By Dr. Abdifatah Ismael Tahir
I respond to Abdirashid Hashi’s reflections by clarifying where our disagreement lies. It concerns how we read the political conditions under which unity negotiations must take place, how we understand the structure of power in Somalia, and what kind of institutional seriousness would make a renewed union credible. Hashi pointed out that many attempts were made and yet no tangible result emerged. That is true. Dialogues were held in several cities, mediators were involved, and communiqués were issued. The real issue, however, is why those efforts led nowhere. On that question, my reading is that southern elites often approached these engagements less as a serious search for settlement than as a means of projecting juridical legitimacy.
The political substance behind the talks was often thin. Even some mediators came away with the view that the southern delegation was inadequately prepared and, at times, insufficiently serious. In many meetings, the southern side emphasised gestures rather than structural arrangements. By contrast, the northern side remained more consistent in focusing on the institutional structure that would govern present issues, including matters such as aviation, as well as the framework that would define any future political relationship. Symbolic language about brotherhood and reunion carries emotional weight, but institutional design is what gives a union political meaning.
This leads to the more obvious issue: the policy judgment Somaliland reached in deciding how and on what terms to engage the south. Of course, the central issue in the talks was the restoration of trust between the sides. Yet trust rests on credibility, and credibility was precisely what the southern political centre struggled to supply. Somaliland was effectively being asked to negotiate with an authority whose reach scarcely extended beyond Banadir. For talks to command trust, the government initiating them needed first to demonstrate effective authority over the territory it claimed to govern. That was, fundamentally, a southern responsibility.
Yet the messages that often came from the south were framed such that Somaliland’s participation was needed less as that of a partner negotiating the future of the state than as a contribution to resolving political disorder in the south. To many in the north, that sounded like an appeal for assistance. The concern, then, was straightforward: if union took place under those conditions, Somaliland would risk being drawn into a political crisis in the south that it had no part in creating. When this did not materialise, Somaliland was often blamed for the outcome, unfairly so.
That same point leads to Hashi’s broader argument that northern politicians in Mogadishu must bear part of the blame for the failure of unity. I understand the emotional and strategic appeal of that argument, but it does not capture how Somali politics actually works. The idea that northern politicians have carried substantial weight in Mogadishu politics sits uneasily with the realities of the federal order as it has evolved. Power does not rest only in parliamentary or ministerial titles. More decisively, it rests in coercive capacity in the capital and in the ability to support or obstruct the centre from a distance (regional administrations).
For politicians from Somaliland, that structural basis is absent. Thus, their political survival often depends on whoever controls the federal executive at a given moment. For that reason, the failure of unity is better explained through the structure of Somali federal politics, at the heart of which sit southern elites, than through the supposed ambivalence of northern politicians. The latter reading confuses visibility with power. A more plausible argument, closer to political reality, would be to say that northern politicians should leave the centre and go home. That proposition at least tallies with the realities of the system better than attributing to Somaliland politicians a degree of influence they have never actually possessed.
Hashi’s suggestion that a northerner could one day become president of Somalia illustrates the same problem. This idea is often presented as reassurance, as if the possibility itself carried political substance. From the northern perspective, however, it sounds largely rhetorical. If the path were truly as straightforward as determination and coalition-building, then a northerner would have reached the presidency long ago. Hashi and I both know that the presidency has long been anchored in dominant political constituencies, especially Hawiye and Daarood, whose power extends far beyond personal ambition. To suggest that anyone can simply enter that contest understates how national power is actually produced.
One may point out that two leaders from the north, Egal and Galaydh, reached the premiership. That is true. Yet it is equally true that they settled for far less than what they sought, recognising that reaching real power—the presidency—was a much taller order, even for a Daarood from the north. Since this point touches a constituency with which Hashi is genealogically associated, I would say: prove me wrong by helping northern unionists from the Daarood clans ascend to power.
Hashi was also quick to list the number of presidents who, in his telling, were willing to give up their seats in order to invite leaders from Hargeisa to take their place. But if the matter were truly as simple and sincere as that rhetoric suggests, then persuading those same leaders, many of whom are his friends who are competing for office now, to step aside and collectively back figures from the northern Daarood should not be difficult. If it proves difficult, that is proof enough that Hashi’s premise is wrong.
The related point regarding whether politicians from the Isaaq are agile enough to partner in the political process and climb the ladder in similar fashion has, in effect, already been tested. Figures such as Tuur, Kalluun, Buubaa, Sifir, and others advanced as far as the structure allowed, and the structure allowed very little. The question, then, is what option remained but to go home if they were never structurally positioned to get what they wanted, however much intelligence, patience, or adaptability they brought to the effort. The decision to go home—from Samatar and Buubaa to, more recently, Beyle, Dubbe, Qodax, and perhaps others to come—was the most rational conclusion available.
Another issue Hashi raised concerns what I mean by “the north.” He suggests that my earlier argument collapsed northern Somalia, Somaliland, the Isaaq clan, and the pursuit of secession into a single category. Let me be clear. I treat these as related but distinct. The north is politically diverse, and my argument has never denied that. When I referred to northerners in relation to the presidency and the broader question of political correction, I was speaking about the north as a historical political space that includes communities whose opposition to secession is well known. My point was that the north entered the union under conditions that later produced a persistent imbalance in the distribution of national power.
That is why the territorial and demographic arguments implied in his rejoinder strike me as misplaced. I have seen similar arguments reduce Somaliland to Isaaq demography, as though population arithmetic alone could settle questions of political legitimacy. That move weakens the analysis and evades the principle at issue. Political legitimacy rests on more than numbers. Otherwise, the language of equality, consent, and negotiated settlement would carry very little meaning.
If, however, one engages the territorial and clan argument on its own terms, the logic still falls apart. Why would anyone, in the larger scheme of Somali politics, group me together with fellow Dir constituency, yet, when the discussion turns to Somaliland, feel the urge to fragment that same constituency into sub-clans? Why should Gadabuursi, Ciise, Surre, Akishe, and others suddenly disappear analytically when Somaliland is discussed, only to reappear when broader Somali arithmetic is being made?
Let us, for the sake of argument, examine Somaliland’s population in terms of larger clan groupings such as Dir, Daarood, and others. If that is the frame, then by any reasonable estimate the Dir would constitute an overwhelming majority of the population. This does not negate the fact that the Isaaq alone also constitute an outright majority within Somaliland. More importantly, Somaliland is among the more rapidly urbanising societies, and the major towns that function as its principal administrative and political centres—Hargeisa, Burco, Ceerigaabo, and Borama—are situated within Dir-populated territories. The only major administrative centre not included in that list is Laascaanood. The point is straightforward: if we are to take the discussion seriously, Somaliland must be engaged beyond reductionist framings.
While Hashi’s inherent concern regarding the north, in relation to Somaliland’s claim over northern Daarood territories, is understandable, this is neither unusual nor specific to this case, but characteristic of territorial politics more broadly. Mogadishu’s continued claim over Hargeisa illustrates this same logic. In that context, Somaliland’s claim over places such as Laascaanood should not come as a surprise.
That brings me to the presidency proposal itself. Hashi describes it as unclear, perhaps even as an ultimatum. Let me clarify. If unity is to mean more than nostalgia or sentiment, then it must be grounded in visible guarantees that speak directly to historical grievances and to the distribution of national power. The demands I listed should be read in that context. They are a response to a long record in which goodwill was offered from the north while power remained structured elsewhere.
The number of years, thirty-three, should be understood through the logic of distributive justice. If access to the presidency has remained concentrated in other constituencies for roughly sixty-six years, then any serious effort to restore balance must reckon with that history. This requires a period of compensatory redistribution in order to restore confidence. Without some such mechanism, the language of equality rings hollow, because it asks those previously disadvantaged to return to the same structure on the promise that this time things may somehow work out differently.
Whether Hashi acknowledges it or not, his constituency benefits from the present system. It is always easier to defend patience, flexibility, and symbolic reassurance when the existing order does not fundamentally disadvantage one. While I appreciate his stated desire to see a northerner in Villa Somalia, the test of seriousness changes when one is asked to trust a structure from which others have historically drawn the main benefit.
To simplify the matter, let us move from what Prof. Samatar described as a long-standing duopoly to an outright monopoly in which the presidency remains continuously in Hawiye hands. If such a pattern were to emerge, even by political accident rather than design, I am quite certain that Hashi’s own constituency would begin to travel the same political road as mine. In truth, Hashi’s constituency can scarcely tolerate two consecutive presidential terms going to Hawiye without anxiety, suspicion, and agitation, sometimes even in language that edges toward secession. That alone says something important about how shallow commitment to unity can become once access to power appears unevenly distributed.
As for Hashi, personally, I do not claim the right to say with certainty what he would have done under such conditions. But I do retain the right to speculate. And my speculation is that, had his community faced the same history of exclusion, frustration, and structural marginality, he too might have sought political distance. He might even be in the Vatican today, politically speaking, which is, of course, no more distant from him in matters of faith affinity than Israel is from me. The point is that political judgment is shaped, in part, by location.
Moreover, what is required is resistance to the tabooisation of northern political actions, as evident in Hashi’s rejoinder, including on the question of secession and relations with Israel. The criminalisation of the secessionist idea serves little analytical purpose. Such ideas exist in many political systems, including democracies such as the United Kingdom and Canada. We should not be treated as beyond the pale simply for outlining openly what many in our community want. Just as union is an idea rooted in interests and political judgment, so too is secession. Both are political positions tied to how communities understand their future.
Hashi mentions Israel as though Somaliland’s position were uniquely discrediting. But Israel did not come to Somaliland; Somaliland went to Israel. Authorities in Mogadishu also sought relations with them. To single out Somaliland’s conduct as uniquely immoral is therefore neither analytically serious nor politically honest. Turning Somaliland’s external conduct into a special moral taboo only obscures the fact that Somali political actors across the board operate within a regional order in which external alignments are often pursued for strategic territorial and political purposes.
Equally, let me be clear regarding Palestine, which Hashi has again inserted into this debate. I do not hold hostility toward Palestinians. I recognise the violations committed against them, just as I recognise violations committed against any people, and I lament them. But in political life, humanity often occupies the outermost circle of attachment rather than the innermost. There is first local and communal attachment (Isaaq/Dir), then Somalilander and Somali belonging, followed by wider cultural and regional ties (African), broader Muslim identity and the question of the umma, and only then, often, humanity at the far end of the moral chain. This may sound uncomfortable, but it reflects the hierarchy through which political communities frequently experience obligation.
Hashi and I may feel moral urgency in a different order, especially toward distant causes framed in universal or religious terms, because our interests are miles apart. That makes his criticism harder, not easier, to accept. Hashi and his associates publicly supported a figure who could not even acknowledge, at one of the highest tables of authority in the world, the suffering of the Isaaq community under the former regime. In light of that, his position offers little standing from which to lecture others about humanitarian morality at a distance. The issue is not the absence of humanity on my part. It is the selective and politically convenient use of humanity on Hashi’s part.
When speaking about Israel–Palestine and its intersection with morality, Hashi also introduced a related point about Somaliness and Islam as the foundation of our moral lens. To that I would say: Somaliness is a social construct. As such, it can, in principle, be reconfigured. Where there is no agreement on the nature of the collective, the boundaries of obligation become indeterminate. That is precisely why political union cannot be sustained by sentiment alone. To add to this, even Islam itself is interpreted differently in practice. As we have seen, Islamic clerics, including those from within the Salafi orientation, have taken differing positions on Somaliland’s new links with Israel. This only reinforces the point that moral and political judgments are mediated through context, rather than settled by a single, uniform interpretation.
Hashi’s final point was that Somaliland’s recognition project is going nowhere, while Somalia holds seats in bodies such as the UN Security Council and the African Union Peace and Security Council. Here again, I think he is misreading the situation. Recognition from even one country alters the terrain of debate by changing the strategic context within which arguments about unity are advanced. From a unionist perspective, that matters.
Hashi also overlooks the larger historical pattern. Somalis have repeatedly become involved in state-building and state-unbuilding conflicts, and in such struggles they inevitably seek external backers, not least because they do not manufacture the weapons or resources that sustain these contests themselves. If nothing else, external recognition would mean that Somaliland is no longer operating from a position of complete disadvantage in the Somali political chess game.
Whether Somaliland is recognised by more countries tomorrow, in ten years, or never, the political order consolidated in the north over more than three decades remains a fact. If the status quo offers institutional continuity, relative stability, and an established governing framework, while reunion offers uncertainty with limited guarantees, then appeals to unity will remain structurally weak.
Having said that, my position remains one of commitment to unity, combined with analytical clarity about the problem. I continue to believe that a genuinely negotiated union could carry strategic appeal. But unity can only emerge through institutional arrangements that convince all parties that participation in a shared state offers meaningful political opportunity. This requires concrete frameworks addressing representation, executive authority, political balance, and the distribution of trust. If such arrangements can be articulated seriously, the conversation about unity remains open. If they cannot, the current trajectory will continue to harden. Hashi may call that an ultimatum if he wishes; I would call it a recognition of political reality.
Now, the real question is not whether unity is normatively desirable in the abstract, but what would make it meaningful enough, equitable enough, and credible enough to alter the calculations of those who currently see little reason to return. That is the question to which I was responding.
I would like to end with a few remarks about the wider normative disagreement behind this debate. We do not approach these questions from the same place, and perhaps we never will. We do not fully agree on history, the future, or even the concepts through which Somali politics should be interpreted. We may each regard the other’s position as politically unrealistic or normatively incomplete. That is not, in itself, a problem. The problem arises when political conversation begins without accepting that each side reasons from interests, experiences, and judgments that cannot simply be wished away. Political life requires clarity about difference. That is what I seek to offer.
Dr Abdifatah Ismael Tahir
Email: abdifatah.tahir@hilin.org
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The author is a unionist politician from Somaliland and a former Member of Somalia’s Federal Parliament (2016–2022). He is also a scholar with a keen interest in the Horn of Africa’s political geography
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