Northeastern State Spurns Federal Assistance, Deepening Somalia’s Political Divide

Somalia’s Aid Lifeline Tangled in Political Fight as Northeastern State Blocks Federal Relief to Area Cleared of ISIS

Mogadishu — A political feud inside Somalia burst into public view this weekend, as the federal disaster authority accused the state of Northeastern State of blocking medical evacuations and emergency supplies to civilians and soldiers in a rugged northeastern district freshly pried from ISIS control.

Mahmoud Moallim, Director-General of the Somali Disaster Management Agency (SODMA), said Northeastern State President Said Abdullahi Deni declined a formal request to open a humanitarian corridor to Cal Miskaad, an arid, mountainous pocket where Northeastern State forces and allied militias have been battling a small but persistent ISIS affiliate.

“I asked for permission to provide medical care for injured troops and to send humanitarian aid to those in need, but the request was rejected,” Moallim told reporters during a visit to Jalalaqsi in the Hiiraan region, hundreds of miles to the southwest. He suggested the decision was motivated by a broader standoff between Northeastern State’s leadership and Somalia’s federal authorities in Mogadishu, led by President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud and Prime Minister Hamza Abdi Barre.

Accusations and counter-accusations

Northeastern State officials countered with their own charge: that SODMA’s aid track record is suspect. Ubah Abdirashid Mohamed Hirsi, Northeastern State’s Minister of Relief and Disaster Management, accused the federal agency of distributing expired medicines and pandemic-era supplies in earlier missions—allegations that could not be independently verified.

“Northeastern State does not need face masks, expired COVID-19 kits or expired medicine like what you took to Hiiraan,” Ubah said, referring to deliveries she said were sent to Moqokori district as communities there resisted al-Shabab.

Moallim, bristling at the blockade, likened the move to tactics long used by al-Shabab to squeeze civilians. “How can the federal government deliver urgent aid if some regions are shut off and state leaders themselves become obstacles?” he asked.

On the frontline, needs grow while politics harden

Cal Miskaad is a name that resonates in Northeastern State: a sweeping escarpment and hinterland where insurgents—first pirates, then al-Shabab, and in recent years ISIS—have sought refuge in caves and ravines. The terrain is beautiful and unforgiving, the kind of place where a broken axle can cost a day and a snakebite can become a fatal emergency if a helicopter cannot fly.

According to officials in Garowe and Mogadishu, Northeastern State units and community fighters have made gains in the area this month, pushing ISIS cells out of several positions. In the immediate aftermath of such operations, wounded fighters and displaced families often need rapid evacuation, trauma care, clean water, and basic shelter materials.

The very basics can be the difference between life and death. Aid workers who have operated in Bari region note that even a short pause in access—24 to 72 hours—compounds risks: untreated wounds, dehydration, and preventable infections. Somalia’s humanitarian needs remain high after years of cyclical drought and, most recently, destructive floods linked to El Niño. The United Nations estimated millions still require assistance in 2024; even small disruptions ripple out, delaying vaccinations, nutrition programs, and maternal health care in already fragile districts.

The bigger rupture: federalism fumbles into the aid lane

This latest clash is not just about a convoy. It sits atop a fractious relationship between Northeastern State and the federal government that has soured over election timelines, resource sharing, and constitutional changes. Northeastern State, one of Somalia’s oldest federal member states, has periodically suspended cooperation with Mogadishu over what it sees as unilateral moves from the capital—a cycle that raises the temperature every time security operations or humanitarian campaigns cross administrative lines.

In Somalia’s federal system, coordination is often the hardest work. SODMA answers to Mogadishu, while Northeastern State runs its own relief operations from Garowe. Both sides regularly insist they want to help civilians. But when trust erodes, even neutral activities—like a medical evacuation—can be treated as political incursions.

Somali analysts worry this dynamic is not unique. Around the world, aid corridors have become bargaining chips in conflicts from Sudan to Gaza to Syria. Somalia’s version is quieter but no less consequential: state-level gatekeeping on one side, federal suspicion on the other, and a community in the middle that just needs antibiotics, bandages, and fuel for an ambulance.

What happens next

For now, no mechanism has been announced to break the impasse. A workable compromise would likely involve joint teams, neutral monitoring, and clear chains of custody for supplies—steps that might reassure Northeastern State about the quality and purpose of deliveries while allowing SODMA to reach people in need. The African Union Transition Mission in Somalia (ATMIS), humanitarian NGOs, or the Somali Red Crescent could help broker or verify such arrangements, as they have in past crises.

There are practical fixes to consider: air-dropping only medical items verified by third parties; enabling local clinics to draw from pre-positioned stocks; and setting up a hotline for field commanders to request evacuations approved by both Northeastern State’s relief ministry and SODMA within pre-set timeframes. These are not silver bullets, but in the crush of emergency response, predictability often saves more lives than grand gestures.

The deeper question is more stubborn: can Somalia’s leaders firewall humanitarian action from political grievance? In a country where the center and periphery have sparred for decades over power, ports, and revenues, keeping aid out of the tug-of-war is difficult. But humanitarians in Somalia often remind all sides of a simple principle: if an ambulance needs to move, it should move.

Somali elders have a proverb: “Nin aan talo lahayn tuf ku nool,” roughly, a person without counsel can choke on a date—a warning that ignoring advice can turn a blessing into a hazard. In Cal Miskaad, the blessing is a window of stability after hard fighting. The hazard is letting politics close that window before help gets through.

As the dust settles on the ridgelines above the Gulf of Aden, the choice before Mogadishu and Garowe is stark in its simplicity. Will they find a way, even a temporary one, to let stretchers and supply trucks pass? The answer will be measured less in statements and more in the number of people who make it to a clinic tonight.

By Ali Musa
Axadle Times international–Monitoring.