Sovereignty and Nationhood: A Fragile Fabric in Somalia
In the vast landscape of international law and politics, the terms “sovereignty” and “nationhood” are often thrown around like interchangeable tools in a toolbox. Yet, as history unfolds, it becomes glaringly clear that these concepts diverge significantly. The core of the modern state system, which many attribute to the Westphalian principles established in 1648, encompasses more than just physical borders or national flags. It relies crucially on a shared political community—what we call a nation. Absent this communal bond, sovereignty risks becoming a mere façade, hollowed out by internal discord and manipulative external influences.
Take Somalia as a poignant case study, where statehood is acknowledged but nationhood remains elusive. Despite internationally recognized borders, internal schisms and a lack of cohesive identity have rendered Somali sovereignty precarious and, at times, performative. You might wonder: what does it take for a country to be both recognized and respected on the global stage? The answer lies in the intricate relationship between governance and the collective identity of its people.
To grasp the gravity of the situation, we must first disentangle the concepts of ‘nation’ and ‘state.’ A state typically refers to the administrative machinery governing a territory—think laws, tax collection, or international representation. A nation, however, is more nebulous yet far more potent. It embodies a shared identity among a populace, often rooted in common values, history, and language. The ideal scenario is where the state and nation bolster each other: citizens see themselves reflected in governmental structures, while the state serves as a vessel for collective aspirations.
In Somalia, this harmonious relationship has never fully materialized. The state exists predominantly as a formality, with no solid bond to a collective national identity. In an earlier reflection, I termed this disconnect a “civic gap”—a populace that is often estranged from its government. But let’s consider this issue through another lens: the absence of nationhood itself. Without a robust sense of national identity, citizens are unlikely to perceive the state as a representative of their interests. Conversely, without a solid civic understanding, the notion of belonging to a nation can feel abstract or even irrelevant. This creates a vicious cycle—an unchecked spiral where citizens lack engagement with the state, which in turn falters in unifying the very nation it purports to serve.
To fathom these concepts, we must take a step back to examine the roots of the modern state system. The Treaty of Westphalia, often viewed as the milestone marking the birth of sovereignty, established that states should autonomously govern their territories without foreign interference. However, at that juncture, sovereignty was not grounded in the will of the people but was an arrangement orchestrated by monarchs and nobility, weary from the toll of religious wars. This era saw power conferred by lineage, conquest, or political negotiation—where the population had little to no voice.
Yet, history evolves. The Enlightenment and the waves of revolution brought forth transformative ideas, disruptively suggesting that true sovereignty must emerge from the consent of the governed. The French Revolution introduced a seismic shift: political authority ought to emanate from the people, underpinning the notion of the nation-state—a concept where sovereignty is not just territorial authority but a deep-seated, collective identity.
Consequently, while the 1648 settlement laid the legal groundwork for sovereignty, it was the civic idea of nationhood that granted it modern substance. Today, states are expected to govern effectively and represent a populace that identifies as one, with common values and mutual recognition of authority. But in places where this national identity fails to take root, the foundations of sovereignty remain unstable, no matter how compelling the legal case may be.
Somalia poignantly illustrates this tragedy—its people share language, religion, and cultural practices, yet these commonalities have not coalesced into a unifying political identity. Instead, clan loyalty prevails as the primary allegiance. The state, when operational, is often perceived not as a neutral arbiter but as a tool wielded by one clan or coalition over others. Institutions exist in a state of capture rather than construction, functioning more on elite negotiations than public trust.
This divergence between formal structures and actual lived experiences can be traced back to colonial histories, specifically during British and Italian rule. These colonial actors intentionally fragmented Somali communities, exploiting clan dynamics to solidify authority, thereby undermining the possibility of forging a strong national unity. Following independence, leaders inherited these fragmented legacies and largely failed to cultivate a compelling national narrative for unification.
Somali nationalism of the 1960s often looked outward—eager to unite Somalis scattered across colonial borders—rather than fostering internal cohesion. As territorial ambitions unraveled, the nation began to turn inward. The authoritarian regime under Siad Barre attempted to suppress clan identities in the name of nationalistic socialism but ultimately retreated to clan dynamics as a survival strategy. By the time Barre’s regime collapsed in 1991, the state could barely stand, leading to a vacuum filled by warlords and militia groups.
In the aftermath, Somalia found itself in a state of perpetual transition. Various initiatives, from the Arta peace process to the current federal arrangements, have fallen short of addressing the critical absence of national cohesion. Many Somalis come to view power-sharing formulas, originally designed to promote inclusion, as rigid clan entitlements rather than pathways to governance. Ministries operate as reflections of negotiated clan balances rather than cohesive policy-making bodies. The state feels less like a unified government and more like a patchwork of clan interests, a collection of competing agendas rather than a collective vision.
This may afford short-term stability, but it undercuts the long-term development of a cohesive, trusted state. Authority becomes scattered; accountability is often obscured. Officials may prioritize clan interests over national well-being, cultivating a culture in which actions benefiting one group are deemed acceptable at the expense of others. Attempts at reform are met with skepticism, perceived as threats to existing balances.
The irony is palpable: a large majority of Somalis readily identify as such, showing a remarkable degree of linguistic and cultural uniformity. Yet, this collective identity has yet to catalyze coherent civic solidarity. Institutions designed to foster civic identity—schools, courts, and legislatures—remain underdeveloped, politicized, or altogether bypassed. Citizenship often feels transactional, mediated through kinship and proximity to power rather than by shared rights and duties.
This absence leaves Somalia vulnerable on multiple fronts. Internally, it erodes the legitimacy of governance; citizens perceive state authority as predatory rather than protective. Externally, the lack of nationhood compromises the state’s sovereignty in the Westphalian sense, resting on the assumption of internal coherence. Somalia struggles to govern its territory, fails to represent its populace, and has a national interest that is often fractured or co-opted by external actors.
Moreover, the international landscape does not overlook these vulnerabilities. With rising geopolitical competition in the Horn of Africa, Somalia’s institutional frailty makes it susceptible to foreign intervention. Diplomatic agreements and military bases are increasingly being established without national consensus, further bloating internal divisions and splintering governance.
This creates a dangerously self-perpetuating cycle. Weakened institutions encourage foreign meddling; external interference exacerbates internal fractures; disunity undercuts the potential for solid governance. Over time, sovereignty risks becoming less a shield against external pressures and more of a performative gesture. Somalia may be acknowledged as a sovereign state, but the underlying substance—internal legitimacy, coherent representation, and effective governance—remains tenuous.
Breaking this destructive cycle will necessitate more than simple administrative reforms; it calls for a national awakening—a deliberate initiative to cultivate a civic identity that transcends clan affiliations. This is not about nullifying traditional identities, but rather about integrating them into a more inclusive civic framework. It means establishing institutions that honor merit, prioritize public interest, and foster a collective sense of belonging. Investment in educational systems that teach not just technical skills but also citizenship is critical.
This vision is not merely a romantic ideal; countries facing similar challenges have successfully navigated this terrain. France, after the revolution, was a fractured society but managed, through education and institutional development, to forge a robust national identity. Indonesia, a diverse archipelago, nurtured civic nationalism through shared symbols and inclusive governance, while Rwanda has intentionally pursued national unity post-genocide. None of these examples are devoid of flaws, but they illuminate a vital truth: nationhood can indeed be constructed; it is not solely the result of inheritance.
For Somalia, the journey starts with recognizing a profound reality: sovereignty without nationhood is merely a shell. While it may afford legal standing and access to international forums, it does not guarantee legitimacy, stability, or development. True sovereignty emerges from a nation where the people recognize the state as their own, actively engage in its governance, and see their identities mirrored in its institutions.
The stakes are immense. A Somalia continuing on its present path risks deepening divisions, fostering authoritarianism, and succumbing to external predation. However, a Somalia willing to invest in nationhood, institutional inclusivity, and civic identity—placing its citizens at the heart of governance—could profoundly reimagine its future. The potential to convert its remarkable cultural homogeneity into a strength, coupled with harnessing its youthful demographic as a catalyst for innovation, is within reach. Ultimately, Somalia can reclaim its sovereignty—not merely as a legal construct, but as a lived experience.
To embark on this significant journey, Somalia must stop conflating statehood with nationhood and sovereignty with legitimacy. The hard work of building a nation that every Somali can call their own—irrespective of clan or lineage—must begin.
