By Mohamed A Yasin

When whispers of “one person, one vote” began echoing through the marbled halls of Villa Somalia, they stirred something deep in the hearts of many Somalis. The phrase had a powerful allure: the dream of finally joining the ranks of nations whose people choose their leaders freely, fairly, and as equals.

But beneath the surface of this democratic ambition lies a reality far more tangled.

In towns like Beledweyne, Baidoa, and Dhusamareb, where dust swirls through checkpoints and suspicion hangs heavy in the air, the idea of casting a ballot freely seems almost surreal. Here, Al-Shabaab still patrols the shadows, and local officials tread carefully, if they tread at all. Even in Mogadishu, where the skyline is interrupted by both cranes and craters, security remains elusive.

Yet, despite these ground realities, Villa Somalia is racing ahead with a national plan to implement One-Person, One-Vote (OPOV) elections. The Federal Government calls it a milestone, a way to legitimize the democratic journey. But to many in Somalia’s federal member states, civil society, and independent observers, it feels more like political theatre—a premature script being forced onto an unprepared stage.

A Fractured Constitutional Foundation

In Garowe, Puntland’s capital, leaders are openly skeptical. President Said Deni and other regional heads argue that Somalia still lacks the constitutional consensus required for national elections of this scale. The Provisional Federal Constitution remains a half-built bridge—riddled with gaps, contested interpretations, and unilateral amendments by the central government.

“The ink on the constitution isn’t even dry,” said one FMS minister, requesting anonymity. “And they want to rush into an election that could tear the country apart?”

The concern isn’t just about timing. It’s about trust.

Villa Somalia’s recent moves to revise the constitution and restructure key electoral institutions without meaningful consultation have left many federal states feeling sidelined. For Puntland and Jubaland, the writing is on the wall: an OPOV election, as currently envisioned, would serve not democracy—but centralization of power.

Voting in the Shadow of Fear

Security is another unspoken elephant in the room. In the lush valleys of Lower Shabelle and the sun-scorched deserts of Galmudug, Al-Shabaab controls large swaths of territory. The idea of holding a free election in those areas is not just unrealistic—it’s dangerous.

Even where the government has a foothold, people live under a constant threat. Campaign rallies? Political debates? Voter registration? These are luxuries afforded to peaceful nations. In Somalia, such gatherings are often a target.

“How can a mother walk her son to a polling station when she doesn’t know if she’ll walk back?” asked a schoolteacher from Baydhabo. “We want democracy, but we need peace first.”

A Crisis of Institutions

Then there’s the issue of electoral infrastructure—or the lack of it. The National Independent Electoral Commission (NIEC), whose members are widely seen as loyal to the sitting administration, lacks both reach and reputation. In fact, Somalia has yet to conduct a credible biometric voter registration process across all regions.

Worse still, disputes around past elections remain unresolved. The dust has barely settled from the 2021-2022 indirect elections, marred by vote-buying, intimidation, and opaque processes. To leap from that chaos into a nationwide OPOV system without reforming institutions is akin to building a skyscraper on sinking sand.

To many, the sudden urgency for OPOV feels less like a democratic awakening and more like a political maneuver.

Critics argue that President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud is seeking to secure a second term through a tightly controlled election process—one that he can manage, shape, and influence through handpicked commissioners and centralized rules. The push for OPOV, they say, is cloaked in democratic language but motivated by a desire to neutralize opposition strongholds in the federal states.

“They say it’s about the people’s voice,” said a Jubaland lawmaker. “But the people haven’t been consulted. Not really.”

Social Reality vs. Electoral Ideal

Another overlooked barrier is Somalia’s deeply clan-based society. The controversial 4.5 formula—though widely criticized—has been the glue holding together fragile political representation. In many regions, people identify politically not as individuals, but through lineage, elders, and communal consensus.

Introducing OPOV without first dismantling or transitioning from the clan-based structure could unleash local conflicts over representation, land, and power. Democracy is more than a ballot box—it’s a culture. And in Somalia, that culture is still in development.

A Smarter Path Forward

So, where does this leave the country?

Somalia doesn’t lack the desire for democracy. It lacks the conditions to sustain it. Rather than forcing an all-or-nothing OPOV model, experts are calling for a phased approach:

• Finalize the federal constitution only through inclusive dialogue;
• Conduct local-level pilot elections to build public trust;
• Develop credible voter rolls and civic education campaigns;
• Invest in judicial mechanisms to resolve electoral disputes;
• Extend state control by continuing military operations against insurgents.

These are not shortcuts. They are steps—a staircase, not a leap.

The Road Ahead

In a small tea house in Bosaso, a retired civil servant sipped his shaah and shook his head at the latest headlines. “We’ve tried shortcuts before,” he said quietly. “They cost us lives, time, and our children’s future. Let’s not do that again.”

The dream of OPOV lives on in the hearts of Somalis across the globe. But for that dream to take root, the soil must be ready. And today, Somalia’s soil—though rich in resilience—is not yet firm enough to carry the weight of a national election built on individual ballots.

Democracy is coming. But not today. And not like this.

Mohamed A Yasin
Email: moyasin680@gmail.com