Dr Zakariya Weyrax

Recent events in Somalia have forced an uncomfortable but necessary moment of reflection. The external recognition of Somaliland’s secessionist project by Israel triggered near-universal rejection across Somali society and the regional and multilateral forums that recognise Somalia as a single, indivisible state. In response, the Federal Government of Somalia moved swiftly to reinforce constitutional federalism through the inauguration of a new federal member state in the North-East — a symbolic act meant to reaffirm that Somalia’s territorial integrity remains non-negotiable.

In the coordinated chorus of rejection from federal states, two notable voices were missing: Puntland and Jubbaland did not issue separate, official press releases condemning the recognition. Their leaderships were also absent from the federal inauguration. This shared silence on the formal, diplomatic front, however, was where the similarity ended. The political and civic response within each state revealed a fundamental divide.

In Puntland, the absence of an official statement and its leadership did not translate into civic silence. The community itself responded. The Boqor, elders, military representatives, and prominent social figures attended the federal inauguration visibly. A robust public debate followed—energetic, plural, and unapologetic—with Puntland’s constituencies openly defending, criticising, and interrogating their leadership’s choices. This was not instability but rather ownership in action. It revealed a population that feels entitled to argue over its state because it instinctively understands that the state belongs to it.

Jubbaland, by contrast, responded differently.

Despite being home to some of the most staunchly pro-unionist constituencies in Somalia, Jubbaland produced no comparable civic mobilisation, no visible cultural assertion, and no sustained internal debate that translated into public presence or political pressure. The silence was not merely diplomatic; it was social, cultural, and political.

This contrast is not about virtue or blame. It exposes a deeper political anomaly — one that has defined Jubbaland for over a decade.

Across Somalia’s federal landscape, one pattern is consistent, even if rarely stated openly: every federal member state rests on a dominant clan constituency. This is not an ideological claim but a sociological fact. States are stabilised not merely by constitutions or administrations, but by a core population that feels the state is theirs — emotionally, culturally, and historically — even when leadership is contested.

Puntland has such a constituency. So does Galmudug, Hirshabelle, South West State and even the newly formed North East State. In each case, opposition politics exist because ownership exists first. Leadership can be challenged because the state itself is not in question.

Jubbaland stands apart.

It is the most diverse federal member state in Somalia, home to both dominant and minority clan constituencies, pastoral and riverine communities, borderland traders and interior populations. In theory, this diversity should have produced vibrant internal politics, competing visions, and credible opposition movements.

Instead, Jubbaland has experienced something unusual: prolonged incumbency without meaningful opposition.

The current Jubbaland administration — and its leader — has faced sustained pressure from successive federal governments. Attempts have been made to delay elections, delegitimise authority, engineer alternatives, and force political change through external leverage. The Federal Prime Minister of Somalia even recently stated that he does not recognise Jubbaland’s leader. Yet each effort has ultimately failed.

The usual explanation offered is power, alliances, or foreign backing. These factors matter, but they are insufficient. The deeper reason is simpler and more uncomfortable: there is no credible opposition because there is no widely acknowledged ownership.

Regime change without opposition is not reform — it is chaos. And Somalia’s political system, acutely aware of this, has repeatedly stepped back from forcing change in Jubbaland precisely because no alternative civic anchor exists.

This absence of ownership is not merely political. It is cultural.

Across Somalia and its diaspora, state identity is visible and performative. Flags appear at weddings. Armbands are worn casually. Songs are written. Diaspora communities host nights celebrating their state’s history and symbolism — even when they disagree sharply with current leadership. These acts are not organised by governments; they are expressions of belonging.

Jubbaland, strikingly, is almost invisible in this regard.

Its flag is rarely seen in social spaces. Its name is seldom invoked with pride. Its cultural symbolism does not circulate organically among its own constituencies, either at home or abroad. Jubbaland exists administratively, but not emotionally.

This absence matters.

When a population does not see itself as an owner, it behaves like a guest. Guests do not argue over furniture. They do not repaint walls. They do not organise opposition. They endure.

This helps explain why Jubbaland’s large and politically sophisticated constituencies — many of whom are deeply nationalist and pro-unionist — remain collectively quiet even during moments of national consequence. The state is defended abstractly, but not claimed personally.

The result is a vacuum. And vacuums are always filled. In Jubbaland’s case, that vacuum has been filled by uninterrupted incumbency — not through popular mandate, but because there is no counter-claim strong enough to replace it. Silence, in this context, becomes consent by default.

This is not an argument against diversity. Jubbaland’s pluralism is a strength, not a weakness. But diversity without a shared sense of ownership produces paralysis. A state cannot be sustained by administration alone; it must be lived, argued over, and emotionally inhabited by its people.

There is another, quieter reason Jubbaland remains politically frozen: many of its own constituents are still psychologically fighting a battle that history has already settled.

During the early years of Somalia’s federal experiment, it was natural for communities to argue over borders, flags, and the very idea of a federal state. That phase produced noise, competing visions, and in some cases proposals for alternative arrangements within the same territory. In that moment, disagreement was not only understandable — it was inevitable.

But that moment has passed.

Jubbaland today is no longer a concept under negotiation. It is a lived political reality, with recognised borders, institutions, a flag, and over a decade of continuity. Whether one agrees with its leadership or not, Jubbaland exists in the same settled way that all other federal states exist. The question of whether it should exist has been answered not by argument, but by time.

And yet, within Jubbaland’s own social and intellectual space, there remains a lingering hesitation — a sense that emotional investment should be delayed until something cleaner, fairer, or more favourable emerges. This hesitation is costly. It keeps the state suspended in a perpetual formation phase, long after others have moved on to consolidation and contestation.

No state matures while its constituents treat it as provisional.

Elsewhere in Somalia, political disputes are fierce precisely because ownership is settled. People argue about leadership, policy, and direction because the state itself is theirs. Jubbaland’s tragedy is the opposite: disagreement without ownership, silence without settlement, and restraint that drifts into absence.

This unresolved psychology does not preserve options. It quietly hands the present to whoever is already in power.

Accepting Jubbaland as home does not mean endorsing its current leadership, nor does it erase past disagreements. It simply recognises a basic truth of political life: legitimacy grows from presence, not distance. Influence belongs to those who inhabit institutions, symbols, and debates — not those who wait for perfect conditions.

The longer Jubbaland’s largest constituencies delay this acceptance, the longer others will govern uncontested. History does not reward those who refuse to claim the ground beneath their feet.

Which brings us back to the contrast that opened this essay.

Puntland’s recent response — visible participation despite leadership absence, open disagreement without fragmentation — demonstrated something fundamental: emotional ownership precedes political action. It allows disagreement to be productive rather than destabilising.

Jubbaland’s silence, by contrast, is not neutrality. It is a symptom.

Until Jubbaland’s constituencies come to terms with the fact that they are not merely residents of the state but stakeholders in it, leadership will remain uncontested not because it is unchallengeable, but because no one has yet claimed the right to challenge it.

This is the anomaly.

And until it is addressed, Jubbaland will continue to exist as a federal member state in law — but as an emotional non-place in practice.

That silence may appear orderly. But order without ownership is not stability — it is postponement. And history suggests postponement always ends abruptly.

Dr Zakariya Weyrax
Email: aden133@hotmail.com