is a system that has normalized suspicion and stripped governance of any unifying purpose. It reflects the day-to-day reality of many Somalis, who see that informal bargains, not constitutional guarantees, decide who gets what.

Some thinkers have responded to this breakdown by proposing a new course. In recent weeks, discussions on platforms such as WardheerNews [3] have intensified interest in a confederal model. Under this proposal, regions would enjoy greater sovereignty, cooperating through treaties rather than through a common constitutional order. Proponents argue that federalism has failed and that confederalism offers a more realistic framework for coexistence.

But confederalism would not heal the damage done by 4.5. It would reinforce it. It would formalize the very fragmentation that federalism was meant to overcome. In Somalia’s context, where institutions are fragile and the national idea is under siege, confederalism would not be a transition. It would be a retreat. It would grant permanent status to the temporary divisions that were born of conflict and reinforced by quota politics. It would further dilute any sense of belonging to a single nation.

Some suggest that confederalism could serve as a steppingstone to future unity. But this argument is weak. The longer regions operate independently, the less incentive they will have to reintegrate. Confederalism does not prepare Somalia for a shared future. It postpones the question of nationhood and makes the eventual answer more elusive.

Yet federalism still holds promise—but only if it is liberated from the stranglehold of the 4.5 system. These two frameworks are fundamentally incompatible. Federalism relies on equality of citizenship and flexible institutions. The 4.5 formula reduces citizenship to bloodline and locks political identity into static clan shares. A country cannot simultaneously claim to practice federalism while distributing public power based on ancestry. Replacing the 4.5 system with constitutional elections is not just a procedural reform. It is a nation-building act.

It would restore public trust. It would allow space for voices that have long been marginalized. And it would begin the slow work of teaching citizens that government is not a prize for the few, but a responsibility shared by all. In parallel, Somalia must build the legal and institutional foundations of a functioning federation. That includes clarifying the roles of federal and state authorities, establishing forums for cooperation, and strengthening courts to resolve disputes. It means developing fair mechanisms for revenue sharing, national planning, and public service delivery. And it means grounding all these reforms in public education, so that citizens know what federalism means and why it matters.

Most of all, federalism must be practiced in a spirit of cooperation. Leaders must move beyond transactional politics. They must be willing to see political rivals as partners in building a shared future. They must create spaces for dialogue and difference. That is the only way to turn national memory into national purpose.

Somalia has tried centralization and failed. It has tried fragmentation and suffered. The only viable path is one that allows for diversity while preserving unity. That is what federalism offers—if done with honesty and care. But this requires letting go of the myths that have paralyzed Somalia’s political imagination. The myth that federalism is the cause of division, when it was never faithfully implemented. The myth that confederalism can substitute for national cohesion. The myth that the 4.5 system is a necessary evil.

There is no question that Somali people still possess the ingredients of nationhood. They remember what it means to share, to resist, and to rebuild. The challenge now is to create a system that turns those memories into institutions. Federalism should not divide but bind; it should not favor the strong but include the weak; it should not reflect the clan logic but channel efforts on national purpose. Only by doing so can federalism rekindle nationhood. The task of implementing federalism faithfully and rekindling nationhood is not an easy one.

Somalia’s journey to nationhood has not ended. But if it is to continue, the lid that 4.5 placed on federalism must be lifted. Only then can Somalis begin to imagine themselves not just as clans or regions, but as citizens of a nation still worth building.

Bashir M. Sheikh-AliEmail: bsali@yahoo.com
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The author is a Somali American lawyer based in Nairobi. The views expressed in this op-ed are his own and do not reflect those of any organization with which he may be affiliated.

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[1] https://hiiraan.com/op4/2025/may/201521/somalia_s_future_starts_in_the_minds_of_its_citizens.aspx. [2] https://hiiraan.com/op4/2025/jun/201982/sovereignty_without_a_nation_somalia_and_the_incomplete_state.aspx.
[3] See, for example, https://wardheernews.com/confederalismo-addressing-the-structural-barriers-to-political-progress-in-the-somali-peninsula/; https://wardheernews.com/confederal-republic-of-somalia/; https://wardheernews.com/policy-paper-call-for-confederation-warning-of-any-term-extension-and-freeze-the-constitutional-review-process-until-after-the-2020-21-election/.