By Isha Qarsoon
Somalia is often described as having a government. It has a president, a prime minister, a cabinet, a parliament, and a constitution. On paper, it looks like a state. Yet for most Somalis, these institutions do not translate into governance. What exists in Mogadishu is a political center with weak administrative capacity and little authority beyond the capital. Even there, government is rarely experienced as public service. It is felt instead as a burden, an extractive presence that demands compliance while offering little in return. [1] When institutions exist in name but not in function, the state still remains present through taxes, fees, checkpoints, permits, and political obligations, while remaining largely absent from service delivery, protection, and dispute resolution. This imbalance pushes communities away from the government and pulls them toward any actor capable of providing order or enforcement, however coercive. Governance failure, in this sense, invites competition.
That dynamic defines the contest between Mogadishu and al-Shabaab. It also shapes the most basic test of governance: control. Large parts of the country lie beyond federal reach. Somaliland exited the state-building project years ago and built its own institutions, budget, and security architecture. Whether one accepts its claim to statehood or not, the reality is that Mogadishu exercises no authority there and plays no meaningful role in governance or security decisions.
Puntland operates as a semi-autonomous polity with its own political logic and security calculations. While it remains formally within the federal framework, its relationship with the center is selective and transactional, shaped more by bargaining than by constitutional hierarchy. Jubaland has signaled a similar posture, asserting autonomy and resisting central direction when it conflicts with local political interests.
Other federal member states exhibit different patterns. Galmudug and South West State remain formally aligned with the federal system but have focused on consolidating local authority and maintaining basic administration within their limited capacities. Their engagement with Mogadishu is pragmatic, driven by security needs, resource negotiations, and political timing rather than clear chains of command. Hirshabelle, by contrast, is more tightly tethered to the capital, with leadership and political space heavily influenced by Mogadishu and limited scope for independent institutional development.
Within and beyond these federal member states, al-Shabaab controls or contests numerous districts, rural areas, and a range of smaller towns and urban centers. In many such areas, the group exercises de facto authority, enforcing rules, collecting taxes, and resolving disputes where the state is absent or ineffective.
It is in this context of this fragmented authority that rumors of U.S. engagement with al-Shabaab must be understood—not as policy betrayal, but as the evolution of a failed dual-track approach into a more diffuse, multi-track posture shaped by governance failure. When a state exists but does not govern, external actors adjust their behavior to protect their interests. They diversify their engagement, reduce dependence on institutions that lack governing power, and experiment with channels capable of shaping outcomes on the ground.
For the United States, Somalia has long been treated as a counterterrorism problem rather than a state-building project. That framing has hardened as governance failure persisted. After two decades of military operations, training missions, and financial support, the core outcome remains unchanged. Al-Shabaab endures. Federal authority remains shallow. Gains are temporary. Territory is taken, then lost again. From Washington’s perspective, Somalia now looks less like a solvable problem and more like an exercise in damage limitation.
Under the current administration, U.S. foreign policy has shown less patience for formal institutions and greater focus on realities on the ground. The approach is transactional, interest-driven, and impatient with open-ended engagements. It places little value on symbolism or process, prioritizing immediate security outcomes instead. Under this doctrine, any actor that controls territory, influences violence, and can deliver a tangible concession becomes relevant—regardless of legal or moral status.
Within that framework, engagement with al-Shabaab is not unprecedented and may be inevitable. The United States has negotiated, directly or indirectly, with groups it had previously treated as off-limits when doing so served a defined interest. What changes is not the principle of engagement, but the threshold at which it is applied. Somalia’s prolonged stagnation lowers that threshold.
One reported condition of engagement stands out: that al-Shabaab sever its formal ties with al-Qaeda. The demand signals a narrowing of U.S. priorities. The focus is no longer whether Somalia can function as a governing state, but whether al-Shabaab remains connected to a transnational jihadist network that poses risks beyond Somalia. How the group governs inside the country, how it enforces rules, collects revenue, or brutalizes civilians, matters less to Washington than its external alignment.
The United States reportedly also seeks the removal of foreign fighters. Al-Shabaab’s response is conditional. It demands amnesty for its foreign fighters and the withdrawal of foreign troops from Somalia. As long as foreign forces remain and no amnesty is offered, severing ties with al-Qaeda offers little incentive. Al-Shabaab’s objective is not global jihad but governance. It seeks to rule Somalia as a governing authority and to be left alone to do so. Under this logic, the relationship with al-Qaeda functions as leverage rather than belief.
What makes this moment especially troubling is not the possibility of negotiations, but what they reveal about Somalia’s standing. When foreign powers stop treating the recognized government as the indispensable partner and begin engaging its sworn enemies, it signals a loss of confidence that is difficult to reverse. The state is no longer approached as the center of any solution, but as one actor among many.
This erosion of confidence did not occur overnight. It reflects a long process in which the Somali state ceased to function as a reliable counterpart. External partners invested in military campaigns and political processes, but saw little follow-through in governance. Areas retaken with international support were not secured with durable administration or public services. Promises of stabilization routinely outpaced delivery. Gradually, partners learned that cooperation with Mogadishu produced episodic gains rather than sustained outcomes. Confidence eroded accordingly.
Over time, fatigue sets in—not only among Somalis, but among donors and partners as well. There is fatigue with funding the same cycle. Fatigue with training and equipping forces whose cohesion is repeatedly tested by politics, clan dynamics, and divided chains of command. Fatigue with conferences that produce communiqués but little follow-through. In that environment, the question quietly shifts from “How do we help Somalia win?” to “How do we prevent this problem from spilling over?”
If the rumors are true, they point less to a moral calculation than to the consequences of prolonged governance failure. They reflect a strategic judgment shaped by Somalia’s internal collapse. External actors respond to realities; they do not create them. When governance fails to assert authority through administration, service delivery, justice, and security, it creates space for alternative arrangements, however uncomfortable they may be. In the end, the most damaging aspect of these rumors is not their plausibility, but their credibility. That they sound believable tells us everything we need to know about the state of Somali governance. A country that governs itself does not fear being bypassed. A failed state eventually does.
Somalia’s problem is no longer only al-Shabaab. It is the absence of a governing state capable of implementing the rule of law and the Provisional Constitution, earning loyalty, and delivering order beyond elite political spaces. When a state fails to perform these basic functions, even its supporters begin to look elsewhere for workable arrangements. That is the context in which U.S. engagement with al-Shabaab becomes thinkable. It is not an endorsement of the group, but a response to a vacuum left by prolonged governance failure. Until Somalia can produce institutions that govern in practice rather than on paper, authority will continue to flow toward those who can impose rules and meet everyday needs, regardless of their formal status.
Isha Qarsoon
Email: Ishaqarsoon1@gmail.com
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References and Footnotes
[1] Federal officials frequently cite improved security in Mogadishu as a principal government achievement, and this assessment is widely shared among the public. However, the current security environment remains heavily dependent on external military presence, international financing, and logistical support. Somali security institutions have not yet demonstrated the capacity to sustain territorial control independently or to conduct and sustain large-scale security operations without external enablers. This dependence underscores the fragility of security gains and their vulnerability to changes in external support. In practice, AUSSOM and its predecessor missions have been central to containing al-Shabaab and maintaining baseline security in the capital, with Somali forces operating alongside them but relying on external force protection, logistics, and sustainment.