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The bodies were still warm in Borama, one of the most vibrant and important cities in Somaliland when President Abdirahman Mohamed Abdillahi “Cirro” finally made the decision he should have made from the beginning. After days of deadly unrest, after at least seventeen civilians paid with their lives for his dithering—though the true toll may be far higher as full accounting continues—after more than fifty were wounded, after Somaliland’s second-largest region erupted in fury—only then did the President find the courage to halt the Issa Law unveiling in Zeila. Too little. Too late. And utterly damning.
This wasn’t a failure of information. This was a failure of leadership at the most fundamental level—a collapse that cost Somaliland lives, stability, and precious credibility in a region where we can afford to lose none of these things. Blood has been spilled on Somaliland soil, and that blood stains not just the streets of Borama but the hands of a president who chose political expedience over the lives of his own citizens. At least seventeen dead, likely more as reports continue to emerge. Fifty wounded that we know of. Families shattered. A city traumatized. And for what? To appease Djibouti’s President Ismail Omar Guelleh for a few more days before reality forced a reversal anyway? History will record this moment with the clarity it deserves, and no amount of post-crisis posturing will wash away what has happened here.
From Principle to Capitulation: The Anatomy of Presidential Weakness
The timeline of this disaster reveals everything we need to know about this administration’s character. The President knew the stakes from the very beginning. His government initially came out strongly against the unveiling of the Issa Law in Zeila, recognizing—correctly—the explosive nature of the long-standing territorial disputes between communities in Awdal and Selal regions. This wasn’t ancient history or abstract political theory. This was real, present danger, visible to anyone with minimal competence to understand Somaliland’s regional dynamics.
That initial position was right. It was principled. It acknowledged the legitimate concerns of Awdal’s people and recognized that some symbolic gestures, no matter how important to other communities or neighboring countries, are simply too dangerous to permit when they threaten to tear apart the fragile fabric of inter-communal peace. For a brief moment, it seemed President Cirro understood the most basic requirement of his office: protecting Somaliland’s stability and territorial integrity.
Then came Djibouti. Then came President Ismail Omar Guelleh’s pressure—his phone calls, his diplomatic maneuvers, his reminders of regional relationships and mutual interests. And suddenly, catastrophically, Somaliland’s principled position evaporated like morning mist under the desert sun. The Minister of Information—speaking for a president apparently too cowardly to deliver the news himself—announced that Somaliland would not only permit the Issa Law unveiling in Zeila but would take on the logistics and security of the summit. Our sovereignty, it turns out, is for sale, and the price isn’t even that high. A little pressure from Djibouti, some smooth words from President Guelleh, and our leadership folded completely.
The most telling detail in this entire sordid affair? Our Intelligence Chief remains in Djibouti even as one of our major cities burns. While Borama bleeds, while mothers weep over their dead sons, while families bury children killed by security forces that were supposed to protect them, our security leadership sips tea in a foreign capital. He’s still there. Still coordinating. Still taking meetings. Still serving interests that are manifestly not Somaliland’s. The symbolism couldn’t be more savage if our enemies had scripted it themselves. This is not an intelligence chief serving Somaliland—this is a functionary serving Djibouti while drawing a Somaliland salary, while his own country burns.
A Pattern of Indecision: More Than Just Borama
But Borama is not an isolated incident of presidential weakness—it is merely the most deadly manifestation of a pattern that has defined this administration in less than a year. President Cirro’s chronic indecisiveness has revealed itself repeatedly, each time chipping away at Somaliland’s sovereignty and credibility.
Consider the ongoing humiliation of Somaliland travelers at the hands of two airlines—Ethiopian Airlines and Fly Dubai —who have essentially appointed themselves as extensions of Somalia’s immigration authorities, enforcing Mogadishu’s E-Visa requirements on travelers to Somaliland, forcing them to obtain visas from a government in Mogadishu that has no jurisdiction over them, no authority over their movement, no legitimate claim to regulate their travel. This should’ve been an easy decision of disinviting both airlines and immediately seeking an alternative carrier while asking the people of Somaliland to postpone their trip to their homeland. What we got was photo ops and bravado that had no substance and went no where.
This is not a minor administrative inconvenience. This is a direct assault on Somaliland’s sovereignty, carried out not by Somalia itself but by private corporations doing Mogadishu’s dirty work. And what has President Cirro done? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The government has issued no ultimatum to these airlines. There have been no consequences for this flagrant disrespect of Somaliland’s statehood. No sanctions. No banned flights. No diplomatic pressure. Just silence, dithering, and the quiet acceptance of humiliation.
Does this rank with the seventeen confirmed dead in Borama—a number that may well climb as the full scope of the violence becomes clear? Of course not. The scale of tragedy is incomparable. But the pattern is identical: a president who cannot or will not act decisively when Somaliland’s interests are threatened, who watches as our sovereignty is trampled and does nothing, who mistakes paralysis for prudence and calls capitulation diplomacy.
The government’s baffling chumminess with Qatar and multiple inexplicable visits to what is essentially Somalia’s patron state, adds another layer to this portrait of confusion. While we have no evidence that Doha played any role in the Borama crisis, the administration’s eager cultivation of Qatari relationships—pursued with more energy than the defense of our own sovereignty—raises troubling questions about where this government’s priorities actually lie. When you’re more concerned with pleasing foreign capitals than protecting your own citizens, when you invest more diplomatic capital in courting Gulf states than in standing firm against airlines that treat your passport as worthless, you’ve fundamentally misunderstood what leadership means.
This is a president who seems perpetually caught between competing pressures, unable to plant his feet and say “enough.” A president who waits for consensus that never comes, who seeks permission from foreign powers when decisive action is required, who mistakes the appearance of consultation for actual leadership. In less than a year, this pattern has cost us credibility, sovereignty, and now—in Borama—it has cost us lives. How many lives, we still don’t fully know.
Hollow Words, Broken Promises
On December 4th, as Borama descended into chaos, as protesters took to the streets to reject what they correctly perceived as a betrayal of their most fundamental concerns, President Cirro finally found his voice. Standing before cameras, reading from prepared remarks sanitized by his advisors, he declared: “I order all military forces in the city of Borama to return to their barracks. Nothing is more precious to me than the blood of my people, and there will be nothing that we are forced to spill without consultation.”
Beautiful words. Noble sentiments. Absolutely meaningless in practice.
Because even as the President promised that nothing was more precious than his people’s blood, the policy that provoked the crisis remained unchanged. The Issa Law unveiling would proceed. Djibouti’s interests would be served. Awdal’s concerns would be ignored. The President spoke of valuing his people’s blood while pursuing the exact policy guaranteed to spill more of it.
And spill it did. A second day of unrest. A third day. More deaths. More injuries. The Human Rights Center’s statement, issued today, confirms what everyone in Borama already knew: at least seventeen people killed—though the actual number may be higher as information continues to emerge from a traumatized city—more than fifty wounded, with military forces using live ammunition against protesters, deploying AK-47s against civilians whose only crime was demanding that their government listen to them. The Director of the Human Rights Center, Yasmin Omar Haji Mohamoud, stated it plainly: “We ask that the military not use live ammunition against the people. Dialogue is the solution, not shooting people whose opinions differ from the government’s.”
The people of Borama saw through the president’s December 4th speech immediately. They recognized it for what it was: another example of presidential paralysis dressed up as deliberation, more words designed to buy time without addressing substance. They responded with continued protests, continued demands, continued insistence that their voices matter.
Only today—December 6th, after days of bloodshed that could have been entirely avoided—did President Cirro finally announce what he should have said from the beginning: “Today, as President, I have halted the Issa Law ceremony, looking at the general interest and the feelings of my nation.” The correct decision, made far too late, purchased with the blood of at least seventeen Somaliland citizens—perhaps more—and the shattered trust of an entire region.
The Unelected Shadow Government and the Foreign Strings That Move Them
But let’s talk about who really made these decisions, because the Somaliland people deserve to know whose hands are actually on the wheel of state. President Cirro’s Minister of Presidency and a small cabal of advisors have wielded influence far beyond anything the electorate granted them. The people of Somaliland did not vote for these individuals. They did not elect this inner circle that apparently believes Djibouti’s interests matter more than Somaliland lives.
These advisors, these unelected power brokers who hide behind the President’s title while pulling the strings, have turned our executive branch into a subsidiary of foreign interests. They pushed for accommodating Djibouti. They advocated for the summit despite clear warnings. They dismissed concerns from Awdal as manageable. They convinced a weak president that he could navigate this crisis through clever maneuvering rather than principled leadership, that he could serve both Djibouti’s interests and Somaliland’s stability.
And when it all went catastrophically wrong, when the bodies started piling up in Borama’s streets, they retreated into the shadows while the President’s face took the blame.
But make no mistake about where ultimate responsibility lies: President Abdirahman Cirro is responsible for every single drop of blood spilled in Borama. Every one of the seventeen confirmed dead, and every additional victim whose death we have yet to confirm. Every one of the fifty wounded. Every widow’s tears. Every orphaned child. This is his legacy now, permanently etched into Somaliland’s history, and no amount of shuffling advisors or promising investigations will erase it.
He chose these advisors. He listened to their counsel over the clear warnings from Awdal’s people. He made the decisions—or rather, he failed to make them until citizens were dying in the streets. He stood before cameras on December 4th and promised that nothing was more precious than his people’s blood, then continued the exact policy guaranteed to spill more of it. The buck stops at his desk, and he will carry this stain for the rest of his presidency and beyond.
If President Cirro needs this much consensus, if he requires this much hand-holding before making basic decisions about Somaliland’s sovereignty and security, if he can be so easily swayed by Djibouti’s pressure against his own people’s clear interests, then he needs fundamentally different people around him—people not driven by foreign influences, people who won’t sacrifice everything we’ve built for approval from Djibouti, people who serve Somaliland first, last, and always.
The Price Must Be Paid: Real Accountability or Empty Gestures
Let’s be clear about what “accountability” must mean, because empty gestures will not suffice. The seventeen confirmed dead and fifty wounded—numbers that may grow as the full truth emerges—demand more. The people of Awdal deserve more. Somaliland’s future requires more.
Firing people is not enough. The entire security and governmental structure of Awdal Region needs to be dismantled and rebuilt from the ground up. Every official who supported this disastrous decision, who enabled this crisis, who chose Djibouti’s interests over Somaliland’s stability, needs to be removed from office immediately and permanently. This includes officials in the executive branch who pushed this policy, who dismissed warnings from Awdal’s community leaders, who prioritized their relationships with foreign powers over their duty to the Somaliland people.
The military commanders who ordered live ammunition used against protesters need to be identified and prosecuted. The Human Rights Center’s statement makes clear that AK-47s were deployed against civilians, that military force was used not as a last resort but as a first response. Someone gave those orders. Someone decided that shooting protesters was an appropriate response to political dissent. Those people need to face criminal prosecution, not administrative discipline.
And someone—the right people, the people actually responsible for the policy decisions that led directly to civilian deaths—needs to go to prison. Not symbolic detention. Not house arrest. Real prison time, with real consequences. We need full allocution of responsibility, public acknowledgment of exactly who made which decisions and when, a complete accounting of how this catastrophe unfolded. We need trials that establish legal and moral accountability. We need verdicts that tell future officials that Somaliland lives are not bargaining chips in foreign policy negotiations.
We need real, meaningful compensation for the victims and their families—not token payments, but genuine restitution that acknowledges the magnitude of what has been taken from them. The state failed to protect its own citizens. The state must pay for that failure in ways that hurt, in ways that force even the most insulated officials to understand the human cost of their political calculations.
This must hurt. It must hurt enough that no future president, no future advisor, no future official ever again thinks they can play games with Somaliland’s regional stability, ever again imagines they can ignore an entire region’s legitimate concerns for foreign approval, ever again believes that Djibouti’s interests are more important than Somaliland lives. The pain must be institutional and personal, political and financial, immediate and lasting.
The Strategic Disaster and the Enemy We Invited In
What makes this crisis truly unforgivable is that it was entirely preventable—and that its consequences will echo through Somaliland’s politics for years to come. President Cirro walked straight into a trap that was clearly marked, guided by advisors who either didn’t understand or didn’t care about what they were doing.
Even more damningly, the government’s own press release dated December 6th—the same day the President finally halted the summit—reveals the depth of either their delusion or their dishonesty. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs condemns “the continued interference and destabilizing actions of the Federal Government of Somalia in relation to the situation in Borama,” claiming that Somalia’s actions are “deliberate, coordinated, and clearly intended to inflame tensions.”
This is deflection of the most cowardly sort. Yes, Somalia likely tried to exploit this crisis—that’s what hostile neighboring states do. But Somalia didn’t create this crisis. Djibouti and President Cirro’s capitulation to Djibouti created this crisis. Somalia didn’t force Somaliland to reverse its initial strong position. Djibouti’s pressure did that. Somalia didn’t order military forces to use live ammunition against protesters in Borama. Somaliland’s own security apparatus did that.
To blame Somalia for “destabilizing” Somaliland when our own government’s policy choices created the destabilization is an insult to the intelligence of every Somaliland citizen. The press release claims “Somaliland’s unity and stability remain unwavering.” At least seventeen people are dead, perhaps more. Fifty are wounded. Borama has seen three days of unrest. And we’re claiming our unity is “unwavering”? This is either delusional or deliberately dishonest.
Here’s what actually threatens Somaliland’s unity: presidents who capitulate to foreign pressure against their own people’s interests. Advisors who serve Djibouti while claiming to serve Somaliland. Security forces that shoot protesters instead of protecting them. Governments that ignore regional grievances until cities burn. Airlines that treat our passports as worthless while our government does nothing.
Djibouti has never been a friend to Somaliland’s aspirations for independence and international recognition. Every ounce of instability we suffer is a strategic victory for Guelleh’s government. And now we’ve handed them exactly what they wanted: proof that Somaliland’s leadership can be manipulated, that our president will sacrifice domestic stability for foreign approval, that we cannot maintain basic internal security when it conflicts with what Djibouti wants.
Worse still, we’ve created the exact opening that Somaliland’s enemies have been working toward since Las Anod. When you alienate an entire region, when you ignore legitimate grievances, when you treat your own people as expendable, when you shoot them in the streets for demanding to be heard—you create the perfect conditions for secession. You hand separatists their best recruiting tool. You transform regions that should be pillars of your state into potential breakaway territories.
The whispers of an “Awdal State” as a Federal Member State of Somalia aren’t idle speculation anymore. We made them real. We gave them oxygen, credibility, and at least seventeen martyrs—possibly more. We provided the grievances, the evidence of government indifference, the proof that Hargeisa doesn’t care about Awdal. And for what? To please Djibouti for a few days before reversing course anyway?
Las Anod should have taught us this lesson in blood and tears: regional alienation leads to regional loss. When you make people feel like foreigners in their own country, they start looking for a different country. We lived through this nightmare once already. And now, impossibly, we’re doing it again—only this time in Awdal, a region we literally cannot afford to lose.
Awdal Is Somaliland: The Existential Truth We Cannot Afford to Forget
This is the brutal truth that should have guided every decision from the beginning: Somaliland cannot survive the loss of Awdal. Not politically. Not economically. Not strategically. Not morally.
Awdal is Somaliland.
Not a peripheral region we can afford to alienate. Not a negotiable territory whose concerns can be set aside when they conflict with foreign policy objectives. Not a political problem to be managed through security crackdowns. Awdal is Somaliland, as fundamental to our national identity and territorial integrity as Hargeisa itself, as essential to our survival as our constitution.
The people of Awdal are not subjects to be ruled or populations to be controlled. They are citizens, equal partners in this national project, stakeholders in our collective future with the same rights as any other Somaliland citizen, participants in the same dream of independence that has sustained us through decades of struggle.
Without Awdal, there is no Somaliland worth the name. Without Awdal’s territory, our geographic coherence collapses. Without Awdal’s people, our demographic base shrinks to unsustainability. Without Awdal’s resources, our economic foundation crumbles. Without Awdal’s participation in our political life, our claim to be a democracy becomes a cruel joke. Without Awdal’s buy-in to the Somaliland project, we are not a nation—we are a fractured territory held together by force.
Any president who doesn’t understand this fundamental reality has no business leading this nation. Any advisor who counsels policies that risk Awdal’s alienation for Djibouti’s approval should be fired immediately for gross incompetence. Any official who treats Awdal’s concerns as secondary to foreign relations should be removed from government service permanently.
This is not negotiable. This is not subject to political calculation. This is existential.
The Moment of Truth and the Reckoning to Come
President Abdirahman Cirro now faces the defining choice of his presidency, less than a year into his tenure, with at least seventeen bodies in Borama—the true count still emerging—fifty wounded citizens, and a legacy already stained with blood. History will judge him not by his words but by what he does next.
Does he continue down this path of indecision and capitulation, letting Djibouti dictate domestic policy while regions burn and airlines humiliate our citizens with impunity? Does he keep delegating critical decisions to unelected advisors who serve foreign interests? Does he maintain this inner circle who sold him down the river? Does he preside over the slow-motion disintegration of everything previous generations fought to build?
Or does he finally step up and lead?
Real leadership means making difficult decisions before bodies pile up in the streets. It means standing firm against foreign pressure when our sovereignty is at stake—whether that pressure comes from Djibouti demanding we host provocative summits or from airlines treating our passports as worthless. It means listening to all of Somaliland’s regions with equal respect. It means having the courage to say “no” to powerful neighbors when they ask us to set ourselves on fire for their convenience.
It means cleaning house with thoroughness that leaves no doubt about the new direction. The Minister of Presidency and the advisors who pushed this disastrous policy must go, immediately and permanently. No golden parachutes. No reassignments to comfortable posts. Out. Finished. Their judgment has been tested and found catastrophically wanting. They served Djibouti’s interests over Somaliland’s stability.
The security structure in Awdal that failed so spectacularly must be dismantled and rebuilt with people who actually answer to Hargeisa. Every executive branch official who supported this decision needs to be identified and removed from authority.
Criminal accountability must follow. Prison time for military commanders who ordered live fire against protesters. Prison time for officials whose policy decisions led to civilian deaths. Public trials that establish exactly what happened. Legal consequences that demonstrate this will never be tolerated again. Compensation for victims that reflects the true cost of the state’s failure.
These are not optional measures. These are the bare minimum required to begin rebuilding trust and establishing that leadership in Somaliland comes with real responsibility.
Most of all, real leadership means understanding that unity isn’t optional—it’s existential. Without Awdal, there is no Somaliland. Without trust between regions, there is no path to recognition. Without a president willing to lead decisively rather than react weakly, to choose Somaliland over foreign approval every single time, there is no future worth building.
Time Is Running Out: Choose Now, Mr. President
Mr. President, you have failed the first major test of your leadership spectacularly. But this failure is part of a pattern—a pattern of indecision that has defined your brief tenure. At least seventeen people are dead because you were too weak to stand up to Djibouti, and we may not yet know the full extent of the carnage. Fifty are wounded because you prioritized foreign relationships over your own people’s safety. Somaliland travelers are humiliated daily by airlines because you cannot bring yourself to act decisively even on matters of basic sovereignty.
The question now is whether you will learn from these failures or continue repeating them.
Your words from December 4th ring hollow: “Nothing is more precious to me than the blood of my people.” If that were true, you would never have reversed your initial correct position. If that were true, you would have stood firm against Djibouti’s pressure. If that were true, you would have halted the summit before the first drop of blood was spilled, not after at least seventeen funerals—and counting—became necessary.
Somaliland stands at a crossroads. One path leads to fragmentation, vulnerability, the loss of Awdal mirroring Las Anod, the slow death of the dream that has sustained us through decades of struggle. That path is littered with the wreckage of nations that couldn’t hold themselves together, led by presidents who chose the easy way, who served foreign interests, who mistook paralysis for prudence.
The other path leads to unity forged through genuine respect for all our regions, strength built on national cohesion and institutional accountability, international recognition earned through demonstrating we can govern ourselves effectively and defend our sovereignty against all comers—whether neighboring states or commercial airlines, and the prosperity we have earned through sacrifice but have yet to claim. That path requires the kind of decisive leadership you have failed to demonstrate thus far.
You cannot walk both paths. You cannot please everyone—not Djibouti and Awdal, not foreign powers and the Somaliland people, not your weak-willed advisors and the demands of justice for at least seventeen dead citizens. You cannot delegate this choice or wait for consensus that will never come. The time for dithering is over.
It’s decision time, President Cirro.
What is it going to be?
Will you be remembered as the president who let Somaliland slip through his fingers through chronic indecision, who proved too weak to hold our nation together when it mattered most, who allowed Djibouti to dictate our internal policies while our cities burned, who stood by helplessly while airlines treated our sovereignty as a joke, who surrounded himself with advisors more loyal to foreign powers than to the people they supposedly served? Will history record you as the leader who failed to learn from Las Anod, who repeated the same catastrophic mistakes in Awdal? Will your legacy be the bodies in Borama’s streets—seventeen that we know of, perhaps more—the pattern of weakness and capitulation, the slow erosion of everything Somaliland has fought for?
Or will you finally show the leadership this moment demands—clean house ruthlessly, put Somaliland first without qualification, stand firm against foreign manipulation regardless of pressure, rebuild trust with Awdal through actions rather than words, pursue criminal accountability for those responsible, defend our sovereignty against all threats however small they may seem, and lead us toward the recognition and prosperity that remains within reach if we have the courage and decisiveness to grasp it?
The bodies in Borama demand an answer. The at least seventeen dead—the full count still unknown—who should still be alive demand an answer. The grieving families whose loved ones died because you were too weak to stand up to Djibouti deserve an answer. The fifty wounded recovering in hospitals deserve an answer. The people of Awdal who have watched their concerns dismissed and their lives treated as expendable require an answer. The Somaliland travelers humiliated daily at airports require an answer. The Human Rights Center, speaking for those who cannot speak, demands an answer. Somaliland’s future depends on your answer.
The hour of decision is here. Choose wisely. Choose now. Choose with the understanding that this choice will define not just your presidency but potentially Somaliland’s survival as a nation.
Because Somaliland cannot afford another failure of leadership. The margin for error is gone. The buffer of trust has been exhausted. The next crisis will find us weaker, more divided, less capable of holding together. Las Anod was a warning. Borama is a final notice written in blood—blood still being counted.
And neither can you afford it, Mr. President. Your legacy is being written right now, in blood and fire and daily humiliations, in the streets of a city that should never have erupted and in airports where our citizens are treated as second-class. You can still change the ending of this story, but only if you finally discover the spine that has been so conspicuously absent, only if you demonstrate that you’ve learned what decisive leadership actually means.
The choice is yours. The time is now. And Somaliland is watching, waiting, and running out of patience with a president whose defining characteristic thus far has been an inability to decide anything until it’s far too late.
What is it going to be, Mr. President? Will you end Somaliland through weakness and indecision, or will you finally lead it with the strength and clarity our survival demands?
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