A Defining Choice: Why I Defend the Constitution
In moments of political uncertainty and polarization, defending a constitution is neither a technical exercise nor a partisan position. It is a defining moral and strategic choice: whether a state governs itself through rules and consent, or descends into expediency, coercion, and force. In Somalia today, that choice is no longer abstract. It is immediate and consequential.
On the morning of Saturday, 7 February 2026, on my way to Parliament, Somalia’s political crisis revealed itself not in theory, but in practice. I passed through nine security checkpoints manned by police, army units, and members of the presidential guard. At each checkpoint, security personnel carried lists bearing the names and photographs of Members of Parliament. Entry was granted or denied not according to law or parliamentary procedure, but on perceived political loyalty.
Members associated with the Puntland and Jubaland leaderships, as well as opposition-aligned and independent MPs, were deliberately singled out. Inside the parliamentary compound, conditions deteriorated further. Police surrounded members. Speaking rights were no longer governed by parliamentary rules, but by allegiance to the ruling regime. MPs who raised procedural objections were threatened with fines and expulsion. I myself was confronted and effectively blocked by security forces inside the chamber for nearly two hours.
This was not parliamentary order. It was coercion.
These events are not isolated incidents. They reflect a broader pattern in which constitutional change is pursued through intimidation, inducements, and the restriction of political space rather than through law, deliberation, and consent. Such conduct does not signal confidence in constitutional reform; it reveals insecurity and a willingness to substitute force for legitimacy.
Somalia has lived through this chapter before, a chapter marked by centralized power, personalized rule, and the erosion of institutions. It must be conclusively closed. Our future cannot be built by repeating the methods that once destroyed the state, but by constructing a federal, democratic order grounded in legality, accountability, and popular consent.
My position is not theoretical. It is shaped by lived experience and personal cost. I speak as someone who has paid a tangible price for defending democracy and the rule of law. In 2017, my home was attacked; five guards at my headquarters were killed, and I was injured and subsequently arrested. In 2021, during a peaceful protest, live ammunition was used against demonstrators, and I and another protest leader were targeted.
Over the years, I have faced sustained pressure through both coercion and inducement, intimidation and blackmail alongside offers of political positions and financial reward. These experiences did not deter me. They clarified my responsibility to stand firm in defense of constitutional governance and democratic principle.
A constitution is not merely a legal document. In divided societies, it is the social contract through which conflict is managed, power is restrained, and peace becomes possible. Without constitutional discipline, the state ceases to be a shared project and becomes a prize to be captured by whoever controls force.
Somalia’s Provisional Constitution exists not by accident, but because foundational national questions remain unresolved. These include the allocation and exercise of power and resources, the balance between the federal government and federal member states, the Somaliland question, the absence of a public referendum, and persistent insecurity, including the ongoing threat posed by extremist groups. The constitution was designed to manage transition under precisely these conditions, not to be conclusively rewritten while the state remains fragmented and contested.
For this reason, constitutional review procedures emphasize inclusivity, consensus, and restraint. These safeguards exist because unilateral constitutional change in fragile and divided societies is inherently dangerous. Ignoring them does not accelerate state-building; it undermines it.
Somalia’s political power today is widely dispersed. Military, economic, and political authority is spread across regions, leaving the federal government’s de facto control limited. In such circumstances, the constitution becomes the primary source of de jure authority, the legal framework that binds the country together when sovereignty is divided. Altering it unilaterally does not strengthen the state. It weakens it by widening the gap between authority and consent, deepening mistrust, and accelerating fragmentation.
The timing makes this risk even greater. The mandates of both Houses of Parliament expire in mid-April, and the President’s term ends in mid-May. Public confidence in the administration is at its lowest, while competition for power, prestige and resources is at its highest. In such conditions, constitutional shortcuts do not resolve disputes; they harden them. Legality without legitimacy does not produce stability. It produces resistance.
Defending the constitution is not opposition to reform. It is the condition for reform that endures. Somalia’s problem is not the absence of legal frameworks, but the persistent failure to implement them. Rushing to rewrite the constitution while ignoring daily violations—such as the failure to establish a constitutional court, an independent judicial service commission, and an effective anti-corruption body—undermines credibility rather than restoring it. One cannot credibly rewrite a constitution that one refuses to implement.
This moment demands responsibility. Somali political stakeholders, federal leaders, federal member states, opposition actors, parliament, civil society, and traditional elders—must rise to the gravity of what is at stake. The issue is not a seat or a term, but the credibility of the state and the avoidance of a constitutional vacuum. An inclusive agreement on a credible electoral model and a clear transitional pathway is urgently required. No outcome will satisfy everyone, but legitimacy flows from inclusion, transparency, and shared ownership—not from unilateral declarations.
Regional allies and international partners also carry responsibility. Their engagement should reinforce constitutional discipline, not reward its erosion. Diplomatic recognition, financial assistance, and political and security support should be conditioned on inclusive dialogue, respect for constitutional limits, and a responsible transition. Unconditional support during constitutional strain does not promote stability; it enables irresponsibility.
I defend the constitution not because it is perfect, but because it is the last line of protection for citizens when politics fails and the strongest restraint on power when temptation is greatest. In divided societies, unity is not imposed by force. It is built through shared rules that all actors accept—even when outcomes are uncomfortable.
Defending constitutional discipline in Somalia today is not an act of opposition. It is an act of responsibility—to citizens, to institutions, and to the future of the state.