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When federal troops entered Baidoa in late March, 2026, the move was interpreted in two sharply different ways. Some saw the federal government restoring constitutional order after South West State suspended cooperation with Mogadishu. Others saw it as the centre using force against a regional administration that had rejected constitutional changes.
The sequence matters. In mid-March, South West State suspended cooperation after disputing constitutional amendments. Soon after, President Abdiaziz Hassan Mohamed “Laftagareen” declared that he recognised only the 2012 Provisional Constitution as Somalia’s legitimate constitutional framework. Within days, federal troops entered Baidoa and his administration was removed. Whatever legal arguments are made, the political message was clear: A regional leadership that rejected a contested constitutional order was displaced shortly after doing so.
To treat this as merely a quarrel of 2026 would miss the deeper story. The southwest’s anxiety about centralisation predates the current crisis and even the collapse of the Somali state. Leaders from the Digil-Mirifle communities were among the earliest Somali advocates of devolved governance. Through the Independent Constitutional Party (HDMS) in the late 1940s and more explicitly during the 1950s, they argued for safeguards against excessive concentration of power in the capital.
Their concern was simple: In a highly centralised state, proximity to Mogadishu did not necessarily produce influence. It could just as easily produce subordination. For many in the southwest, federalism was not simply a constitutional arrangement. It was a safeguard against the return of unchecked central authority.
Somalia’s problem has never been adopting federalism. It has been adapting to it. Since the 2012 Provisional Constitution, Somalia has formally operated under a federal framework, yet much political behaviour still reflects older centralising instincts.
For many Somalis, the longest period of functioning state administration they remember remains the era of Siad Barre. This is less a judgment on that period than a human reality: People often understand governance through the systems they have seen operate most clearly. In moments of political strain, actors revert less to constitutional theory than to governing instincts they recognise.
Somalia adopted a federal system, but many of its habits remain centralised. What is familiar is not always neutral. Somalia’s earlier model concentrated power, narrowed consultation, and created a culture in which decisions travelled downward faster than concerns travelled upward.
Baidoa is the latest example of that tension. Whether the federal intervention was legally justified is a question for constitutional lawyers. Politics, however, is governed by perception, memory, and trust.
When federal power is seen to override regional political processes by force, many interpret the act not through clauses but through history. They ask not simply whether the centre had authority, but whether it is once again behaving in a way that confirms the fears federalism was meant to address.
That perception has been sharpened by a broader constitutional approach in which the federal government has increasingly prioritised momentum over full federal consensus. Supporters argue that delay risks permanent stagnation. Critics counter that reform pursued without sufficient consultation may create progress on paper while weakening political agreement in practice.
At a time when Puntland and Jubaland already voice concerns over constitutional reform and federal overreach, events in Baidoa risk reinforcing a broader belief that Somalia’s federal bargain is narrowing in practice even if it remains intact on paper.
None of this means regional governments are blameless. Federalism is not a licence for obstruction, indefinite vetoes, or local elite entrenchment. A federation cannot survive if regional leaders invoke constitutionalism only when resisting the centre.
That is why federalism requires discipline from all sides. It requires a centre disciplined enough to respect constitutional limits and resist the temptation to use force when frustrated by regional resistance. It requires regions disciplined enough to engage national institutions in good faith and accept that federal partnership carries obligations as well as protections.
Above all, it requires leaders to understand that friction is not proof of failure. In federal systems, disagreement is not a malfunction. It is part of the design. Federalism slows decision-making because it forces consultation before action. In a fragmented society, that is not inefficiency. It is insurance against domination.
Somalia needs stronger national institutions. But a stronger state is not the same as a more centralised one, and certainly not one that appears to confirm the very fears federalism was designed to calm.
Baidoa matters because it shows that Somalia’s constitutional crisis is not only a legal argument over texts. It is a test of whether power can be exercised in a way that preserves trust in a politically fragmented country.
In a fragmented society, the state that endures is rarely the one that concentrates power fastest. It is the one that convinces its peripheries they still have a place within it.
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When federal troops entered Baidoa in late March, 2026, the move was interpreted in two sharply different ways. Some saw the federal government restoring constitutional order after South West State suspended cooperation with Mogadishu. Others saw it as the centre using force against a regional administration that had rejected constitutional changes.
The sequence matters. In mid-March, South West State suspended cooperation after disputing constitutional amendments. Soon after, President Abdiaziz Hassan Mohamed “Laftagareen” declared that he recognised only the 2012 Provisional Constitution as Somalia’s legitimate constitutional framework. Within days, federal troops entered Baidoa and his administration was removed. Whatever legal arguments are made, the political message was clear: A regional leadership that rejected a contested constitutional order was displaced shortly after doing so.
To treat this as merely a quarrel of 2026 would miss the deeper story. The southwest’s anxiety about centralisation predates the current crisis and even the collapse of the Somali state. Leaders from the Digil-Mirifle communities were among the earliest Somali advocates of devolved governance. Through the Independent Constitutional Party (HDMS) in the late 1940s and more explicitly during the 1950s, they argued for safeguards against excessive concentration of power in the capital.
Their concern was simple: In a highly centralised state, proximity to Mogadishu did not necessarily produce influence. It could just as easily produce subordination. For many in the southwest, federalism was not simply a constitutional arrangement. It was a safeguard against the return of unchecked central authority.
Somalia’s problem has never been adopting federalism. It has been adapting to it. Since the 2012 Provisional Constitution, Somalia has formally operated under a federal framework, yet much political behaviour still reflects older centralising instincts.
For many Somalis, the longest period of functioning state administration they remember remains the era of Siad Barre. This is less a judgment on that period than a human reality: People often understand governance through the systems they have seen operate most clearly. In moments of political strain, actors revert less to constitutional theory than to governing instincts they recognise.
Somalia adopted a federal system, but many of its habits remain centralised. What is familiar is not always neutral. Somalia’s earlier model concentrated power, narrowed consultation, and created a culture in which decisions travelled downward faster than concerns travelled upward.
Baidoa is the latest example of that tension. Whether the federal intervention was legally justified is a question for constitutional lawyers. Politics, however, is governed by perception, memory, and trust.
When federal power is seen to override regional political processes by force, many interpret the act not through clauses but through history. They ask not simply whether the centre had authority, but whether it is once again behaving in a way that confirms the fears federalism was meant to address.
That perception has been sharpened by a broader constitutional approach in which the federal government has increasingly prioritised momentum over full federal consensus. Supporters argue that delay risks permanent stagnation. Critics counter that reform pursued without sufficient consultation may create progress on paper while weakening political agreement in practice.
At a time when Puntland and Jubaland already voice concerns over constitutional reform and federal overreach, events in Baidoa risk reinforcing a broader belief that Somalia’s federal bargain is narrowing in practice even if it remains intact on paper.
None of this means regional governments are blameless. Federalism is not a licence for obstruction, indefinite vetoes, or local elite entrenchment. A federation cannot survive if regional leaders invoke constitutionalism only when resisting the centre.
That is why federalism requires discipline from all sides. It requires a centre disciplined enough to respect constitutional limits and resist the temptation to use force when frustrated by regional resistance. It requires regions disciplined enough to engage national institutions in good faith and accept that federal partnership carries obligations as well as protections.
Above all, it requires leaders to understand that friction is not proof of failure. In federal systems, disagreement is not a malfunction. It is part of the design. Federalism slows decision-making because it forces consultation before action. In a fragmented society, that is not inefficiency. It is insurance against domination.
Somalia needs stronger national institutions. But a stronger state is not the same as a more centralised one, and certainly not one that appears to confirm the very fears federalism was designed to calm.
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Baidoa matters because it shows that Somalia’s constitutional crisis is not only a legal argument over texts. It is a test of whether power can be exercised in a way that preserves trust in a politically fragmented country.
In a fragmented society, the state that endures is rarely the one that concentrates power fastest. It is the one that convinces its peripheries they still have a place within it.
Follow The Standard
channel on WhatsApp
By Awale Kullane