Somalia's clan-based electoral model is running out of road

For more than two decades, Somalia has tried to build a federal state on top of a society organised by clan lineages, using an electoral arrangement that allocates political power according to a long-running formula known as the 4.5 system. That arrangement, born in negotiations held in Djibouti and Kenya, has produced successive parliaments and presidents, but it has also hardened into a structure many Somalis describe as transactional rather than democratic. As the country approaches another political transition, the limits of this arrangement are being exposed in plain view.

The current federal authorities in Mogadishu, along with the presidents of the regional member states, are now arguing not over who wins the next election, but over whether the underlying voting model itself should be replaced. Federal lawmakers have begun debating a shift toward direct, one-person-one-vote polls, a proposal that has already drawn resistance from entrenched political figures who have built careers on the older system. Meanwhile, ordinary citizens, particularly young people in Mogadishu, Hargeisa, Garowe and Baidoa, are asking a more basic question: why should their vote be worth less than a deal struck between elders in a conference hall?

For an Australian reader following events from cities such as Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide or Perth, the situation in the Horn of Africa can feel distant, yet it carries weight here too. Large Somali communities have settled in Australia's south-east, and Australian universities from Melbourne to Canberra host scholars who follow Somali politics closely. The choices made in Mogadishu over the coming months will shape migration patterns, security partnerships in the Indian Ocean and the country's role in maritime trade routes that matter to Australian shipping.

How the 4.5 system was built

The story of contemporary Somali electoral design begins in 2000, when clan representatives met in the Djibouti-led Arta Conference to draft a transitional charter. Out of those talks came a distribution of power that gave the four major clan families, Darod, Hawiye, Isaaq and Rahanweyn, an equal share of seats, while smaller clans and minority groups collectively received half a share, hence the 4.5 label. The formula was meant to be temporary, a way of stitching together a fragmented society that had collapsed into civil war in the early 1990s.

Over time, the arrangement was preserved across subsequent political settlements, including the 2004 formation of the Transitional Federal Government, the 2012 provisional constitution and the indirect elections held in 2017 and 2022. Each cycle adjusted the numbers but kept the principle intact: candidates are chosen by delegates selected by clan elders, not by ordinary voters casting ballots in polling stations. In practice, this means that whoever can negotiate with sub-clan leaders and wealthy diaspora investors tends to emerge in the top seats.

Critics within Somalia, including a growing chorus of civil society activists in Mogadishu and university students in Hargeisa, point out that the system rewards negotiation skills rather than policy platforms. It also tends to lock out women, who have struggled to claim the 30 percent quota built into successive agreements. According to reporting from regional outlets such as al-yawm, women continue to be fielded by male relatives as proxies, undermining the spirit of the quota and reinforcing the sense that the chamber belongs to a political class rather than a citizenry.

Why indirect elections no longer hold

The mechanical problem with the 4.5 model is that it requires a functioning consensus among sub-clan elders, who themselves are chosen through opaque processes. When that consensus breaks down, as it has repeatedly in recent years, the system produces delays, partial parliaments and contested results. The 2021-2022 election cycle dragged on for more than a year, with federal member states occasionally withdrawing delegates and accusing the federal government of manipulating seat allocations.

The political crisis that began in late 2024 illustrated the strain more sharply than any previous episode. Federal authorities announced a roadmap toward direct elections, prompting resistance from the leaders of Puntland and Jubbaland, two of the most established member states. Puntland's administration suspended relations with Mogadishu, citing concerns that direct elections would weaken regional autonomy and tilt the playing field toward groups with greater financial backing. Jubbaland's leaders raised similar objections, accusing the federal executive of acting unilaterally on a matter that required the agreement of all member states.

Inside the federal parliament, members have traded accusations of vote-buying and external interference. Reports circulated in Mogadishu of delegates being paid sums equivalent to several years' salary to back particular candidates. Observers from the African Union and the Intergovernmental Authority on Development, or IGAD, have called repeatedly for reforms but have stopped short of endorsing any specific alternative. The combination of stalled negotiations, walkouts and financial scandals has left many Somalis convinced that the existing model cannot deliver a credible result.

Federalism versus the centre

Underneath the electoral debate lies a deeper question about the kind of state Somalia wants to be. Federalism in Somalia is not a settled doctrine; it is a compromise that has shifted with each political settlement. Puntland declared its own regional government in 1998, more than a decade before the federal system was formalised. Jubbaland was reconstituted in 2013 with Ethiopian backing. Southwest State was carved out of the former regions of Bakoola and Gedo in 2014 and remains politically fluid.

Each of these formations came about through negotiation, often with neighbouring states playing a quiet role. Ethiopia, Kenya, Eritrea, the United Arab Emirates, Egypt, Turkey and Qatar all have interests in the federal map. Ethiopia has historically backed whichever faction it judges will keep the security services cooperative. The UAE has invested heavily in ports and training facilities, including in Bosaso and Berbera. Egypt has cultivated ties with Somaliland, while Turkey runs the largest foreign-built infrastructure project at Mogadishu port.

For Australian policymakers, these rivalries matter because they shape the security environment around shipping lanes that carry iron ore, LNG and container traffic through the Gulf of Aden. A collapse in the Somali political settlement could revive the kind of piracy that disrupted the region in the late 2000s, a problem that cost shipping firms billions and prompted naval deployments from Australia, NATO members and regional navies. The prospect of another unstable transition is therefore not just a Somali concern.

The push for universal suffrage

Those advocating a move to direct elections include federal Prime Minister Hamza Abdi Barre, several federal parliamentarians and a loose coalition of civil society groups known as the Imaalandhawrayaan movement. Their argument is straightforward: in a country where the median age is around 16, allowing only a few thousand people to choose members of parliament no longer reflects the population. They point to the success, limited as it was, of limited direct voting in Somaliland in 2003 and 2010 as evidence that ballots can be run in the region.

The practical obstacles are formidable. Somalia has limited biometric infrastructure, few functioning civil registries and a large displaced population. Al-Shabaab still controls territory in rural areas of Middle Juba, Lower Juba, parts of Galguduud and Mudug, and direct voting would be impossible to organise in those districts without a major security operation. International partners, including the United Nations, have cautioned that a rushed transition could open the door to fresh electoral disputes, or worse, give armed groups a new way to demand concessions. A more incremental approach, proposed by several analysts in Nairobi's think tank circuit, would involve piloting direct elections in a few stable urban districts, Mogadishu, Hargeisa, Garowe and Baidoa, before expanding them.

Others argue that the 4.5 system should be replaced not with universal suffrage but with a mixed model, in which a portion of seats are elected directly and others continue to be allocated through clan-based negotiation. So far, no consensus has emerged on which path to take, and the federal parliament has yet to agree on a draft electoral law. The longer the debate drags on, the greater the risk that the next transition will be decided on the streets rather than at a negotiating table.

What Somalis abroad and Australians watching are saying

In Melbourne's northern and western suburbs, where one of Australia's largest Somali communities has settled since the 1990s, conversations about the political crisis in the Horn of Africa are unusually detailed. Community radio stations broadcast in Somali carry commentary from Mogadishu, Hargeisa and Garowe, and family networks mean that news from individual districts travels quickly. Many Australian Somalis hold dual loyalties, supporting clan elders at election time while also calling publicly for direct suffrage.

Universities such as the Australian National University, the University of Melbourne and Monash have researchers who follow Somali politics through fieldwork in the region and online monitoring. Their findings echo those of local observers: the clan-based system produces stability at the cost of representation, and many younger Somalis, including those born or raised in Australia, view it as an obstacle to political maturity. Diaspora money, often sent through informal hawala channels, has long been a quiet funder of campaigns, and reform advocates hope that money can be redirected toward civic education instead.

Australia's official posture has generally emphasised stability and counter-terrorism cooperation. Australian Federal Police officers have worked with Somali counterparts on counter-terrorism cases, and the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade has supported small-scale governance programs in the Horn of Africa. Critics argue that Australian policy has been too cautious, focusing on security rather than on backing credible electoral reform. Whatever the approach, the events of the next year will test whether the long compromise that built Somalia's federal structure can evolve, or whether it will simply break.

Practical ways for engaged readers to follow the story

For Australians who want to follow or respond to the crisis around Somalia's electoral model with more than headlines, the following steps can help cut through the noise and build real understanding.

• Compare reporting from several outlets, including diaspora platforms that publish in Somali and English, before drawing conclusions about any single political event.
• Read the 2012 provisional constitution in full, including the disputed articles on federalism, to understand what the political class is actually arguing about.
• Support independent Somali-language journalism through donations or subscriptions, since local outlets often produce the most granular coverage of regional disputes.
• When discussing the issue in workplaces and community groups, separate the situation of refugees and migrants in Australia from the politics of the federal government in Mogadishu.
• Follow academic centres such as the ANU's Africa study program, which publishes accessible briefings on Horn of Africa security and governance.
• Engage with Australian policymakers by submitting written submissions to parliamentary inquiries on Australia's Indian Ocean strategy, where Somali stability is regularly raised.
• Encourage high school and university curricula in Australia to include modules on the Horn of Africa, rather than reducing the region to migration statistics.

For deeper context, readers can return to the Rogue Chiefs editorial team for ongoing coverage of African political transitions, including the kind of slow-moving crises that rarely make front pages but reshape millions of lives.