By Ali Halane - Political Analyst
“In Somalia, national projects rarely fail because of a lack of ideas; they fail because of an excess of political ambition. Every time a major reform nears implementation, voices emerge seeking to delay it — not because they oppose it, but because someone else may receive credit for it first”.
In Somali politics, there is a recurring phenomenon that has quietly shaped the country’s political trajectory for nearly three decades: many leaders campaign on ambitious national projects when seeking office, only to oppose the same initiatives once they fail to capture power.
This pattern is not unique to one administration, one opposition bloc or one political generation. It has become a structural feature of Somali political culture — a revolving cycle in which national projects are judged less by their strategic value and more by who gets credit for implementing them.
At the center of this cycle lies a deeper political instinct: many ambitious Somali politicians do not necessarily oppose state-building projects themselves; rather, they want to be the ones who execute them when they eventually reach Villa Somalia. In effect, they seek to “stop the clock” politically until their own turn arrives.
This phenomenon has affected nearly every major national initiative in Somalia in recent years.
Take direct elections.
For years, Somali political leaders across the spectrum promised to move the country away from the indirect clan-based electoral model toward universal suffrage. “One person, one vote” became one of the most repeated slogans in presidential campaigns, opposition conferences and political manifestos.
Yet whenever an administration attempts to operationalize the process, resistance quickly emerges — often from politicians who previously championed the exact same idea.
Critics raise legitimate concerns about security conditions, institutional readiness, voter registration, constitutional consensus and the risk of political manipulation. Some of these concerns are real and deserve serious consideration. Somalia remains a fragile post-conflict state with uneven territorial control and unresolved federal disputes.
But the contradiction remains difficult to ignore: many of the same political actors warning today about the dangers of direct elections previously described them as the cornerstone of Somalia’s democratic future.
The same dynamic appeared in debates surrounding the lifting of the arms embargo.
For years, Somali leaders argued that the country could not rebuild sovereignty while remaining dependent on externally regulated security structures. The arms embargo was portrayed as a symbol of incomplete statehood and unequal international treatment.
When efforts intensified to ease restrictions on weapons procurement, however, sections of the political opposition suddenly began warning international partners about the dangers of arms proliferation, misuse and political militarization.
Again, some concerns were valid. Somalia’s security sector remains fragmented and clan influence within state institutions continues to complicate national force integration.
Yet it was striking how quickly political language shifted from sovereignty and national dignity to warnings of instability once the initiative became associated with a rival administration.
Debt relief followed a similar trajectory.
Successive Somali governments spent years pursuing debt cancellation under the Heavily Indebted Poor Countries (HIPC) initiative. Political elites broadly agreed that Somalia’s economic recovery depended on restoring access to international financing, rebuilding investor confidence and escaping decades of financial isolation.
But when debt relief milestones began approaching completion under the current administration, critics increasingly framed the process as externally driven, economically risky or politically manipulated.
The irony is that debt relief itself was never fundamentally controversial. Virtually all major Somali political actors understood its strategic importance. What became controversial was ownership of the achievement.
The constitutional debate reflects the same pattern even more intensely.
Nearly every Somali political actor publicly acknowledges that the provisional constitution contains ambiguities requiring revision. The federal system remains incompletely defined. Questions surrounding power-sharing, judicial authority, electoral systems and executive structures have long demanded clarification.
Yet constitutional reform becomes politically toxic whenever one side fears another side may benefit from shaping the final framework.
As a result, political actors who once demanded constitutional completion suddenly shift toward defending procedural delays, questioning legitimacy or warning against unilateralism. Meanwhile, governments that previously criticized constitutional amendments while in opposition often become advocates for accelerated reform once in power.
The positions change. The cycle remains.
The same applies to Somalia’s natural resources.
For years, Somali leaders spoke passionately about the importance of offshore oil exploration, gas development, fisheries and mineral extraction. Natural resources were framed as the economic foundation of a future Somali state capable of financing its own security and development.
Yet whenever exploration agreements advance under a rival administration, fierce political resistance emerges.
Opponents warn about transparency concerns, resource-sharing disputes, foreign exploitation or legal uncertainty. Some of these warnings are entirely justified. Somalia still lacks fully institutionalized regulatory frameworks and durable political consensus on resource governance.
But here again, the deeper political struggle often revolves around timing and ownership rather than outright rejection of resource development itself.
Currency reform reveals another version of the same political instinct.
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Somalia’s fragmented monetary system has long weakened state authority and economic stability. Political leaders routinely promised to restore confidence in a unified national currency and rebuild monetary sovereignty.
But attempts to introduce new Somali shilling reforms repeatedly triggered political suspicion, fears of manipulation and resistance from rival factions.
The logic is consistent: reform is acceptable in principle — but politically dangerous if implemented by competitors.
Even the war against Al-Shabaab has not escaped this cycle.
Nearly every Somali leader publicly supports defeating the militant group. No serious political faction openly argues against restoring national security.
Yet political divisions repeatedly emerge over military operations, external security partnerships, mobilization campaigns and stabilization strategies depending on who controls the presidency.
Opposition groups sometimes accuse governments of politicizing the war effort, while governments accuse rivals of undermining national unity during wartime. Meanwhile, military campaigns that were once criticized by opposition figures often become embraced once those same actors move closer to power.
The result is a fragmented national security narrative in which tactical political competition frequently overshadows strategic continuity.
Somalia’s accession to the East African Community (EAC) followed the same script.
For years, Somali politicians advocated regional economic integration, expanded trade access and stronger diplomatic engagement with East Africa. Membership in regional blocs was portrayed as essential for Somalia’s economic recovery and geopolitical normalization.
Yet after accession efforts accelerated, criticism emerged over economic preparedness, market competition, migration risks and institutional compatibility.
Again, many of these debates were legitimate and necessary. But they also reflected a familiar political reflex: projects become more controversial when another administration gets to implement them first.
To be fair, this phenomenon is not entirely irrational.
In fragile political systems, distrust runs deep. Opposition groups fear that governments may use major national projects to consolidate political legitimacy, centralize power or weaken rivals ahead of elections. Governments, meanwhile, often suspect opponents of deliberately obstructing state-building initiatives to deny incumbents political victories.
This mutual suspicion produces what might be called “competitive obstructionism” — a system in which national progress becomes hostage to elite rivalry.
But Somalia pays a heavy price for this politics of delayed consensus.
Major reforms become slower, more contentious and less predictable. International partners receive contradictory messages from Somali actors. State institutions struggle to build continuity across administrations. Long-term projects become politicized rather than institutionalized.
Most importantly, public trust erodes.
Ordinary Somalis increasingly observe that many political elites appear to support reforms only when they expect to personally benefit from implementing them. National priorities become subordinated to presidential calculations.
The tragedy is that, beneath all the political maneuvering, there is actually broad consensus on many of these issues.
Most Somali leaders agree that the country eventually needs direct elections. Most agree Somalia requires stronger security forces, debt relief, constitutional clarity, natural resource development, monetary reform and regional economic integration.
The disagreement is often not about whether these projects should happen.
It is about who gets to own the political legacy of making them happen.
And so Somalia’s political class repeatedly attempts to stop the clock — delaying reforms not necessarily because they reject them, but because they hope to inherit them later under their own presidency.
The problem is that fragile states cannot indefinitely postpone strategic decisions without consequences.
History rarely pauses for political ambition.
*Ali Halane is a Somali journalist and researcher specializing in African and Middle Eastern affairs, and a founding member of the Somali Cultural Parliament.
The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of the Dawan Africa platform.