Mogadishu, (Dawan Africa) – 800 kilometers of coastline. 68% of Somaliland’s claimed territory. 44.1% of Puntland’s land area. 17 federal MPs. 26 regional lawmakers.These figures are not abstractions. They are the hard reality behind the political earthquake triggered by the formation of the North East State of Somalia. For decades, the regions of Sool and Sanaag sat at the edge of legitimacy—claimed by both Puntland and Somaliland, but rarely prioritized by either. Today, they have redrawn the map of power in Somalia, aligning formally with the Federal Government and fracturing decades-old political monopolies in the process.And the numbers, when read together, tell a profound story.
Rewriting the Political Calculations
Start with 44.1%—that’s how much of Puntland’s land area the regions of Sool and Sanaag represent. Within that space live communities whose federal parliamentary representation has, until now, been counted as part of Puntland’s 48-seat share. With the establishment of the North East State, 17 of those MPs will now be selected through a new state framework, reducing Puntland’s influence in the national legislature by more than a third.
Then there are the 26 members of the Puntland Parliament who hail from these same regions. Historically, they’ve held kingmaker status in Garowe’s presidential elections. Their political neutrality—stemming from a lack of presidential candidates of their own—made them an appealing bloc to all contenders. Now, as they shift to a new administration, Puntland’s internal balance of power collapses, and President Said Deni finds himself without the votes, without the bloc, and without the buffer.
On the Somaliland front, the arithmetic is even more damning. Sool and Sanaag comprise 68% of Somaliland’s claimed territory and nearly 24% of its population, yet these regions are represented by a mere six MPs in Hargeisa’s parliament. Their departure doesn't just strip Somaliland of geography and demographics—it unravels the logic of its recognition campaign. For a self-declared republic built on the principles of stability and consent, the mass withdrawal of its largest peripheral communities amounts to a crisis of legitimacy.
The Return of the State to the Coast
Geographically, the North East State restores federal authority over 800 kilometers of coastline along the Gulf of Aden—an area that has long been at the crossroads of strategic interests and contested control. For the first time in years, the Federal Government holds meaningful jurisdiction over this stretch, unlocking future possibilities for port infrastructure, security deployments, and maritime economy access near the Bab al-Mandab strait.
One particular site stands out: the historic port town of Laas Qoray. Once a vital fishing hub, it now represents a rare opportunity to develop a strategic deep-sea port directly across the Gulf. With global interest in the Red Sea shipping lane growing—and Turkey seeking to establish a foothold near the Gulf of Aden, potentially through its close ties to the Federal Government—Laas Qoray could become a node of future foreign investment, trade, and maritime connectivity. Combine that with the region’s untapped mineral wealth, and the North East State isn’t just a political prize—it’s a potential economic game-changer.
The Federal Government’s Calculated Risk
What makes this shift even more remarkable is that the Federal Government did not create the North East State—it recognized it. It didn’t fund the protests in Laascaanood, nor ignite the political mobilization. What it did do was read the moment—and invest in it.
By backing the call for a federal administration, Villa Somalia turned local anger and passion into constitutional progress. It took minimal institutional effort, but maximum political courage—especially in the face of resistance from both Puntland and Somaliland. The government’s endorsement gave long-marginalized communities a pathway into the union, not through guns or deals, but through legitimacy and recognition.
In doing so, the Federal Government reaped more than territorial gains. It earned credibility in the north, expanded the scope of federalism, and quietly outmaneuvered its most vocal regional opponents.
Reshaping Clan Politics
The political narrative, particularly around clan alliances, is now undergoing a transformation. The Federal Government has long faced pressure from Daarood political elites—particularly Presidents Deni and Madobe—who framed Mogadishu as a Hawiye stronghold unwilling to share power. That narrative loses force when a Daarood-majority state like the North East aligns itself fully with the federal project.
In that shift, Prime Minister Hamza Abdi Barre finds redemption. Previously painted as a weak check on clan imbalance, he now emerges as a hero figure within the Daarood camp, bridging a gap left wide open by Garowe and Kismayo. His political capital has grown—and with it, the Federal Government’s ability to unlock constitutional deadlocks, particularly around Banadir’s status.
With Jubaland, Puntland and now the North East State, the equation for clan balance has changed. Mogadishu can now realistically pursue long-delayed reforms: the establishment of Banadir as a federal member state, amendments to constitutional articles, and the finalization of local governance in the capital.
An Opportunity—and a Warning
Still, this is no time for celebration. The North East State is a bold experiment, and the responsibility now falls on the Federal Government to ensure it succeeds. The region must not be reduced to a talking point. It requires security, schools, clinics, courts, and competent local governance. If the momentum is lost, the narrative will fracture—and the old grievances will return, stronger and more cynical.
There is also an emerging political risk: reports indicate that some elite figures originally from the North East region, but currently embedded in the political centers of Garowe and Hargeisa, may resist relocating or aligning with the new administration. If these powerbrokers choose to entrench themselves in the status quo rather than support local legitimacy, they could jeopardize the internal cohesion and legal credibility of the new state.
For Somaliland, the warning is clear: recognition cannot be pursued at the expense of internal legitimacy. A movement that began as a call for justice in 1991 risks becoming a cautionary tale if it refuses to reform from within.
For Puntland, too, the crossroads has arrived. It can choose defiance—and risk deeper isolation—or embrace recalibration and reclaim its place in Somalia’s evolving federal story.
The North East State of Somalia is more than a new member of the federation. It is a referendum on inclusion, a reward for political courage, and a moment of reckoning for those who believed the periphery would remain silent forever. Somalia didn’t win the North East by power—it won it by recognition.And that may be federalism’s most powerful move yet.