Hassan Sheikh Mohamud Clings to Power Despite the Supreme Court

When a Supreme Court says a president no longer has the right to govern, what does that president do? In Somalia, the answer is already known. On November 5, the country's highest court ruled that Hassan Sheikh Mohamud's continued hold on power was "illegal." The verdict is clear, almost brutal in its simplicity. That same day, hundreds of kilometers away, Ethiopia and Sudan were trading diplomatic expulsions. In the Horn of Africa, the rule of law hangs by a thread, and it is always the same hands that cut it.

Let us begin in Mogadishu, because that is where the betrayal is most flagrant. The new Constitution adopted on March 4 extended the presidential term from four to five years. It also introduced direct popular election of parliamentarians, a democratic demand Somalis have been making for thirty years. But the text also provides, according to the Court, that it does not apply to the elected institutions currently in office. In other words, the fundamental law was reformed like a lease: new rules for future tenants, and automatic extension for the one already occupying the premises. Somalis will recognize the trick. They lived through it in 2021, when the presidential mandate was already disputed and an armed crisis nearly plunged Mogadishu into civil war.

The presidential election is scheduled for May 15, 2027, a year behind the original timetable. A country that has not held a credible vote in decades now finds its power prolonged by the drafting of a text, and a court that must remind it of the obvious. Meanwhile, the fate of soldiers and civilians is being decided in the fight against the Chabab, the Shebab, who show no sign of weakening. Uganda has announced the withdrawal of its troops from Somali soil, further weakening a security mission already running on empty. What message does a government send when it delays elections while losing its military allies? That of a state forced to fight on two fronts: against terrorists, and against its own people.

Now let us look at the Ethiopia-Sudan border. On November 2, Addis Ababa declared six members of the Sudanese consulate staff in Asosa, in the Benishangul region, persona non grata, giving them forty-eight hours to leave the country. Khartoum responded in kind, targeting the staff of the Ethiopian consulate in Gedaref. Two governments, two ultimatums, and at the center of it all, a country at war. Since April 2023, Sudan has been torn apart by the clash between the regular army and the Rapid Support Forces. Millions of people have been displaced, entire cities emptied, and famine threatens whole regions. Sudanese authorities accuse Addis Ababa of alleged involvement in this conflict. Ethiopia denies it. But in a region where evidence is scarce and geopolitical interests are numerous, the silence of the chancelleries is deafening.

This is the problem we must name. When serious accusations circulate between two neighbors at war, the question should not be who shouts loudest. It should be who holds the evidence, and who agrees to submit it to independent investigation. Neither government appears ready to play that card. The reciprocal expulsions look more like a calculated escalation than a security policy. And the price, as always, will not be paid by the diplomats, but by the civilians who live along the borders, those who have neither diplomatic passports nor rescue flights.

And then there is Beijing. On November 4, China announced that it would send several envoys to the Horn of Africa in the coming weeks, notably to Ethiopia and Eritrea, whose relations have sharply deteriorated. Presented as mediation to ease tensions, the move deserves a cold look. China already has a military base in Djibouti, its first overseas base, and it controls a considerable share of the infrastructure and debt of several states in the region. The Red Sea is a strategic artery for its exports to Europe. When Beijing speaks of mediation, we must always ask: mediation for whom, and at what price? We know this song. They build the road, they lend the money, they sign the mining contract, then they make sure no one asks questions about human rights, elections, or corruption. The peace China offers is often the peace of creditors, not the peace of citizens.

This does not mean every foreign intervention is condemnable. It means every partner, whether Western, Chinese, Turkish, Emirati, or Russian, must be judged by the same standards: transparency, respect for the sovereignty of peoples, and real support for democratic institutions. Powers that sell weapons, finance militias, or buy mining concessions in the Horn cannot present themselves as firefighters. Too often, they are the ones who lit the fuse.

So what is to be done? The answer is not in communiqués. It is in institutions. Somalia must respect its Supreme Court's ruling and set a credible election date, with an independent electoral commission, a serious census, and guarantees for the opposition. The federal government must be accountable to Parliament and to the member states, not to a clique of advisers. International partners, including the African Union and the United Nations, must make their financial and security support conditional on the electoral timetable. This is not interference. It is the least that can be demanded when you are financing a state that sends its soldiers to die.

Sudan and Ethiopia must accept an investigation under the auspices of the African Union and IGAD, with access to consulates, borders, and witnesses. If Ethiopia has nothing to hide, let it open its files. If Sudan has evidence, let it present it before a neutral body instead of waving it in the media. And China, if it truly wants to play mediator, should begin by publishing the terms of its loans and agreements in the region. Mediation without transparency is nothing but a negotiation in disguise.

We also have models to follow. Senegal proved in 2024 that peaceful alternation of power is possible, even when the outgoing authority tries to cling to office. Ghana has organized credible electoral transitions. Botswana and Mauritius have built, through solid institutions, investor confidence and prosperity for their citizens. These are not miracles. They are choices: independent judges, elections contested in courtrooms rather than in the streets, an open economy where property is protected and corruption carries a cost. Somalia can take this path. It simply has to stop confusing power with ownership.

We Africans must reject the fatalism that says, "that's just how it is in the Horn." It is not. It is the result of leaders who chose to stay, to close borders, to expel diplomats, and to hijack institutions. When a judge says "illegal," a government must obey. When two neighbors threaten each other, mediation must be grounded in facts, not interests. When a great power offers its good offices, we must ask it for its record.

So let us demand, starting today: an electoral calendar that is respected in Somalia, an independent investigation into the accusations between Addis Ababa and Khartoum, and full transparency on every Chinese agreement in the Horn. Hold your MPs, your journalists, and your civil society organizations to account. Tell them that peace is not negotiated in the corridors of palaces, but at the ballot box and before the courts. The Horn of Africa does not need another president for life, another expulsion, or another creditor. It needs citizens who refuse to be the last to know.

Based on reporting by ACSS-EMAIL