“I don’t care much about which political party I join; I’ll go with whichever one my clan chooses.”
That was the candid answer of a parliamentary hopeful during a recent interview. Many brushed it off as just another reflection of our political reality. But it deserves far more scrutiny. In just a few words, it laid bare the quiet collapse of democratic choice in Somaliland, where loyalty to clan elders now routinely overrides political principles, ideology, or even public accountability.
This wasn’t a slip of the tongue, nor an outlier. It’s a clear sign of a deepening trend: the normalization of clan authority in shaping our political future. In the last presidential election, clan committees—known as Guddi Reer—and the alliances they brokered became the main force behind who won and who lost. During the campaign, many politicians, who regarded themselves as heavyweights found themselves been left out as the majority of parties structured their campaign along clan lines, with clan leaders as the head of their respective clans. Political parties, candidates, and even voters were sidelined by deals struck behind closed doors. It was widely whispered that the former president lost not because of poor governance (although that should have been enough), but because he distanced himself from influential elders, including from his own clan. In that election, ballots were cast, but the real outcome had already been decided in living rooms and tea circles—long before voters reached the polls.
To be clear, I am not minimizing the critical role they played in rebuilding this country. When the Somali government collapsed in 1991, it was them who laid the foundations of our self-government. But what once was a literal necessity to stabilize the country, is now serving an obstacle to the democratic progress. The problem is not that they exist, it is that their historically informal authority is damaging the formal structures of representation and accountability.
Consequences.
The most damaging consequence of this shift is the systematic exclusion of large segments of society from political life. Youth and women—who make up the majority of the population—are routinely overlooked in decisions made by elder-only male-dominated clan structures (out of the 220 seats in 2021 parliamentary and local elections only 3 women won seats in the local elections. No women won a parliamentary seat). Marginalized communities, often without powerful clan representation, are forgotten altogether. Voters have been quietly downgraded to insignificance, expected to simply rubber-stamp decisions made on their behalf. Political parties, rather than building coherent ideologies or nurturing loyal cadres, are now expected to swallow whoever the clan elders bring to their gates, regardless of competence or values. As a result, capable and visionary leaders are left in the wild, while loyalty to clan elders becomes the only qualification that truly matters.
This rot seeps into governance itself. When candidates are selected not for competence but for connections, we end up with weak institutions, misplaced priorities, and public disillusionment. Leaders don’t feel accountable to the public, because they weren’t chosen by them in the first place. As The Dictator’s Handbook bluntly states: “The fewer people a leader needs to stay in power, the easier it is to ignore the needs of the many.”
The glimmer of hope offered by the concurrent 2021 parliamentary and local elections did not last long. When Abdikarim Ahmed Moge, now Mayor of Hargeisa, and Barkhad Batuun, the first MP from the marginalized Gaboye clan, won on anti-tribalism platforms, many of us believed we were witnessing a turning point. It felt like a public rejection of clan dominance. But that was all it was—hope. Soon after the elections, clan leaders, sensing their influence was being threatened, sprang into action. They began restoring the old order, pulling people back into the orbit of clan loyalty; what the same authors call “the interchangeables”: those whose presence is needed only to legitimize decisions made elsewhere.
A familiar Playbook.
“It is better to have loyal incompetents than competent rivals.”
This concept from political survival strategists, is a chilling insight that captures exactly what is happening today in Somaliland: clan leaders are nurturing loyalty over competence among candidates, creating a leadership that is only accountable to them.
As Somaliland prepares for its 2026 concurrent parliamentary and local elections, there are already signs of a disturbing playbook at work. Clan leaders are organizing phony internal clan votes—a veneer of “democratization” to decide in advance who will represent each constituency. These clan-selected representatives then enter party tickets, sidelining any pretense of open competition. The result is a two-tier system: visible ballots and invisible gatekeepers, with real decisions made before campaigning begins and public debate is minimized.
This facade of fairness is dangerous. It legitimizes the authority of clan elders under the guise of transparency while maintaining ultimate control behind closed doors. By the time voters go to the polls, the outcome is already predetermined.
What Must Change?
So, what can be done, especially by young people, civic-minded voters, and those still invested in the democratic promise of Somaliland? The first step is to demand greater transparency in how candidates are selected. Voters must begin to pressure political parties to not allow themselves to be vehicles for clan decisions rather than platforms for ideas. Youth and women must continue to organize, speak up, and pressure parties to open their doors to credible, diverse candidates who reflect the broader society, not just the narrow interest of elders. Civic spaces; online, on campuses, in community centers, must be used to shift the conversation away from who belongs to which clan, and toward what policies, visions, and capabilities candidates bring. Even when faced with limited choices, voting must be intentional: support those who show integrity, competence, and a clear agenda. And when clan elders stage internal “elections” behind closed doors, we must not mistake that for democracy—exposing these processes for what they are is part of reclaiming public power.
Ultimately, we must acknowledge that the flaws in our electoral process go beyond clannism. The very structure of our election laws is what empowers clan leaders in the first place. But real change won’t come from the top; it will begin when we reject the status quo and insist that the right to choose our leaders belongs to the people, not the gatekeepers.
About the author;
Mohamed Hilal Hussein is a development practitioner with over eight years of experience in advancing community resilience, youth empowerment and governance in Somaliland. He is the co-founder of Somaliland SCORE Initiative, a local organization that promotes youth-led solutions to social, environmental, and political challenges. Mohamed holds a degree in International Law and Diplomacy from Abaarso Tech University and writes on democracy, accountability, and social justice.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the Horndiplomat editorial policy.
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