By Abdiqani Haji Abdi
The rhetoric echoing from Villa Somalia today speaks of a democratic awakening. Senior officials describe a decisive break from the long-maligned “4.5” clan-based system toward the global gold standard of One Person, One Vote (OPOV). President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud has framed the shift as inevitable, overdue, and historic—a necessary leap into modern statehood.
But away from podiums and press statements, a quieter and far more troubling question is being asked across Somalia: How?
For many Somalis, particularly those living outside the fortified bubble of Mogadishu, the distance between the promise of universal suffrage and the reality of daily insecurity is so vast that the proposal feels less like a democratic milestone and more like a dangerous political mirage.
The Security Vacuum: The Elephant in the Polling Booth
The most glaring obstacle to universal suffrage in Somalia is not only the lack of voter education, and legal frameworks. It is the physical absence of the state.
Critics point to a blunt but unavoidable fact: the federal government struggles to secure key roads just kilometers from the capital. The routes to Balcad and Afgooye, vital arteries linking Mogadishu to the Shabelle regions, remain vulnerable to attack. Even within the capital itself, neighborhoods such as Suuqa Xoolaha and surrounding districts experience periodic violence and intimidation.
In this context, the notion of a nationwide election raises a chilling question. How can a government that cannot guarantee safe passage for civilians guarantee safe participation in a federal vote?
For residents of rural areas under constant threat from Al-Shabaab, voting would not be an act of civic duty but a calculated risk. To stand in line at a polling station is to identify oneself, publicly and permanently, in areas where the state’s reach is intermittent at best. Without credible protection, “One Person, One Vote” risks becoming something far darker: One Person, One Target.
Lessons from History: When Elections Are Forced
Somalia’s dilemma is not unprecedented. Other fragile states have attempted to impose universal suffrage before securing political consensus or territorial control, often with devastating consequences.
In Afghanistan (2004–2019), successive governments insisted on holding nationwide OPOV elections despite vast rural areas being controlled by the Taliban. The result was a hollow democratic ritual: “ghost” polling stations, inflated turnout figures, and voters who braved violence only to face brutal retaliation afterward. The lesson was stark. Without a monopoly on force, elections become symbolic at best and lethal at worst.
Ethiopia’s 2020–2021 elections offer another cautionary tale. A move toward centralized electoral authority without buy-in from all federal regions helped trigger a legitimacy crisis that spiraled into conflict. The Tigray war demonstrated the devastating consequences of such failures, resulting in hundreds of thousands of deaths, widespread displacement, and severe economic damage estimated in the tens of billions of dollars, with reconstruction costs alone potentially reaching $20 billion. In federal systems, elections imposed without consensus do not unify—they fracture.
In Ivory Coast (2010), elections were held while the country remained politically divided. Competing claims of legitimacy quickly escalated into armed confrontation, killing thousands. The international community learned too late that technology and observers cannot repair a collapse of trust.
A Technical Fix for a Political Problem?
Despite these lessons, Somalia’s current push for OPOV is being sold primarily as a technical achievement. Officials speak confidently about biometric voter registration, digital databases, and imported equipment.
Yet history suggests this emphasis misses the point. Elections fail not because of faulty machines, but because of unresolved politics. A biometric scanner cannot negotiate a political instability or a ceasefires. A router cannot secure a village road. No amount of technology can substitute for consensus between Mogadishu and federal member states such as Puntland and Jubaland, whose leaders have expressed deep reservations about the process.
This has fueled a growing suspicion among opposition figures and civil society groups: that the rush toward OPOV is less about democratization and more about time.
With 2026 approaching and security conditions deteriorating, critics fear the government is advancing a model it knows cannot be fully implemented—creating the conditions for “technical delays” that could justify remaining in office without a renewed mandate.
The Trust Deficit
Perhaps the most underestimated obstacle is not security, but trust. Elections require more than ballots; they require belief—belief that the rules are fair, that institutions are neutral, and that losing does not mean exclusion or punishment.
That belief is in short supply.
Relations between the federal government and several regional administrations are strained. Accusations of centralization, selective enforcement of law, and politicization of institutions have eroded confidence. In such an environment, a winner-takes-all national vote risks magnifying tensions rather than resolving them.
Where Is It Safe to Vote?
Some Somalis, half-joking and half-despairing, suggest the safest polling station would be in the middle of the Indian Ocean—the only place beyond Al-Shabaab’s reach. The joke lands because it exposes the absurdity at the heart of the current plan.
For a government to govern democratically, it must first be able to reach its citizens where they live. Universal suffrage is a noble and necessary goal. But forcing it into existence without security, consensus, or trust is not reform—it is a gamble.
Somalia has paid too dearly for political experiments detached from reality. Until the foundations of security and agreement are firmly laid, One Person, One Vote remains a mirage—one that risks destabilizing the fragile state it claims to strengthen.
Abdiqani Haji Abdi
Email: Hajiabdi0128@gmail.com