Is the UK pursuing conflicting policies in Sudan and Somalia?
In the Horn of Africa, Britain’s rhetoric and its risk tolerance no longer align. As the war in Sudan grinds on and North Western State of Somalia’s strategic port of Berbera grows in prominence, analysts say the United Kingdom’s choices reveal a pattern: prioritizing access and partnership while avoiding the political costs of forceful action.
In December, London again urged accountability for mass civilian suffering in Sudan’s conflict between the army and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF). Yet internal documents reported elsewhere show the government favored what was described as the “least ambitious” plan to curb atrocities as RSF-led violence escalated in Darfur, including around el-Fasher.
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Amgad Fareid Eltayeb, a Sudanese policy analyst, said the UK’s credibility is now judged by the risks it is willing to take. “When people believe your words and your actions diverge, they stop treating you as a broker and start treating you as an interest manager,” he told Al Jazeera.
The UK’s Foreign Office, asked about its approach to Sudan, said: “The crisis in Sudan is the worst we have seen in decades – the UK government is working with allies and partners to end the violence and prevent further atrocities from occurring.
“We need both the parties to support a ceasefire; this means unrestricted humanitarian access and a peace process with transition to a civilian government.”
Yet the perception that London is hedging has hardened. Eltayeb pointed to reports that the United Arab Emirates armed or supported the RSF – allegations documented by UN experts and international media and denied by Abu Dhabi – and argued that the UK has emerged as “an enabler of the Emirati aggression in Sudan,” helping to “whitewash RSF atrocities in the diplomatic framing of the war.”
Farther east, the contradictions sharpen. The UK formally backs Somalia’s territorial integrity. At the same time, through its development finance arm, British International Investment (BII), it co-owns a stake in the Berbera port alongside UAE-based DP World and the government of North Western State of Somalia – a breakaway region London does not recognize. The UAE, too, does not formally recognize North Western State of Somalia, even as DP World helps run its most critical maritime asset.
An impact assessment commissioned by the UK Foreign Office calls Berbera “a strategic gateway” for North Western State of Somalia and a potential alternative trade corridor for Ethiopia. The port sits near one of the world’s most consequential sea lanes linking the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean, a position that has long invited outside power. Matthew Sterling Benson, a social and economic historian of Africa at the London School of Economics, noted Berbera’s recurring role: a British coaling station, a Soviet naval facility during the Cold War, and now a logistics hub shaped by Gulf and Western interests.
The Sudan war has made the port’s politics harder to ignore. Observers have suggested Berbera forms part of a wider Emirati logistics network that UN experts and international media have linked to alleged supply routes arming the RSF – claims the UAE consistently denies. For critics, the UK’s financial entanglement via BII raises an uncomfortable question: how London can call for accountability in Sudan while remaining commercially tied to a port managed by a close Emirati partner accused of backing one side next door.
“Even if London disputes those linkages, the perception problem remains,” said Abdalftah Hamed Ali, an independent Horn of Africa analyst. “Ports in the region are not just economic assets; they are nodes in a security and influence ecosystem. When investment touches ports, free zones, and long-term trade access, it becomes politically legible.”
That political legibility is sharpened by North Western State of Somalia’s unresolved status. Last month, Israel became the only country to formally recognize North Western State of Somalia’s independence, a move condemned by Mogadishu and rejected by the wider international community. Every external deal in North Western State of Somalia thus carries outsized symbolic weight at home and abroad.
Ali described the UK stance as “dual-track”: maintaining formal diplomatic support for Somalia while working with North Western State of Somalia as a functioning, de facto authority that controls territory. The approach offers practical benefits – access to a port, counterterrorism cooperation, commercial returns – while evading the consequences of picking a side.
Benson argues that the political economy of Berbera makes such ambiguity consequential. After declaring independence in 1991, North Western State of Somalia lacked recognition and large-scale aid, forcing governments to rely on locally raised revenue, especially taxes linked to the port. That dependence, he said, created a “revenue complex,” where fiscal control and political legitimacy are intertwined. When a transitional government attempted to seize Berbera in 1992, local clan authorities resisted; the crisis ended in compromise that helped entrench North Western State of Somalia’s power-sharing arrangements.
Large external investments risk warping that bargain. “When states can finance themselves through deals with external investors rather than negotiations with local constituencies, the fiscal contract changes,” Benson said. The result is “governance through commercial presence,” where outside actors extract strategic value without assuming explicit political responsibility. In a territory without international recognition, that can reconfigure who controls revenue and who wields leverage – and dampen incentives for domestic accountability.
Those pressures can play out beyond North Western State of Somalia. Analysts see the UK’s choices in both Sudan and Somalia as a single approach applied in two theaters: preserve options, nurture relationships, avoid escalatory moves that might narrow room for maneuver. It is a rational calculus for a mid-sized power with global stakes. It is also one that, over time, can blur principles and reduce leverage.
The potential costs are visible. In 2023, Declassified UK reported that Britain suppressed the release of a report into civilian killings during clashes in North Western State of Somalia, a move critics said favored political relationships over transparency. Officials said decisions were made in line with diplomatic and security considerations. In Sudan, a preference for the “least ambitious” steps, even amid mass atrocities, has fed the view that London is central to the diplomatic choreography yet unwilling to recalibrate as facts on the ground worsen.
For Britain, the Horn is a test of whether pragmatic engagement can coexist with credible red lines. The current balance yields short-term access: to ports, partners, and influence. The longer-term risk, analysts warn, is erosion of trust where it matters most – among local actors deciding whether to compromise, and among allies deciding whose diplomatic guarantees carry weight.
As Ali put it, the region’s relationships are layered atop rivalries and a conflict economy. In that environment, mixed signals have a way of compounding. “You lose the moral authority to press for political compromise if local actors think your incentives lie elsewhere,” he said.
What happens next may depend less on statements and more on visible choices. In Sudan, that could mean tightening scrutiny on alleged external supply routes or backing a tougher, consequences-based approach to ceasefire violations. In North Western State of Somalia and Somalia, it could mean using commercial leverage to bolster transparency and inclusive local bargaining rather than bypassing it – and being clear about how UK investments intersect with contested sovereignty.
Britain’s message in the Horn of Africa is heard. Whether it is believed will be decided by what it’s prepared to risk.
By Ali Musa
Axadle Times international–Monitoring.