Turkey often presents itself as a guardian of Somalia’s unity. Its officials speak confidently about territorial integrity, sovereignty, and brotherhood. On the surface, the language sounds principled. But when that narrative is examined against what has actually happened over the past decade, it becomes clear that unity has functioned less as a principle and more as a mechanism for preserving leverage.
This matters, especially in light of recent claims from Ankara suggesting that Turkey once prevented the international recognition of Somaliland. That assertion may sound convenient today, but it is not supported by the historical record.
When Somalia was recognised in 2012 by the United Kingdom, the European Union, and the United States, it was not because the Somali state had reasserted control over its territory or rebuilt functioning national institutions. It was a political decision, taken after years of transitional arrangements, based on the belief that recognition itself might help stabilise a fragile situation. London played a central role in that process, hosting conferences, aligning donors, and investing diplomatically in Mogadishu as the single point of entry back into the international system. The unresolved status of Somaliland was not addressed. It was deferred.
Turkey entered Somalia around the same period, but through a different approach. Where Western governments relied on multilateral diplomacy and donor frameworks, Ankara pursued direct bilateral influence centred firmly on Mogadishu. Training bases, infrastructure management, security arrangements, and commercial concessions were all anchored to one capital.
Importantly, Turkey did not take on the burden of frontline combat. That responsibility was carried by African Union forces, funded largely by European and American taxpayers.
The UK and Turkey were not doing the same thing, but they arrived at a similar outcome. London pursued recognition first through multilateral diplomacy. Ankara pursued influence first through bilateral control. Different methods, the same reliance on Mogadishu’s monopoly.
What is often forgotten is Somaliland’s own posture before 2012. For two decades after restoring its sovereignty in 1991, Somaliland refused to engage in talks with Somalia. That was not stubbornness or isolationism. It reflected a clear judgment that there was no recognised or coherent counterpart to negotiate with.
Somalia at the time was governed by transitional arrangements with no territorial control and no international legal standing.
During those years, Somaliland sought recognition directly. It did so by pointing to its independence in 1960, the absence of a legally ratified Act of Union, the decision in 1991 to reclaim sovereignty rather than secede, and the gradual construction of a functioning state without trusteeship.
Those arguments were heard politely, but rarely acted upon. The response from many capitals was consistent: Somaliland was told to talk to Somalia first.
Dialogue became the condition for recognition.
It was in that context that President Ahmed Mohamed Silanyo took the decision to enter talks in 2012. This was not a shift in principle, but a strategic calculation. Somalia was moving from
transition to full international recognition, and silence risked being interpreted as acquiescence. Engagement was a way to assert parity at the very moment the international system was consolidating around Mogadishu.
Dialogue was also meant to remove the international excuse. If talks were conducted in good faith and still failed, the burden of explanation would no longer rest with Somaliland. Dialogue was not acceptance. It was positioning.
That is why the language agreed at Chevening House mattered. The commitment was framed as dialogue between two sides to determine their future relationship. It did not presuppose unity, reintegration, or hierarchy.
Over the following eleven years and ten rounds of talks, Somaliland remained consistent.
Somalia did not.
Somalia did not simply fail to implement what was agreed. It used recognition as leverage while hollowing out the dialogue it had committed to. Commitments made at the table were contradicted by actions taken internationally.
Talks became a way to manage pressure rather than resolve the underlying question. This was not administrative weakness. It was intentional asymmetry.
Crucially, Somaliland documented the process carefully. What exists today is not a complaint, but a record.
Dialogue was attempted.
Agreements were signed.
Violations were repeated.
At a certain point, continuing the exercise ceased to be constructive. That is not refusal. It is exhaustion.
Dialogue, however, was never the only track.
In parallel, President Silanyo pursued economic diplomacy as a way of demonstrating capacity and seriousness. The investment by DP World in Berbera, the expansion of the airport, and the development of the corridor linking Somaliland to Ethiopia were not symbolic gestures.
They showed that Somaliland could manage strategic infrastructure, attract long-term partners, and operate independently.
This is also where the Turkish claim collapses.
At the very moment Ankara now claims the UK was close to recognising Somaliland, London was in fact deeply invested, politically and commercially, in Somalia. British-linked companies were positioning themselves early in Somalia’s offshore oil sector.
The most prominent was Soma Oil & Gas, chaired by Michael Howard. UK media reported extensively on the controversy surrounding the deal, the lobbying involved, and the proximity between political influence and commercial access.
This context matters. It explains why the UK was determined to preserve Mogadishu as the sole international gateway through which legitimacy and contracts flowed. It also explains the events of 2013.
That year, the UK hosted the London Conference on Somalia, chaired by Prime Minister David Cameron alongside Somali President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud.
Far from preparing to recognise Somaliland, London was actively working to consolidate Somalia’s international position. Cameron personally pressed President Silanyo to attend the conference, even offering bilateral meetings as an incentive.
Most tellingly, Cameron pursued this effort on the margins of the funeral of Margaret Thatcher, attended by more than seventy heads of state.
Governments do not exert prime-ministerial pressure at that level when they are preparing recognition. They do so when they are trying to prevent a parallel track from gaining legitimacy. Silanyo declined, precisely because attendance would have implied acceptance of a framework designed to legitimise Mogadishu’s monopoly.
This sequence alone refutes the claim that the UK was on the verge of recognising Somaliland in 2013. Turkey did not block a recognition decision. There was no such decision to block.
What has changed now is not Somaliland’s position, but the international environment. Israel’s recognition matters not because Israel is unique, but because it confirms something many capitals have quietly acknowledged. Recognition is not a consensual process. It never was. It is a political decision taken when interests, facts, and credibility align.
Israel’s recognition does not end the debate.
It ends the fiction that recognition must be consensual.
That is what unsettles Ankara. Turkey’s influence in Somalia rests on the assumption of a single recognised authority through which access and legitimacy must pass.
Once that monopoly begins to erode, the language of unity loses much of its force.
None of this denies Turkey’s humanitarian or reconstruction role in Somalia. It does, however, challenge the claim that opposition to Somaliland’s recognition is rooted in principle. It is rooted in control.
Somaliland’s case is no longer stalled because of process or dialogue. Those conditions were met, extended, and documented.
What remains is not a legal question, but a political choice.
And as recognition begins to move unilaterally, narratives built on veto and monopoly will lose their hold far more quickly than many expect.
Bashe Awil Omar is a diplomat and politician. He served as the Somaliland Representative to the UAE (from 2015-2018) and Kenya (from 2018-2021).
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the Horndiplomat editorial policy.
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