Hassan Sheikh's Soldiers Seized Somalia's Supreme Court

Read that again. The highest court in Somalia ruled that the president's term extension was unconstitutional. The answer from the presidency was not an appeal, not a parliamentary debate, not a referendum. It was soldiers.

According to Somalia's former Chief Justice, Bashe Yusuf Ahmed, more than 300 security personnel took over the Supreme Court building after its ruling. He used the word "occupied," and we should use it too. When a state's armed forces seize the room where its constitution is interpreted, the court has stopped being a court. It has become a hostage.

Ask yourself what that means for the ordinary Somali. A judge is supposed to be the one person in the state who cannot be ordered around by a gun. Once that person is cornered by men with rifles, every citizen loses a little more protection against the next abuse. Those who will pay for this are not the politicians. They are the herder who needs a land dispute settled, the trader whose contract was voided, the woman who needs a court to enforce a divorce ruling, and the young man who wants to believe that votes still count for something in Mogadishu.

Here is the timeline that matters. Hassan Sheikh Mohamud was elected in May 2022 on a four-year mandate. As that mandate neared its end, his government moved to extend it, pushing for a longer timeline and a shift toward a different electoral model. Opposition leaders, regional administrations, and a significant portion of civil society argued that the extension was a power grab dressed up as reform. The Supreme Court then did the one thing a constitutional court is for. It said the extension violated the constitution.

A ruling against the president should have triggered the ordinary machinery of democracy. The executive could have complied, appealed through legitimate channels, or sought constitutional amendment through parliament with proper consultation. Instead, the state answered a legal judgment with a military deployment. That is not a dispute between institutions. That is one institution using force to silence another.

We have seen this script across our continent, and we know how it ends. A president decides that the calendar is an inconvenience. The judges become obstacles. The security forces become the enforcers of a term that no voter approved. Then the country enters a long, grinding season of uncertainty, where every election becomes a negotiation with the guns, and every opposition figure wonders whether tomorrow is the day they are arrested. Somalia has already survived more than three decades of state collapse, clan warfare, and al-Shabaab terrorism. It does not need another chapter written by a president who treats the constitution as a suggestion.

And let us be honest about who is watching. Somalia sits at the center of a crowded geopolitical contest. Turkey has built military training facilities and invested heavily in Mogadishu's infrastructure. The UAE has pursued port and security arrangements across the Horn, including in Somaliland and Puntland, and has been accused by Somali officials of meddling in federal politics. Qatar's media and financial reach is wide. Ethiopia's security footprint runs deep. Each of these actors can be found on the Somali stage, and each has its own interest in who governs Mogadishu and how. The new scramble for Africa does not wear a single flag. It arrives in the form of partners who want access, contracts, bases, and loyal officials, and it rarely asks whether the court is still standing.

Somalia's partners must be asked a hard question. The international community has poured billions into Somalia's security and state-building since 2007 through the African Union mission and successive UN-backed frameworks. Western governments talk endlessly about the rule of law when it suits their strategic message. Yet when a Somali president turns soldiers on the judiciary, the response is often a carefully worded statement about "concern" and "dialogue." Concern does not stop a tank. Dialogue does not reopen a courtroom. If the West means what it says about democracy, it should say so with the same force it reserves for its adversaries, and it should attach that message to aid and diplomatic access.

So what should Somalia do? The answer is not complicated, though it demands courage. First, the federal government must withdraw the security forces from the Supreme Court and guarantee the judges' safety and independence in writing. Second, any constitutional change must go through parliament, the federal member states, and a transparent process that includes opposition and civil society, not a unilateral decree. Third, Somalia's electoral commission must be insulated from executive control and given the resources to deliver credible voting. These are not radical demands. They are the basic architecture of a functioning state.

Africa already has proof that this works. In Senegal in 2024, when President Macky Sall attempted to postpone the presidential election, the Constitutional Council ruled against him, and the country pushed back through courts, civil society, and public pressure until the election went ahead. Senegal's institutions held, and power changed hands peacefully. Ghana showed the same discipline in its 2024 elections, with a peaceful transfer of power that embarrassed leaders across the continent who had mistaken their own survival for the national interest. Botswana, for decades, has shown that strong institutions, an independent judiciary, and respect for property rights produce stability that no army can manufacture. Mauritius has done the same by building transparent governance and an open economy. Somalia does not need to invent a new model. It needs the courage to follow the ones that already work.

To Somali citizens, we say this. Do not accept the story that this is a technical dispute for lawyers and politicians. It is about whether your vote means anything and whether the law protects you from the men with guns. Demand that your representatives in parliament publicly reject any constitutional change imposed by force. Demand that the traditional elders, religious leaders, business community, and diaspora speak with one voice against the militarization of the courts. Demand that the African Union, the UN, and Somalia's bilateral partners make their support conditional on judicial independence and a credible electoral timetable.

To the President of Somalia, we say this. History will not record your term extension as a legacy. It will record the morning your soldiers surrounded the Supreme Court. Withdraw them. Let the judges work. Let the people decide.

To the rest of Africa, we say this. Every time a president uses the army against the courts, the whole continent gets a little weaker. Stand with the judges of Mogadishu. Stand with the Somali people. Because a coup against the constitution is still a coup, whether it arrives with tanks or with a decree signed in a palace.

Based on reporting by ALJAZEERA