How two regional states brought Somalia’s election to a grinding halt.
It was supposed to be a turning point. In July 2020, Somalia stood at the precipice of a historic political transformation. The Federal Government, led by President Mohamed Abdullahi Farmajo, had laid out a bold vision: a multi-party system built on the bedrock of one-person, one-vote elections. After decades of clan-based indirect representation, the promise of a direct democratic process was finally within reach.
Yet, more than a year later, the country remains in political limbo. The path to the polls has been blocked, and according to a recent address by the Federal Government, the blame lies squarely at the feet of two regional administrations: Puntland and Jubaland.
A Promising Start Derailed
In the summer of 2020, the atmosphere in Mogadishu was cautiously optimistic. The Independent Electoral Commission was already deep into its work, having registered around 100 political parties eager to test their mettle in a competitive, multi-party general election. It was, as government officials described it, the “promising first phase” of a new democratic era.
But the optimism was short-lived. Almost immediately, the leaders of Puntland and Jubaland pushed back. Their demand was simple but consequential: abandon the one-person, one-vote system and revert to the indirect electoral model of 2016—a complex process involving clan elders and regional delegates rather than the general populace.
Faced with the prospect of a political rupture, the Federal Government blinked. In an effort to hold the nation together, it agreed to the Indirect Election Agreement signed by leaders on September 17th. It was a significant concession, but one made in the name of national unity.
The Art of the Stall
If the government hoped the compromise would pave the way for smooth elections, it was quickly disappointed. While other regional administrations—Galmudug, Hirshabelle, and Southwest—moved to ratify the agreement and establish electoral commissions, Puntland and Jubaland simply refused to participate.
What followed was a months-long exercise in futility. President Farmajo convened meeting after meeting. Prime Minister Mohamed Hussein Robleh embarked on a tour of the federal member states, hoping to kickstart the process. The leaders of Puntland and Jubaland were conspicuously absent from most of these sessions. When they did show up—at a meeting in Samareb—they arrived with a list of new demands, effectively moving the goalposts just as an agreement seemed near.
According to the Federal Government, the pattern became painfully predictable. For six months, the nation waited for the two regional leaders to honor the September 17th agreement they had signed. Demands were made and, in the spirit of compromise, granted. When the Baidoa Agreement of February 15-16 was signed—designed to be the final breakthrough—it too was abandoned by Puntland and Jubaland almost immediately.
One particularly troubling episode involved the demand for the suspension of armed forces—a move the central government warned would expose the country to a surge in crime and insecurity.
A Bridge Too Far
As spring arrived, the stakes grew higher. A delegation composed of the presidents of three progressive regional administrations (South West, Galmudug, and Hirshabelle) was dispatched to negotiate directly with the holdouts. They returned to Mogadishu with nothing to show for their efforts.
By April, talks had moved to the Avizione Center in Mogadishu. But rather than moving toward a resolution, the leaders of Puntland and Jubaland unveiled a list of new conditions that stunned observers and government officials alike. The demands included:
- The suspension of the Federal Parliament.
- The transfer of the president’s constitutional powers.
- The dismissal of the commanders of the armed forces.
- A role for foreign entities in the day-to-day governance of the country.
To the Federal Government, this was no longer a negotiation over electoral procedure. It was, in their words, a demand for “no government.”
A Nation Held Hostage
The coalition of actors attempting to mediate the crisis reads like a who’s who of Somali civil society. Intellectuals, Sufi clerics, women’s political groups, business leaders, and the international community all made appeals to the leaders of Jubaland and Puntland. All were rebuffed.
In a recent address to the Somali people, the Federal Government laid its cards on the table. The message was stark: the leaders of Puntland and Jubaland do not want elections based on the September 17th agreement or the February 16th memorandum of understanding.
“It is deeply regrettable,” the statement read, “that these two leaders have become a roadblock to democracy, preventing the Somali people from exercising their right to vote.”
As the political stalemate drags on, the question hanging over Mogadishu is whether the country’s fragile democracy can survive a crisis where the very act of voting has become a point of contention. For now, the promise of a multi-party system—the one-person, one-vote dream of July 2020—remains just that: a promise, held hostage by a political impasse that shows no sign of breaking.
