Imaginary Maps, Real Failure: Why Mogadishu’s ‘Sovereignty’ Talk Rings Hollow.

Somalia’s National Consultative Council (NCC) has issued a fierce condemnation of Israel’s recognition of Somaliland. The language is dramatic. The substance is empty.

While President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud and his regional leaders remain unable to convene a basic political meeting in Mogadishu, the federal government insists it retains “sovereignty” over Hargeisa. This is a claim made from a capital whose airport road still requires foreign troops for protection. Sovereignty, in Somalia’s case, has become a word divorced from reality.

The NCC argues that Israel’s decision “threatens regional security” in the Red Sea. This assertion collapses under even minimal scrutiny. Somaliland’s Coast Guard is the only credible local force securing the Berbera corridor against piracy, trafficking, and smuggling. Mogadishu, by contrast, remains the primary battleground of Al-Shabaab—the single most destabilizing terrorist network in East Africa.

For a government that hosts the region’s most lethal extremist threat to lecture a stable, democratic polity on security is not merely ironic; it is an insult to intelligence.

The call for “national unity” follows a familiar script. When a state cannot provide safety, electricity, or employment, it manufactures an external enemy. Somaliland now fills that role. Israel’s recognition is labeled “illegal,” not because it violates international law, but because it punctures a lucrative fiction.

Somaliland is a functioning state in every material sense: it issues passports, runs elections, maintains security forces, and governs within defined borders. Somalia operates under a provisional constitution that has never fully taken effect and a federal system increasingly at war with itself.

What truly alarms Mogadishu is not Jerusalem or the Red Sea. It is money. The “Somalia” brand sustains a multibillion-dollar aid economy. Acknowledging that Somaliland is the only durable political success to emerge from the 1960 union threatens that revenue stream and the elite class dependent on it.

The NCC statement is the diplomatic equivalent of a “No Trespassing” sign nailed to a house abandoned in 1991. The world has moved on. The Hargeisa–Jerusalem axis looks forward—toward trade, technology, and security cooperation. Mogadishu remains trapped in nostalgia, clinging to an imaginary map and a failed union.

Somaliland did not break away. It moved up. The sooner Mogadishu focuses on governing its own streets instead of policing reality elsewhere, the better for everyone.

UN Security Council Splits as Israel Defends Somaliland Recognition, US Slams Double Standards.

The United Nations Security Council descended into open confrontation after Israel’s decision to recognize Somaliland triggered an emergency session requested by Somalia — a move that exposed deep global divisions over sovereignty, recognition, and political hypocrisy.

The United States delivered the most forceful intervention. Deputy US Ambassador Tammy Bruce accused the Security Council of applying blatant “double standards,” noting that no emergency meeting was convened when several European states unilaterally recognized a Palestinian state earlier this year. “Israel has the right to recognize the independence of Somaliland,” Bruce said, stressing that while US policy has not formally changed, Israel’s sovereign right to conduct diplomacy should not be questioned.

Pakistan also weighed in, calling the recognition “deeply troubling,” while Arab League representatives warned Israel against exploiting Red Sea ports or establishing military footholds near Yemen.

Israel, however, stood firm. It reiterated that recognition after 34 years of de facto independence is neither an act of aggression nor a violation of international law. The timing is strategic: Somaliland sits along the Gulf of Aden, opposite Yemen, near the Bab el-Mandeb Strait — a maritime chokepoint now central to global trade disruption following Houthi attacks.

What unfolded at the UN was more than a procedural debate. It was a collision between narratives and geopolitical reality. For Somaliland, Israel’s move is a historic breakthrough. For Israel, it is a calculated entry into one of the world’s most sensitive strategic corridors.

And for the UN, the emergency session revealed an uncomfortable truth: recognition is less about law — and more about power.

After Netanyahu Talks, Trump Sets Deadline for Hamas Disarmament and Draws Red Line on Iran.

Donald Trump did not hedge after meeting Benjamin Netanyahu. He drew deadlines, named enemies, and made clear where blame will fall if Gaza collapses back into war.

Hamas, Trump said, will be given only a “very short period of time” to disarm. If it refuses, “there will be hell to pay.” The warning was not rhetorical. Trump stressed that Hamas had already committed to disarm under the Gaza framework and that Israel would bear zero responsibility if the deal fails.

In his telling, enforcement will not even require Israel alone. “Those same countries will go and wipe out Hamas. They don’t even need Israel,” he said, claiming support from as many as 59 states.

That framing matters. Trump is repositioning the Gaza plan as an international enforcement project, not an Israeli gamble. Israel, he insisted, has complied “100%” with the plan. His concern lies elsewhere — with actors who delay, stall, or attempt to game the process.

Iran loomed even larger. Trump warned bluntly that Tehran will not be allowed to rebuild its nuclear program — anywhere. “We know exactly where they’re going, what they’re doing,” he said, adding that any attempt to recover nuclear capability would be eradicated. Yet, in classic Trump fashion, the threat came paired with an open door: he said he is willing to talk with Tehran, arguing that diplomacy now rests on deterrence, not concessions.

Trump directly linked Iran’s weakened position to the broader regional shift. Without the blows dealt to Tehran, he argued, there would be no momentum for peace and no expansion of the Abraham Accords. He signaled that expansion is coming quickly and singled out Saudi Arabia as an eventual signatory.

On Syria, Trump claimed an understanding with Netanyahu and pledged to help stabilize Israel’s northern frontier. On Turkey, he brushed aside Erdogan’s threats, declaring flatly that “nothing is going to happen.” Even on the West Bank, where differences remain, Trump deferred conflict rather than escalate it.

Most striking was Trump’s personal defense of Netanyahu. He portrayed him as a wartime survivor whose decisions preserved Israel itself. “If you had eight out of ten prime ministers in his position, you wouldn’t have Israel any longer,” Trump said.

The message from Washington is unmistakable: the era of ambiguity is closing. Hamas faces a clock, Iran faces a ceiling, and Israel has full political cover. What follows will not be process-driven diplomacy, but enforcement-driven outcomes.

From Minnesota Fraud to Mogadishu Politics: Ilhan Omar’s Somaliland Problem.

Rep. Ilhan Omar’s long-standing opposition to recognizing Somaliland is coming under renewed scrutiny as federal investigations expose billions of dollars in alleged fraud tied to government programs in her home state of Minnesota.

Critics argue the contrast is stark: while Somalia remains mired in corruption and institutional failure, Somaliland—an autonomous, self-governing territory Omar opposes recognizing—has built relative stability, democratic institutions, and internal accountability over more than three decades.

Michael Rubin, a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute, says the unfolding Minnesota scandal highlights why Somaliland’s case matters now. “The corruption exposed in Minnesota mirrors the governance failures that have plagued Somalia for decades,” Rubin said. “Somaliland has charted a different course entirely, relying on accountability rather than endless aid.”

Since 2018, fraud losses across Minnesota social programs are estimated to reach into the billions, according to the WARYATV. Federal authorities have already dismantled the $250 million “Feeding Our Future” scheme, producing 78 indictments. FBI Director Kash Patel has described the case as only “the tip of a very large iceberg.”

Omar has defended her backing of the MEALS Act, legislation critics say weakened oversight later exploited by fraud networks. But Rubin argues the issue goes beyond domestic policy. He says Omar’s Somalia-focused worldview shapes her foreign policy positions, including her resistance to legitimizing Somaliland.

“She left Somalia, but Somalia never left her,” Rubin said, pointing to Omar’s Somali-language speeches in which she refers to Somalia—not the United States—as her home. He argues clan politics, not U.S. strategic interests, drive her stance against Somaliland.

Meanwhile, Somaliland’s profile is rising. The territory has maintained internal security, conducted elections, and avoided the chaos gripping southern Somalia. It has deepened ties with Israel and signaled interest in joining the Abraham Accords, positioning itself as a pragmatic partner for Western and regional security interests.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu recently announced Israel’s formal recognition of Somaliland, making it the first UN member state to do so. Rubin says the more policymakers examine the record, the harder it becomes to justify Washington’s approach. “Why keep sending billions to a failed system while ignoring a partner that governs itself?” he asked.

President Donald Trump has said he is “studying” the issue as Netanyahu prepares to raise it in talks this week. According to Rubin, the logic fits Trump’s worldview perfectly: “Somaliland is business-friendly, security-focused, and wants partnerships—not permanent aid. By any reasonable metric, recognizing Somaliland makes sense.”

As investigations deepen in Minnesota, Omar’s opposition to Somaliland is no longer just a foreign policy footnote—it is becoming a political liability that underscores a broader question: Why defend failed systems while dismissing one of the Horn of Africa’s rare success stories?

From London to Hargeisa: A British Statesman Backs Somaliland’s Recognition.

Sir Michael Ellis’s argument in support of Israel’s recognition of Somaliland, framed through the perspective of a committed friend of Somaliland’s sovereignty.

In a world where much of international diplomacy is bogged down in ideology and inertia, Israel’s recognition of Somaliland stands out as a bold and clear-eyed decision rooted in realpolitik—and one that Britain should eagerly embrace as well.

Sir Michael Ellis, a seasoned British politician with deep experience in law and governance, sees in Somaliland not a quixotic diplomatic gamble but a practical partner with a clear track record of responsible statehood. What sets Somaliland apart, Ellis argues, is that it is a nation that actually exists—politically stable, democratically governed, and strategically positioned at a critical global crossroads.

Israel’s decision to grant formal recognition to Somaliland, made in the spirit of pragmatic alliance over ideological posturing, highlights what supportive observers have long known: Somaliland is more than an unrecognized entity. It is a functioning state with institutions, elections, and a commitment to the rule of law. Recognizing it isn’t symbolic—it is strategically smart.

Ellis’s endorsement of Israel’s move reflects an appreciation for diplomacy that prioritizes outcomes over posturing. Just as Israel has demonstrated a willingness to recalibrate relations with countries based on concrete interests and shared security concerns, so too should Britain. Whereas some European states have responded to Middle East tensions with diplomatic withdrawal, Israel has quietly and effectively expanded its global engagement—including new ties with Bolivia and Fiji—even as it addresses more vociferous critics closer to home.

The strategic value of Somaliland is unmistakable. Situated on the Gulf of Aden near the Bab el-Mandeb Strait, Somaliland commands entry to one of the world’s most critical shipping lanes. In a region where Iran-aligned forces have sought to disrupt maritime traffic, the stability of Somaliland and its friendly orientation toward the West make it an indispensable partner.

For the UK, a country with historic ties to the former British Somaliland Protectorate and a vested interest in maritime security, formal recognition would be both pragmatic and principled.

Sir Michael points to Somaliland’s peaceful democratic traditions as another reason for Britain’s support. Unlike many neighbors, Somaliland has consistently held elections, maintained internal security, and embraced pluralism. These are not abstract virtues; they are the foundations of lasting partnerships.

Ellis also highlights the legal case for recognition. Somaliland was a British protectorate granted independence in 1960. Its union with Somalia that followed was never consummated through fully ratified legal instruments, and decades later, Somaliland chose to restore its independence. This is not secession from a functioning sovereign—a legal fiction often invoked in secession debates—but a well-grounded return to sovereignty that once existed and can exist again under law.

Perhaps most compellingly, Ellis notes that the hesitation of Western governments to recognize Somaliland has less to do with legal merit than with political caution—an aversion to upsetting fragile regional relationships or confronting uncomfortable strategic realities. Yet as Israel’s move shows, diplomatic courage can unlock opportunities that complacency simply forecloses.

By recognizing Somaliland, Britain would not merely salute a historical fact; it would affirm shared values, deepen ties with a reliable partner, and signal to the world that democratic achievement and responsible governance still matter. It would underscore a commitment to security and prosperity in a region too often associated with instability.

For Sir Michael Ellis, the question is not whether Somaliland deserves recognition. It is whether Britain has the wisdom and strategic clarity to stand with an emerging nation whose future promises to enhance—not undermine—global stability.

In that light, the answer seems not only obvious, but overdue.

Somalia’s Self-Inflicted Wounds: The Role of Clanism, Corruption, and Conflict in State Collapse.

When three former Somali presidents—Abdiqasim Salad Hassan, Sharif Sheikh Ahmed, and Mohamed Abdullahi Farmaajo—jointly accuse the sitting government of violating the constitution to seize public land, it’s more than a political quarrel.

It’s a warning light on the dashboard of a state that never repaired its foundations after the Djibouti Peace Process of 2008.

Their statement, issued after deadly clashes around Mogadishu’s Horseed Stadium, is unusually specific: they cite constitutional guarantees on environment, property and land management, and the legal plumbing that should govern any transfer or sale—procurement oversight, publication in the Official Gazette, transparent accounting to the treasury. In plain terms: follow the law, resettle displaced families, stop treating public assets as private spoils.

Parliamentarians have echoed the concern. Humanitarian groups warn of mass evictions and a swelling tide of internally displaced families. The pattern is familiar and corrosive: contested land, opaque deals, force before process.

But to understand why these fires keep flaring, look past the parcels to the politics. Somalia’s operating system—the 4.5 power-sharing formula—was built to avoid zero-sum clan conflict. Over time it calcified into what many Somali analysts describe as a duopoly at the top, shrinking competition to two poles and inviting everyone else to bargain for access.

That is not a moral indictment; it is a structural one. When leadership is negotiated first by lineage and only later by program, cabinets become arithmetic problems, and public goods become afterthoughts.

Layer that structure onto today’s security map and you get the explosive mix we see now. Critics of President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud argue that the national army is too often redirected into political contests with federal member states instead of a sustained, professional campaign against Al-Shabaab. They point to repeated confrontations with Puntland and Jubaland—both led by Darood-heavy coalitions—as attempts to tilt the federal balance by coercion rather than consensus.

Whether you share that judgment or not, the perception matters: if federal authority is seen as a partisan cudgel, it deepens the very divides the federation was meant to manage.

The same logic applies beyond the federal map. In Somaliland, Hargeisa’s officials and civil leaders read recent political overtures toward local notables in Awdal as an effort to open a new front of pressure after the Lasanod rupture—another round of proxy politics in a region that needs the opposite. Mogadishu rejects that narrative; yet the fear is real, and fear has consequences. Dialogue with Somaliland since 2012 has been intermittent but essential; instrumentalizing local grievances for leverage would make a negotiated future harder, not easier.

Follow the money and the stakes climb again. Somali commentators worry that the presidency is courting foreign backers who oppose recognition for Somaliland—seeking budgetary oxygen and diplomatic backing while tightening the center’s grip. That may look like tactical statecraft in the short run. In the long run, it risks turning internal reconciliation into a subcontract of outside agendas. No one wins that auction except the auctioneers.

Strip away the slogans and the core problem is brittle legitimacy. When citizens watch evictions enforced before court orders, or see former militants recycled into senior office without accountable vetting, they conclude—rationally—that rules are flexible for the connected and rigid for the weak. When federal troops are more visible in political standoffs than in steady, disciplined operations against jihadists, the public draws its own line between priority and performance. And when the national story is framed as Hawiye versus Darood, every decision is read as sectarian even if it isn’t, because the scoreboard is already lit.

Why would any leader lean into that framing? Two uncharitable explanations circulate in Mogadishu’s tea houses. The first is hardball consolidation: narrow the base to the clan network most likely to defend the palace, sideline rival power centers in Puntland and Jubaland, and press the advantage while donors remain focused on budget lines, not benchmarks. The second is darker: secure enough friends and funds abroad to guarantee a soft landing if the center cannot hold—Turkey is the country most often mentioned in these whispers—while leaving an impossible inheritance to the next government. The president and his allies reject both claims. Yet in politics, unanswered suspicion behaves like fact.

There is a worst-case trajectory, and we should say it aloud to make it avoidable. If the army is politicized, if courts are sidelined by force, if land becomes the coin of coalition-maintenance and federalism the arena for settling lineage scores, Al-Shabaab’s narrative writes itself: a corrupt elite versus authentic faith and order. Afghanistan did not “fall” in a day; it hollowed out. Somalis deserve better than a Kabul-2021 replay in Mogadishu.

Somalia does not lack peace agreements. It lacks the habits and institutions that make agreements real across clan lines and across election cycles. Keep swapping the furniture at the top, and the house will keep shaking. Fix the beams—land governance, rule of law, professional security, de-sectarian politics—and it can stand. The choice is not Hawiye or Darood; it is statehood or the slow-motion surrender that extremists crave.

Somalia has condemned Israel in the halls of the United Nations. Its ambassador in New York, Abubakar Osman Baale, branded the recent Israeli strike in Doha as a “direct threat to the sovereignty of Qatar.” Mogadishu’s words were clear and defiant: solidarity with Qatar, denunciation of Israel.

But behind the rhetoric lies a far darker, more immediate truth: Somalia is being strangled by Al-Shabab in the south and ISIS offshoots in Puntland’s rugged north.

And no country has mastered the art of precision counterterror warfare more effectively than Israel.

It is a paradox too sharp to ignore. Somalia rails against Israel in public forums, while in private it struggles to contain one of the deadliest extremist insurgencies in the world. Al-Shabab’s bomb-makers are innovating faster than the Somali National Army can adapt. In the north, ISIS fighters are embedding themselves in mountain redoubts that Somali forces have failed to root out for years.

Billions of dollars in Western aid and years of U.S. drone strikes have not broken these networks. If anything, the insurgencies are learning, dispersing, adapting.

Now imagine an alternative: Israeli Air Force squadrons, the same F-35s that flew undetected to Doha, conducting surgical strikes against Al-Shabab leadership compounds or ISIS caves in Puntland.

Israel’s Shin Bet and Mossad running the kind of intelligence penetration operations in Somalia that they have perfected in Gaza and southern Lebanon.

Israeli cyber units dismantling Al-Shabab’s online propaganda in days, not years. Somalia’s terror problem would look radically different.

The irony is brutal. To attract more global aid, Somalia must demonstrate that it is crushing terrorists. But its own military capacity is stretched thin, and its international partners are fatigued.

A secret partnership with Israel would be the most effective military shortcut available. Yet Somalia’s leadership clings to its anti-Israel posture, repeating pan-Arab talking points while jihadists tighten their grip inside its own borders.

History suggests this contradiction cannot last. If Mogadishu continues condemning Israel while failing to deliver security, international patience will run out. Already, Western capitals view Somalia as an endless sinkhole of aid, corruption, and unfinished battles.

At some point, leaders in Washington, London, and even the Gulf will quietly ask: why not let Israel do in Somalia what it has done everywhere else—hunt terrorists with ruthless precision?

The prediction is stark: Somalia will face a moment of reckoning. Either it doubles down on public hostility toward Israel and risks watching its territory further consumed by jihadists, or it swallows political pride and quietly courts the very air force it now condemns.

The reality is that no country, not even the United States, has Israel’s unique blend of operational daring, intelligence depth, and battlefield efficiency.

For Somalia, the war against Al-Shabab and ISIS may ultimately be won—or lost—not in Mogadishu’s speeches at the UN, but in whether it can overcome its own political taboos and accept help from the one air force capable of rewriting its security map.

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Mogadishu Paralysis: How Somaliland’s Icebreaker Strategy Is Stripping Somalia of Its Diplomatic Leverage. 

As the Icebreaker Strategy accelerates toward its decisive phase in Hargeisa, the political atmosphere inside Villa Somalia has shifted from denial to disarray. What Somali federal officials describe as emergency consultations in Mogadishu are less the product of a coherent counter-strategy than a collective reckoning: the diplomatic framework that sustained Somalia’s claims for three decades is beginning to collapse under its own weight.

Multiple sources within the Somali Federal Government (SFG) depict a scene of reactive fragmentation. Ministers and senior advisers have been summoned repeatedly, yet the urgency reflects shock rather than control. The core assumption anchoring Mogadishu’s foreign policy—the endurance of the “One Somalia” doctrine—is no longer holding. As recognition momentum builds around Somaliland, that assumption is being tested at a speed for which the federal system appears unprepared.

The debate inside Villa Somalia has fractured along familiar lines. Hardliners are pushing for punitive responses, including threats to sever ties with any state that recognizes Somaliland. Pragmatists, however, privately concede that such threats are hollow. Somalia’s security architecture remains dependent on external partners, and its fiscal position leaves little room for retaliatory diplomacy. The contradiction is stark: a government asserting sovereignty while lacking the capacity to enforce it.

This vulnerability is precisely what the Icebreaker Strategy exploits. By sequencing recognition through secondary but strategically powerful states—rather than a single Western declaration—the approach neutralizes Mogadishu’s traditional leverage. Retaliating against actors like the United Arab Emirates or Israel would impose economic and security costs that the SFG cannot absorb.

As a result, Somalia finds itself trapped, watching its primary diplomatic weapon—the claim to exclusive legal personality—ignored in practice by increasingly influential partners.

The shift is not merely symbolic. International observers note that while Hargeisa has spent years refining a transactional model—trading maritime access, security cooperation, and stability for recognition—Mogadishu remains anchored in the rhetoric of territorial integrity without the instruments to defend it. The contrast has become unavoidable as a high-level American delegation prepares to visit Berbera, signaling where strategic interest now lies.

Inside Villa Somalia, the discussion has quietly moved from how to stop Somaliland’s advance to how to manage the fallout. Officials are increasingly focused on domestic political survival, calculating how recognition elsewhere will reverberate through an already fragile federal system. The question is no longer whether Somaliland can be contained, but whether Mogadishu can adapt to a reality in which its veto power no longer matters.

As Friday night deepens, the divergence could not be clearer. In Hargeisa, silence suggests preparation and control. In Mogadishu, noise betrays uncertainty. One reflects a state executing a long-planned maneuver; the other, a government confronting the limits of its influence. In that contrast lies the clearest signal yet that the balance of power in the Horn of Africa has shifted—and that Mogadishu is running out of moves.