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The political choices of the Khatumo community have long perplexed many observers, myself included. Their decision to pursue a federal arrangement with the Federal Government of Somalia—rather than aligning with either Somaliland or Puntland—raises significant questions about historical memory, political calculations, and perceived benefits. After engaging with three seminal works written by esteemed Somali scholars on the country’s tumultuous political history, I have come to the conclusion that the people of Khatumo are not driven purely by ideological or national considerations. Rather, they appear to be seeking to reclaim a perceived lost entitlement: the disproportionate share of political power and public resources they enjoyed under the regime of Mohamed Siyad Barre.
However, this aspiration is deeply problematic. The assumption that reintegration with Mogadishu will lead to the restoration of these privileges is, at best, wishful thinking. As the Somali proverb wisely puts it, “Meesha ay dacawo macal uga baratay bay macaluul ugu bakhtidaa”—”The place where the fox once learned to find food is the same place where it ultimately dies of hunger.” This metaphor poignantly captures the futility of looking to a failed center of power to deliver the same benefits it once promised but can no longer sustain.
To better understand the dangers and long-term consequences of clan-dominated governance, it is instructive to revisit a pivotal episode in Somali political history involving two prominent members of the Somali Revolutionary Council’s politburo: General Ismail Ali Abokor and General Ahmed Suleiman Abdalla (commonly known as Dafle). Their interaction offers a window into how clan hegemony, once institutionalized within the state apparatus, not only alienated key national actors but also contributed to the eventual unraveling of the Somali state.
In Politics of Cain, Professor Hussein Bulhan recounts a revealing incident that marked a turning point in General Abokor’s political evolution. Though Abokor was Isaaq and Dafle a Darod (Dhulbahante), the two men had been schoolmates in both Somaliland and the United Kingdom, developing a friendship that transcended clan divisions. However, Abokor’s trust and belief in the ideals of the Somali revolution began to erode during a visit to Dafle’s office. While waiting in the adjoining room, Abokor overheard his long-time colleague urging a group of Marehan officials to consolidate Darod hegemony in Somalia. Dafle reportedly told them that “every country in the region is ruled by a clan or tribe,” and therefore, the Darod needed to ensure that power remained in their hands.
For Abokor, this moment was a revelation—deeply personal and politically disillusioning. That such a divisive call for clan dominance could come from a friend whose own mother was an Isaaq woman deeply unsettled him. It confirmed his growing suspicions that the revolution had been hijacked by clannish ambitions. By the late 1970s, Abokor had become openly critical of the regime. Alienated and spiritually disillusioned, he withdrew from public life, retreating into private religious practice. Nevertheless, he remained an influential figure behind the scenes, quietly encouraging Isaaq officers in the Somali armed forces to align with the Somali National Movement (SNM), the very group that would lead the armed resistance against Barre’s dictatorship in the northwest.
This story of personal betrayal and political awakening is emblematic of a broader systemic crisis. What began as a revolutionary project aimed at building a unified, socialist Somali state quickly degenerated into a vehicle for clan-based authoritarianism. As recorded in Waaya-Arag by Faarax Qaaray, the first decade of the revolution saw the consolidation of power in the hands of a narrow coalition known as the M.O.D. alliance—comprising the Marehan (Barre’s paternal clan), the Ogaden (his maternal clan), and the Dhulbahante (his son-in-law’s clan). This alliance excluded other major clans and communities, thereby sowing the seeds of discontent and rebellion.
Abdulqadir Aroma, in Sababihii Burburka Soomaaliya, offers further insight into the transformation of this alliance. Initially disguised as a revolutionary partnership, the M.O.D. coalition eventually became a naked expression of tribal favoritism. Barre, fearing loss of control, undermined constitutional governance and centralized power within his own kinship networks. According to Aroma, among the 76 founding members of the Somali Revolutionary Socialist Party (XHKS), 38 were selected purely on the basis of clannish loyalty, all belonging to the Darod clan. The constitutional framework was subordinated to tribal dictates, as exemplified by the infamous rallying cry of Darod delegates: “O Daarood Ismaaciil, you have disgraced the family.”
This corruption of the revolutionary ideal culminated in systemic exclusion and militarized repression. Bulhan explains that even before Barre’s military defeat by Ethiopia in 1977-78, he had already begun arming loyalists and militarizing clan networks. The ideological facade of socialism and nationalism disintegrated under the weight of authoritarian paranoia and tribal patronage. The myth of Barre’s invincibility collapsed, and with it, the very foundations of the Somali state.
The Khatumo community’s nostalgia for the Barre era must be viewed within this historical context. While it is understandable that certain constituencies may seek to restore what they see as lost entitlements, the reality is that those privileges were granted under a system built on exclusion, coercion, and eventual collapse. Attempts to revive such a system—whether through federal alignment with Mogadishu or through other forms of political restoration—are not only misguided but potentially dangerous.
In contrast, Somaliland offers a radically different political experiment. Since declaring its independence in 1991, Somaliland has rejected the legacy of Barre’s rule and instead embarked on a path of indigenous reconciliation, democratic institution-building, and relative stability. Though unrecognized internationally, Somaliland has demonstrated a commitment to peace, self-governance, and pluralism that stands in stark contrast to the tumultuous politics of Mogadishu.
By choosing to align with a federal government in Mogadishu that is itself struggling with legitimacy, plagued by corruption, and infiltrated by terrorist threats, Khatumo risks repeating the mistakes of the past. The pursuit of federalism under the illusion of regained influence may in fact lead to deeper marginalization, especially in a context where centralized power remains weak and volatile.
Ultimately, the lessons of Somali political history should not be forgotten. The tragedy of the Somali state collapse was not merely the result of external interventions or ideological failures, but of the internal corrosion caused by clan hegemony, exclusionary politics, and personal ambition disguised as national interest. The story of Abokor and Dafle is not just a cautionary tale—it is a mirror reflecting the dangers that lie ahead for any community that seeks power at the expense of pluralism, equity, and justice.
Khatumo, and other regions like it, would do well to critically reassess the legacy they are seeking to restore. Instead of clinging to the ghost of a regime that prioritized clan over country, they could chart a new course rooted in inclusive governance, historical reconciliation, and meaningful self-determination. The past should inform the future—not imprison it.
About the Author
Mr. Abdillahi Hussein is PhD Candidate in Peace & Development Studies and visiting Prof. of Public Policy as well as Ethics in Government at the Civil Service Institute, Hargeisa, Somaliland.

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