The Omar Obstacle: How a Single Power Center in Washington Complicates Somaliland’s Path to Recognition. 

For more than three decades, Somaliland’s campaign for international recognition has rested not on military conflict but on diplomacy—on persuading the world’s major capitals that its stability, democratic governance, and distinct political identity warrant sovereign status.

Yet the greatest resistance to this goal does not come from African battlefields or regional rivals. It emerges, unexpectedly, from inside the U.S. Congress.

At the center of this resistance is Representative Ilhan Omar, whose influence over U.S. policy toward the Horn of Africa has become a formidable barrier for Somaliland’s advocates.

While framed publicly as defending Somalia’s territorial claims, her critics in Hargeisa view her role as far more consequential: a one-woman veto bloc capable of shaping Washington’s perceptions and blocking pro-Somaliland initiatives before they ever gather momentum.

From Somaliland’s vantage point, Omar’s statements on the Ethiopia–Somaliland memorandum and her sharp opposition to any departure from Mogadishu’s preferred narrative carry significant weight.

In a Congress where foreign policy bandwidth is limited and internal divisions run deep, a single influential voice—especially one representing a large Somali-American constituency—can define the entire scope of debate.

That influence effectively channels Somalia’s centralized political position into U.S. policymaking, countering Somaliland’s three decades of democratic development and self-governance.

Recent Republican outrage over Omar’s remarks underscores how polarizing—and strategically potent—this dynamic has become.

Calls for her deportation, though legally baseless as experts have emphasized, reveal something far more relevant for Somaliland: a widening political fault line in Washington.

On one side: a high-profile lawmaker advocating strongly for Somalia’s view of the region. On the other: senior Republican figures, including Governor Ron DeSantis and Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, urging a hard reassessment of U.S. engagement in the Horn of Africa and increasingly receptive to Somaliland’s security and strategic value.

This division presents Somaliland with an unmistakable strategic opportunity. As interest in the Red Sea corridor intensifies and U.S. security planners look for reliable partners in a troubled region, Somaliland’s stability stands out.

Key voices within the Republican foreign-policy establishment have already signaled openness to deeper engagement, and in some cases, to formal recognition.

The objective for Somaliland’s advocates is not to inflame partisan battles, nor to pursue unrealistic outcomes. Rather, the goal is political neutralization—ensuring no single congressional figure can unilaterally shape the U.S. understanding of Somaliland’s position.

That requires cultivating a broader coalition in Congress, particularly among those who have expressed willingness to challenge longstanding U.S. policy assumptions toward Somalia.

The current controversy surrounding Omar’s remarks has created a rare opening. As Republicans publicly question her foreign-policy posture, Somaliland has an opportunity to elevate its own narrative: one grounded in democratic performance, counterterrorism reliability, and strategic relevance.

The task now is to anchor Somaliland’s case within the growing chorus of policymakers who see the region through a security lens rather than through Somalia’s internal political disputes.

If seized effectively, this moment could shift Somaliland’s standing in Washington from a peripheral issue to a serious policy consideration—reducing the disproportionate influence of its most determined political opponent and clearing space for a long-overdue reassessment of U.S.–Somaliland relations.

The Rise of the ‘Scam State’: How a Criminal Economy Captured Southeast Asia.

The demolition of KK Park in Myanmar was staged as a triumphant end to one of Southeast Asia’s most notorious scam hubs. Explosions levelled empty office towers, barren food courts, shuttered karaoke bars, and a hospital cleared long before the first blast.

The junta presented the operation as a decisive blow against the region’s sprawling cyberfraud industry.

But the truth was already out of reach. The operators had escaped days earlier, warned of the coming raids, and were reportedly rebuilding new compounds elsewhere. More than a thousand trafficked laborers fled across the border; others were detained.

An estimated 20,000 people—many kidnapped or lured into forced cybercrime—simply vanished. KK Park had been destroyed, but the industry behind it remains untouched.

That is the defining feature of what experts now call the “scam state.” Borrowing from the concept of the narco-state, the term describes countries where criminal enterprises have embedded themselves so deeply into the economy and government that they shape national policy, corrupt institutions, and become essential sources of revenue.

Southeast Asia is entering this era with alarming speed. In less than a decade, online fraud operations have evolved from small-scale grifts into a global criminal economy worth tens of billions.

These syndicates run on a system of industrialized exploitation—trafficked workers forced to run romance scams, investment fraud schemes, and crypto cons targeting victims worldwide.

And the states hosting these operations benefit directly.

Myanmar, Cambodia, and Laos have become the epicenter of the industry, with entire border regions now functioning as semi-autonomous enclaves for criminal networks.

Analysts say periodic “crackdowns” are often political theater—high-profile raids that remove intermediaries but leave the real operators and their government patrons untouched.

“It’s Whack-a-Mole,” says Jacob Sims of Harvard’s Asia Center. “Except you’re not actually trying to hit the mole.” The scam economy, he argues, is no longer a criminal fringe activity. “In terms of gross GDP, it’s the dominant economic engine for the entire Mekong sub-region. And that means it’s one of the dominant political engines.”

In Cambodia, allegations that powerful elites protect scam networks have been dismissed by the government as “baseless.” Myanmar’s junta claims it is working to eliminate cyberfraud entirely, even as vast scam complexes operate openly along its borders.

The scale of the industry reveals a darker truth: these states may no longer be capable—or willing—to dismantle it. Scam centers rely on cross-border patronage networks, corrupt police, pliant bureaucrats, and private militias.

They have become major employers and major revenue generators in economies already battered by conflict, sanctions, and political instability.

The criminal model is also evolving. What once resembled crude email cons has transformed into highly sophisticated psychological operations, complete with multilingual staff, corporate-style management, and advanced technology.

Fraud rings now target victims in the U.S., Europe, and East Asia with precision campaigns that mimic legitimate financial firms and exploit global cryptocurrency markets.

KK Park’s rubble does not symbolize collapse. It is evidence of a well-established system capable of adapting instantly.

Operators relocate, rebuild, and continue extracting billions from victims worldwide—while thousands of trafficked workers remain trapped inside compounds hidden from public view.

The rise of the scam state marks a profound geopolitical shift: a region where illicit economies increasingly outperform legitimate ones, and where the boundary between government and organized crime becomes almost impossible to trace.

This is not an emerging threat; it is a consolidated political economy—one that will shape regional security, migration, and global financial crime for years to come.

The Lebanese Armed Forces opened one of Hezbollah’s underground tunnels to international journalists on Friday, offering a rare glimpse into the group’s concealed military infrastructure in the country’s volatile south.

The visit, organized by the LAF, appeared aimed at demonstrating both the army’s expanding control in areas long dominated by Hezbollah and the scale of the challenge it faces as tensions with Israel continue to rise.

The tunnel, dug into the hillside of Wadi Zibqin, sits in one of Hezbollah’s most entrenched strongholds just north of the Israeli border. Inside, reporters walked through a narrow passage that led to what resembled a small medical station, a rudimentary kitchen, preserved food supplies, water tanks, electrical wiring, and a ventilation system — evidence of a site designed to sustain fighters for extended periods.

No Hezbollah personnel were present, and the Lebanese military insisted the position had been abandoned.

Brig. Gen. Nicolas Thabet, who oversees army operations south of the Litani River, moved through the tunnel alongside the media delegation.

He framed the visit as part of a broader effort to reassert state authority in an area where Hezbollah’s influence has been largely unchecked for nearly two decades.

“We will not give up our objectives, whatever the difficulties may be,” he told reporters, describing the terrain as “one of the most dangerous areas in the Middle East” and stressing that the army has “sacrificed greatly.”

The location has already proven deadly. In August, six LAF sappers died when an explosion ripped through a nearby weapons depot believed to contain munitions stored by Hezbollah.

The army says it has since taken control of several former positions that were either struck by Israeli fire or abandoned by fighters.

Friday’s tour came at a moment of renewed tension following the killing of senior Hezbollah commander Haytham Ali Tabatabai in an Israeli airstrike on Beirut’s Dahiyeh district earlier in the week. Tabatabai, considered one of Hezbollah’s most experienced field commanders, played a central role in the group’s operations in Syria and Yemen and was a key node in Iran’s regional network.

Speaking after the strike, Hezbollah Deputy Secretary-General Naim Qassem warned that the group retained “the right to respond” and would choose the timing.

He accused the United States and unnamed Arab states of helping orchestrate what he described as a campaign of “infiltrations” targeting Hezbollah.

“The enemy did everything in its power to end the resistance, but it failed,” Qassem said, casting the group once again as the vanguard against what he called “Israeli-American aggression.”

For the LAF, the tunnel tour was as much an act of messaging as it was a display of access.

By showing the site to foreign media, the army signaled that it is trying — despite limited resources and complicated political constraints — to present itself as a stabilizing actor in a landscape now shaped by Israeli precision strikes, Hezbollah’s internal recalculations, and growing uncertainty over how long the current cycle of escalation can be contained.

A leaked video of a lavish wedding inside an exclusive Tehran hotel has thrown Iran’s ruling establishment into one of its most visible crises of legitimacy in years, igniting nationwide outrage and laying bare the vast gulf between the Islamic Republic’s moral edicts and the private behavior of its most powerful families.

The footage — a short clip showing the daughter of Ali Shamkhani, a top adviser to Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, walking into her ceremony in a strapless, low-cut Western-style gown — spread across Iranian social media with blistering speed.

Filmed in mid-2024 at the opulent Espinas Palace Hotel, the scene bore no resemblance to the austere, hijab-enforced Iran that ordinary citizens are forced to live in.

Here was the family of a man deeply involved in crushing the 2022 “Woman, Life, Freedom” protests, celebrating in a swirl of bare shoulders, uncovered hair, and Western fashion.

Many guests appeared without head coverings. Champagne flutes dotted the tables. It was precisely the sort of event that Iran’s morality police have spent decades punishing the public for attempting.

For millions of Iranians, the anger is not about a dress. It is about a system that demands sacrifice from the poor while affording indulgence to the elite.

Two Irans, One Regime

Shamkhani is no peripheral figure. A former Revolutionary Guard commander and longtime security chief, he remains one of the most influential voices in the Islamic Republic — and one of the architects of the bloody crackdowns meant to uphold the same moral codes his family casually violated.

His clan is also emblematic of the privileged stratum that has thrived under sanctions. Forbes reported that Iran’s “high net worth” population grew 21.6% in 2020, even as the country slid deeper into poverty.

Earlier this year, the U.S. Treasury sanctioned members of the Shamkhani family for running a sprawling illicit shipping network that trafficked Iranian and Russian oil.

To the roughly 36% of Iranians now living below the poverty line, the video was a wound: proof of an elite that lectures the public on Islamic modesty while dining, dressing, and celebrating as if the rules were meant for someone else.

A Direct Challenge to the Morality State

Since 1979, the Islamic Republic has justified its authority through the policing of public behavior — particularly the control of women’s bodies. The hijab mandate has become a pillar of the state’s ideological identity. That is why the viral footage has touched such a raw national nerve.

Millions of Iranian women have openly defied the hijab since the death of Mahsa Amini, sparking waves of protests the regime violently crushed.

Even today, morality police continue crackdowns. But the leaked video confirms something millions already suspected: Iran’s rulers enforce a morality they themselves do not believe in.

“Why are we being beaten for the same thing their daughters do freely?” one Iranian wrote on Telegram.

Power Struggle in the Shadows

The timing of the leak has fueled another theory: this scandal is no accident, but a political weapon.

Supreme Leader Khamenei has appeared rarely in public since June’s 12-day war with Israel and subsequent U.S. strikes on Iranian nuclear sites. Behind the scenes, factional infighting has intensified as rivals position themselves for succession.

Among the fiercest rivals are Shamkhani and former president Hassan Rouhani. Their long-standing feud — from the nuclear deal to economic mismanagement — has created speculation that Rouhani or his allies allowed the video to escape as part of a broader political assault.

Regardless of who leaked the footage, its impact is severe. It has exposed the regime’s most sensitive vulnerability: the crumbling social contract between Iran’s rulers and its people.

The Islamic Republic’s legitimacy has always rested on a claim to moral authority. But rules lose their power when those who make them are the first to break them.

The Shamkhani wedding is not just an embarrassment; it is a warning. A regime that preaches piety but practices privilege risks eroding the very foundations that sustain it.

As one Iranian commentator wrote:
“Once the veil slips, the entire masquerade begins to unravel.”

How Praise Triggered Rage: The Psychological Chess Behind Bihi’s Trap — A Friendship Shattered, A Party Divided.

Hargeisa — The dramatic rupture between former President Muse Bihi Abdi and Kulmiye Chairman Mohamed Kahin Ahmed—two men whose political partnership spans the Barre era, the SNM struggle, and the post-war state-building years—has become more than an internal party dispute.

It is a textbook demonstration of how a leader’s greatest strength can harden into his most dangerous vulnerability.

What has unfolded in recent days reveals a familiar political pattern in the Horn of Africa: power brokers who rise through force, endurance, and personal authority often assume their dominance is permanent. In reality, their power is most fragile at the very moment they believe it is absolute.

A Calculated Trigger

Inside Kulmiye circles, many now argue that the confrontation was not spontaneous but a deliberate provocation engineered by Muse Bihi himself. After decades of working side-by-side, Bihi understood Kahin’s psychological architecture better than anyone.

He knew that a direct confrontation would only embolden the Chairman. Instead, Bihi offered public praise—measured, calm, even deferential.

To the public, it sounded conciliatory. To Kahin, it sounded like a challenge.

Unable to leave even a subtle provocation unanswered, Kahin rushed to the cameras and unleashed a blistering, abrasive attack on the man he once called a brother. The outburst shocked the country—its tone, its speed, and the personal venom behind it.

And that, insiders say, was precisely the reaction Bihi anticipated.

Strength That Became Weakness

Mohamed Kahin’s political authority has always been rooted in force: a reputation for toughness, a voice that commands rooms, and the lingering aura of a wartime figure who can intimidate without trying. That image built his career. It also made him the easiest man in Somaliland to provoke.

His hunger for confrontation—once an asset—became a trap.

By taking the bait, he cast himself as the aggressor in a conflict the public did not want. He alienated allies, alarmed neutral figures, and appeared increasingly unhinged at a moment when the party needed calm stewardship. His defining strength—his willingness to fight—became the very trait that isolated him.

The Strategist’s Advantage

Muse Bihi, ever the tactician, emerged from the episode with his political instincts on display. By setting the trap without raising his voice, he shifted the country’s perception of Kahin from veteran statesman to destabilizing force. His strategy reinforced a long-standing truth: the battle is rarely won by the loudest man, but by the one who controls the tempo.

Yet Bihi’s success carries its own peril. His history of sidelining opponents—even long-standing allies—feeds a growing narrative that he trusts no one, values loyalty only when convenient, and views politics as a battlefield to be dominated rather than a system to be shared.

Such mastery can turn into isolation. And isolation, in the Horn of Africa’s political landscape, has destroyed leaders far stronger than him.

A Mirror for Both Men

Somaliland now watches two giants struggle with the consequences of their own identities:

Kahin, undone by the aggression that once made him powerful.

Bihi, strengthened by strategy but endangered by the cold precision of his own methods.

Their feud exposes a broader truth about leadership in Somaliland: the figure who appears unbreakable is often the most predictable, and the most predictable leader is the easiest to defeat.

In the end, the unlocked gate was built not by their enemies, but by the very strengths that carried them to the top.

Somaliland’s Parties Committee Forces Opposition Kulmiye to Hold Leadership Vote

Inside the High-Risk Battle Over Kulmiye’s Future

Kulmiye Civil War: Kahin Accuses Bihi of Leading a ‘Coup’ to Oust Him

Russian President Vladimir Putin’s latest remarks in Kyrgyzstan signal an unusually blunt negotiating posture: Moscow will halt its nearly four-year war only if Ukrainian forces withdraw from all territories Russia claims as its own—territory Kyiv insists remains sovereign and non-negotiable.

The statement underscores a widening gap between battlefield realities, domestic political constraints, and the frantic U.S. effort to secure a cease-fire before the conflict escalates further.

Putin framed the offer as a straightforward choice: a voluntary Ukrainian withdrawal or a forced one. His confidence reflects the momentum of Russian forces, which have tightened their grip across multiple fronts in Donetsk, Vovchansk and Siversk, and are advancing toward the strategic hub of Guliaipole.

Moscow claims to have encircled Ukrainian formations in Pokrovsk and Myrnograd, though Kyiv disputes any such encirclement. What is clear, however, is that Ukrainian troops—short on ammunition, manpower and air defense—are fighting under conditions that Western officials increasingly describe as unsustainable.

The timing of Putin’s remarks is not accidental. Washington has launched an accelerated diplomatic push built around a revised peace framework, now reduced to roughly 20 points after strong resistance from Kyiv and European allies.

Earlier U.S. drafts proposed Ukrainian withdrawal from parts of Donetsk and implicit recognition of Russia’s hold over Crimea, Luhansk and Donetsk—ideas that provoked immediate backlash.

Even the softened version faces political headwinds in Kyiv, where President Volodymyr Zelenskyy is under pressure to reject any territorial concessions while simultaneously confronting doubts about his own constitutional mandate.

Putin hinted that the latest U.S. proposal could serve as a “basis for future agreements,” but his caveat—that signing anything with Zelenskyy is “almost impossible” due to questions over his legitimacy—introduces a destabilizing complication.

By casting doubt on the Ukrainian leader’s authority, the Kremlin appears to be maneuvering for leverage, perhaps anticipating a fractured or weakened Ukrainian negotiating position.

Meanwhile, U.S. negotiator Steve Witkoff is expected in Moscow next week to continue discussions, and Army Secretary Dan Driscoll will arrive in Kyiv for consultations with Ukrainian officials.

This parallel diplomacy reflects Washington’s attempt to maintain pressure on both sides even as the situation on the ground deteriorates.

According to data compiled by the Institute for the Study of War, Russia has captured roughly 467 square kilometers per month in 2025—an acceleration from the previous year and a trend that strengthens Moscow’s bargaining power.

As Putin put it, “There is little that can be done about it,” a message clearly intended for both Ukrainian leaders and Western capitals debating how much more support to provide.

The war has already reshaped the European security order, displaced millions, and cost hundreds of thousands of lives. Putin’s latest remarks suggest he believes time—and momentum—is now firmly on his side.

What remains unclear is whether Washington’s evolving peace plan can bridge the distance between battlefield realities and political red lines, or whether the conflict is entering a new, more dangerous phase driven by exhaustion, necessity, and geopolitical expediency.

Clan, Competition, and the Future of Somali Power in the West.

The spectacular rise of the Indian diaspora in the United States is often treated as a miracle of American opportunity. It isn’t. It is the predictable outcome of a culture engineered around discipline, merit, and relentless competition. Indians arrive in America trained for excellence long before they ever see an airport terminal.

Somalis, by contrast, arrive with a completely different set of cultural tools — many of them geared toward survival, not advancement. And the results show. While Indians dominate Silicon Valley, medicine, finance, and academia, Somali communities in cities like Minneapolis struggle with internal division, low educational attainment, and social crises that drain family and community energy.

The comparison is uncomfortable, but it is necessary.

Indians succeed because India prepares them to succeed.
From early childhood, Indian families impose a level of academic pressure most Americans cannot imagine. Education is not “encouraged” — it is mandatory. Parents sacrifice financially, socially, and emotionally to push their children through brutal competition for seats in elite schools and engineering colleges. Meritocracy is not a slogan; it is a survival mechanism.

By the time an Indian migrant arrives in the United States, they have battled exams harder than anything in the American system. They have grown up in households where discipline is expected, where ambition is celebrated, and where academic failure is a family crisis, not a personal shrug.

So when they enter America’s universities, hospitals, tech firms, or research labs, they are not intimidated. They are prepared — over-prepared, even. The U.S. system, compared to India’s, often feels easier, fairer, and more predictable. Their success is not an accident; it is a continuation of lifelong training.

Somalis fail because the community refuses to confront its own dysfunctions.
In the Somali diaspora, talent exists. Intelligence exists. Ambition exists. But it is suffocated by a cultural environment that prioritizes clan politics, gossip, and internal sabotage over education, discipline, and long-term planning.

Every major Somali community in the West suffers the same core problems:

Chronic clan fragmentation that destroys collective political and economic leverage.

Weak educational culture, where academic excellence is praised but not structurally enforced.

Youth vulnerability to crime, drugs, and radicalization, which drains family stability.

A habit of blaming external forces (racism, the West, the government) instead of building internal discipline.

Where Indian parents push their children toward STEM fields, Somali parents often spend their energy navigating community disputes, social crises, and endless cycles of instability imported from back home.

The result is predictable: the Indian diaspora rises; the Somali diaspora stagnates.

If Somalis want a different outcome, they must build a different culture.
Recognition, progress, and respect will not come through slogans or diaspora pride. They will come when Somali families enforce the same non-negotiable educational expectations that Indian families do; when communities abandon clan politics; and when discipline replaces excuses.

Success is not genetic. It is cultural. And until Somalis build a culture built for high performance, they will continue losing a race others are running with far more seriousness and unity.

Congress Identifies the Horn of Africa as Battlefield in China’s Bid for Global Dominance.

The U.S. Congress’s latest annual report on the strategic rivalry with China leaves little ambiguity: the Horn of Africa and the Red Sea are no longer peripheral theaters.

They are central battlegrounds in a global competition over supply chains, maritime chokepoints, and diplomatic influence—and Somaliland has unexpectedly become one of the most valuable pieces on the board.

The report frames China’s activities in Africa not as commercial outreach but as a coordinated campaign to secure mineral dominance, expand ground infrastructure for space operations, and erode American influence across strategic coastlines.

This is not abstract speculation. It is a clear assessment that Beijing’s long-term goal is to reshape global leverage structures by controlling the inputs of modern technology and the routes that move them.

In that framework, Africa is indispensable. The continent holds the largest untapped reserves of minerals critical to electric vehicles, batteries, aerospace platforms, and advanced computing.

China has already built the most vertically integrated supply chain in the world, controlling extraction, processing, and export in ways that grant it near-monopolistic power. Congress now warns that this dominance will translate into political leverage—economic pressure deployed strategically, backed by military and technological reach.

For the United States, losing ground in Africa would mean ceding control of essential materials that underpin national security and industrial capacity.

Beijing’s push extends beyond the mines. China’s investments in space-tracking stations and satellite facilities across Africa are viewed as dual-use assets, potentially giving the People’s Liberation Army expanded coverage, intelligence collection, and command-and-control capability.

Locations near the equator, including parts of the Horn, offer critical advantages for satellite launches and tracking. Every new installation tightens China’s grip on the global information environment.

The report’s conclusion is blunt: African territory is becoming a platform from which Beijing can challenge U.S. military and technological superiority.

The Red Sea is the next strategic layer. China’s naval base in Djibouti already positions it alongside one of America’s most significant operations in Africa.

Congressional analysts warn that China’s “assertive Red Sea diplomacy”—from Sudan to Saudi Arabia and Yemen—aims to secure long-term rights over ports, energy routes, and maritime corridors that carry a significant share of global trade.

In a region already destabilized by Houthi attacks and shifting Gulf alliances, China is positioning itself as an alternative power broker, prepared to fill security vacuums or exploit them.

Within this expanding contest, Somaliland appears almost inadvertently positioned at the center. The U.S. report explicitly highlights China’s efforts to undermine the Somaliland-Taiwan relationship, recognizing it as a threat to Beijing’s preferred diplomatic architecture.

The partnership between Hargeisa and Taipei challenges China’s ideological claim to “One China” and offers the United States a rare opportunity: supporting two self-governing, democratic partners in a strategically located region without the formal constraints of traditional recognition politics.

Somaliland’s location on the Gulf of Aden, its potential access to rare earth and strategic minerals, and its political stability relative to its neighbors make it uniquely valuable.

For Washington, Somaliland represents diversification—not only of shipping routes and intelligence access, but of partnerships that can counter China’s growing footprint in the Horn. For Beijing, that same partnership represents an intolerable precedent—proof that China cannot fully dictate diplomatic behavior even in regions where it wields immense economic influence.

The congressional report makes clear that regional political disputes—from licensing fights in Sanaag to pressure exerted by the Federal Government of Somalia—are no longer internal matters. They play directly into the global rivalry.

China sees opportunity in fragmentation; the United States sees risk. The emerging question for Somaliland, Puntland, and Mogadishu is whether they can navigate the geopolitical current without being pulled into a proxy confrontation that reframes local governance in global terms.

For Somaliland in particular, the stakes are substantial. It must leverage this newfound visibility without compromising sovereignty, falling into extractive agreements, or relying on short-term political wins offered by either power.

The real test for the region’s leaders will be resisting the temptation of quick gains and focusing instead on long-term state resilience—transparent governance, independent institutions, and strategic clarity. In a contest defined by minerals, maritime power, and diplomatic alignment, stability becomes a geopolitical asset in itself.

Somaliland did not choose to become part of the U.S.-China rivalry. But the congressional report confirms a reality now impossible to ignore: the global balance of power is drifting toward the Red Sea, and Hargeisa is standing on one of the most strategically valuable pieces of ground on the map.