A state without the settlement, wielding sovereignty as a cudgel
In Mogadishu, the Somali federal government has turned its instruments of force inward, moving against opposition leaders, clan elders, and the constitutional arrangements that once required rival factions to negotiate. President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud's rewriting of the provisional constitution and the violent suppression of protest mark not merely a political crisis but a deeper unraveling — a state that performs sovereignty while depending on foreign patronage to sustain the performance. What is at stake is whether Somalia's fragile institutional architecture, built over more than a decade with international support, can survive the weight of its own elite capture.
- Government forces fired mortars into civilian neighborhoods and surrounded opposition leaders' homes, cutting off utilities — a dramatic escalation that turned the state's coercive apparatus against its own political class.
- The constitutional rewrite extending the president's term and a new electoral system skewed toward loyalist constituencies have shattered the old negotiated settlement, pushing Jubaland and Puntland to withdraw recognition from the federal government entirely.
- Beneath the visible clashes lies a systematic institutional capture: military purges, biometric loyalty screenings, weapons distributed along clan lines, and a Muslim Brotherhood-linked faction quietly embedding itself in state ministries.
- Turkish and Western diplomats brokered a fragile pause in the fighting, but both sides are already repositioning — the calm is a breath held, not a resolution.
- With IMF and World Bank support expected to wind down and domestic revenue negligible, the foreign patronage propping up this performance of statehood may soon evaporate, leaving exposed a government that can deploy violence but cannot govern.
On an early June evening, Mogadishu's streets filled with gunfire and mortar blasts — not from Al-Shabaab, but from the federal government itself. President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud had already rewritten the Provisional Constitution to extend his term past the scheduled May election. As major protests approached, Gorgor special forces and the presidential guard moved to arrest Hassan Ali Khaire, a former prime minister meeting with clan elders from his Murosade sub-clan. The attempt failed, but mortar rounds struck civilian homes and the Bakara market. That same night, forces surrounded the home of former president Sheikh Sherif Sheikh Ahmed, cutting his electricity and water. After days of Turkish and Western shuttle diplomacy, a fragile calm returned — but both sides were already preparing for the next confrontation.
The violence was the surface of something more deliberate. For months, the Defense Ministry had been purging the Somali National Army through biometric loyalty screenings, reshuffling commanders, and distributing weapons with clear favoritism toward units drawn from the president's own sub-clan lineage. A new electoral system, calibrated to favor pro-government constituencies, was designed to bypass the old political settlement that had required negotiation among competing factions. Instead of resolving disputes over resource-sharing or federal structure, these moves hardened parallel power structures — many backed by Emirati patronage — and pushed Jubaland and Puntland into open withdrawal of recognition.
Deeper still ran an ideological current. A faction known as Damul Jadiid, rooted in the Muslim Brotherhood and led by Education Minister Farah Abdulkadir, was systematically capturing state institutions — embedding a centralized, Islamist-oriented vision into government machinery that would likely outlast any single president. Meanwhile, Turkey had been promised oil rights and a Gulf of Aden military base in exchange for its patronage, fundamentally lowering the cost of escalation and eroding the diplomatic guardrails that had once constrained the worst impulses of Somali political competition.
What had emerged was a state that performed sovereignty without possessing it. Billions in foreign security assistance had produced a khaki economy — weapons and trained soldiers deployed against domestic opponents rather than against Al-Shabaab, which continued to hold much of the country's interior. Somalia's domestic revenue remained dwarfed by external budget support, and that support was expected to end at the next IDA funding cycle. When foreign patronage dried up, as it did for Somalia's last military dictator in the 1990s, the architecture would face its severest test — and the distance between the performance of statehood and its reality could no longer be papered over.
On a warm evening in early June, Mogadishu's streets erupted in gunfire and mortar fire. This was not the work of Al-Shabaab or a dispute over a checkpoint. The violence came from the federal government itself, moving to tighten its grip on the capital. What had been building for months suddenly broke into the open—and it signaled something more troubling than the usual political turbulence that Somalia's observers have learned to expect.
President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud had already rewritten the Provisional Constitution to extend his term past the scheduled May election. As major protests loomed on June 4th, government forces—Gorgor special forces, police, and the presidential guard—moved to arrest Hassan Ali Khaire, a former prime minister and opposition leader. Khaire was meeting with clan elders and influential figures from his Murosade sub-clan when the assault began. The message was unmistakable: this was not just about one man, but about the government's willingness to use force against an entire clan faction. In a country where clan identity shapes everything, that distinction mattered enormously.
The fighting stretched into the early morning hours. Government forces failed to detain Khaire, but in the attempt, mortar rounds fell on civilian homes and the Bakara market, one of Mogadishu's vital commercial centers. That same night, forces surrounded the house of Sheikh Sherif Sheikh Ahmed, a former president and opposition figure, cutting off his electricity and water. Both opposition leaders had deliberately moved their positions closer to the presidential palace, into neighborhoods where their respective sub-clans held sway, calculating that their presence would constrain the president's willingness to escalate. After several days of shuttle diplomacy by Turkish and Western diplomats, a fragile calm returned to the capital. But the underlying tensions remained unresolved, and both sides were already preparing for the next confrontation.
What lay beneath the violence was a systematic effort to consolidate power. For months, the government had been shipping weapons and loyal militias into Mogadishu, often dressed in military uniforms. The Defense Ministry, led by the hawkish Ahmed Fiqi, had begun purging the Somali National Army, introducing biometric registration to identify soldiers deemed disloyal and reshuffling commanders who had participated in previous power struggles. Cash and weapons were distributed to units from various clans, but with clear favoritism toward troops drawn from the president's own Hawiye/Abgaal/Wa'eysle sub-clan and the prime minister's Darood/Ogaadeen/Reer Abdulle lineage. The intelligence director, Mahad Salad, had been brought back into the fold to help manage this consolidation, though his own relationship with the president had grown strained.
The constitutional overhaul and the introduction of a heavily skewed electoral system—one-person, one-vote, calibrated to favor pro-government constituencies—were designed to bypass the old political settlement that had, however imperfectly, required negotiation among competing factions. Rather than resolve the fundamental divisions over resource-sharing, Somaliland's status, or how security should be organized across federal states, the government's moves had deepened the fractures. Jubaland and Puntland had withdrawn recognition from the federal government. Swaths of clans and communities felt increasingly shut out. These were not mere political disagreements but the hardening of parallel power structures, many of them backed by Emirati patronage.
As the government's domestic political support eroded, it leaned more heavily on foreign allies, particularly Turkey, which had been promised oil, resources, and a military base on the Gulf of Aden. Foreign patronage had fundamentally altered the calculus of power. In the past, the implicit threat of international intervention—the knowledge that the diplomatic corps and the settlement's own guardrails would push back if things went too far—had kept escalation in check. That restraint had largely evaporated. The cost of using force had dropped dramatically, and the necessity of compromise had diminished accordingly.
Beneath the surface of what looked like authoritarian consolidation lay something more ideological. A faction within the government known as Damul Jadiid, or New Blood, led by Education Minister Farah Abdulkadir and rooted in the Muslim Brotherhood, was systematically capturing state institutions. This was not merely about one president's grip on power but about embedding a particular vision of the state—centralized, Islamist-oriented, opposed to federalism—into the machinery of government itself. Even if Hassan Sheikh were removed through some negotiated electoral process, this institutional capture would likely persist.
What had emerged was a state that performed sovereignty without possessing it. Since 2012, external actors had supplied much of the architecture of statehood, assuming that once institutions were built, they would develop their own momentum. Instead, they had become focal points for elite capture. The federal government held no genuine monopoly on force in Somalia. It could deploy violence against domestic opponents, but it could not actually govern. The billions in foreign security assistance had propped up what analysts call a khaki economy—weapons and foreign-trained soldiers deployed against opposition figures in Mogadishu or Baidoa rather than against Al-Shabaab, which continued to control much of the country's interior. The principal beneficiary of this dysfunction remained the jihadist group itself.
The sustainability of this arrangement was in doubt. Somalia's domestic revenue was dwarfed by external budget support. The IMF and World Bank had continued preferential loans and grants, but that support was expected to end at the next round of International Development Association funding. When external patronage dried up—as it had for Somalia's previous military dictator in the 1990s—the edifice would likely collapse. Hassan Sheikh might manage heavily controlled elections in a few regional states, but the gap between the appearance of sovereignty and its reality could not be papered over indefinitely. At some point, the performance would have to give way either to genuine institutional capacity or to outright state failure.
Citas Notables
The government has been preparing for conflict by shipping weapons and loyal militias into the capital, with fears of a return of 'Badbaado Qaran' (National Salvation) permeating the air— Analysis of government military preparations
There is a government without governance, an authority in Mogadishu wielding its diaphanous sovereignty as a cudgel against domestic opposition and foreign scrutiny— Characterization of the state's actual capacity
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does the government's move against Khaire and the clan elders matter more than a typical political arrest?
Because in Somalia, you don't arrest a man—you arrest a clan faction. When the government surrounded Khaire while he was meeting with Murosade elders, it was signaling that no clan network was beyond its reach. That's a different kind of threat.
The source mentions foreign patronage as lowering the cost of escalation. What does that mean in practice?
It means the president no longer has to worry as much about international pushback. Turkey wants military bases and oil access. The Emirates have their own interests. When those external actors have skin in the game, they're less likely to pressure the government to compromise with domestic opponents.
You mention a "khaki economy." What's happening there?
Billions in foreign security aid are flowing in, but instead of being used to fight Al-Shabaab, the weapons and trained soldiers are being deployed against opposition politicians in the capital. The military apparatus becomes a tool for consolidating power, not for actual security.
The Damul Jadiid faction seems separate from the president's immediate power grab. Why does that matter?
Because even if Hassan Sheikh falls, this group will remain embedded in the state institutions they've captured. They're building something that outlasts any single leader—an Islamist vision of centralized governance that will shape Somalia long after this political crisis passes.
You write that the gap between "juridical and empirical sovereignty" cannot be papered over. What's the difference?
Juridical sovereignty is what you have on paper—the constitution, the seat at the UN, the flag. Empirical sovereignty is whether you can actually enforce your laws, collect taxes, or maintain a monopoly on force. Somalia has the first but not the second.
What happens when the foreign money stops?
History suggests collapse. Somalia's military dictator in the 1990s survived on Soviet and then American patronage. When that ended, the state fell apart. The current arrangement is even more fragile because it's built entirely on coercion and external support, not on any genuine institutional foundation.