Horn Of Africa Gambit: The US Fuelling Tensions Between Somalia And Somaliland

Horn Of Africa Gambit: The US Fuelling Tensions Between Somalia And Somaliland

By Uriel Araujo

Washington apparently cannot resist the temptation to turn disputed territories into military outposts. History warns us that such interventions rarely end well—least of all for the people caught in the crossfire.

In yet another chapter of its reckless foreign policy, the United States appears poised to ignite fresh chaos in the Horn of Africa. Washington’s latest gambit involves a potential quid pro quo deal with Somaliland, a self-declared independent region of Somalia, offering recognition of its sovereignty in exchange for a naval base on the strategic Red Sea coast. Meanwhile, Somaliland’s leadership has dangled the prospect of “absorbing” displaced Gaza residents—a move that reeks of opportunism cloaked as humanitarianism.

Not to be outdone, Somalian federal government authorities in Mogadishu have countered with its own offer, promising the U.S. “exclusive operational control” over strategic ports and airbases along the Gulf of Aden. The catch? These assets, including the prized Berbera port, lie in disputed territories beyond Mogadishu’s de facto control, lying in fact firmly in Somaliland’s hands. Once again, American foreign policy reveals its penchant for meddling in fragile regions, stoking division, and courting conflict—all with a familiar Israeli shadow lurking in the background.

This unfolding drama bears the hallmarks of a playbook Washington has deployed before, most notably in the Western Sahara (as I wrote at the time), where U.S. recognition of Moroccan sovereignty in 2020—brokered as another quid pro quo deal in the context of the Abraham Accords—traded territorial legitimacy for strategic alignment with Israel. This took place during Donald Trump’s first term. The parallels are striking: a contested region, a superpower dangling recognition as bait, and a broader agenda that prioritizes military footholds over stability.

In the Horn of Africa, the stakes are no less volatile. Somaliland, autonomous since 1991 but unrecognized internationally, has long sought legitimacy, while Somalia’s federal government clings to its claim over the breakaway territory.

Society in that region is organized around a complex clan system, with major families like the Darod, Hawiye, Isaaq, Dir, and Rahanweyn forming the backbone of identity and allegiance. Somaliland’s push for independence is heavily driven by the Isaaq clan, which dominates the northwest and felt marginalized under the Siad Barre regime (1969–1991), when southern clans like the Hawiye and Darod held sway in Mogadishu. The Hargeisa Holocaust, also known as the Isaaq genocide, was the bloodiest episode during the Somaliland War of Independence when, between 1987 and 1989, the Siad Barre regime sponsored the killing of almost 100,000 Isaac clan civilians.

Since Somaliland declared independence in 1991 after the collapse of Somalia’s central government, it has been dominated by the same once-persecuted Isaaq clan, while Somalia’s federal government draws support from a broader mix of clans, including the Hawiye and Darod. Both regions are overwhelmingly Sunni Muslim, with clan loyalties amplifying the rift—particularly as the Isaaq feel historically marginalized by southern clans.

The U.S., by entertaining Somaliland’s offer, risks fracturing an already tenuous Somali state, potentially empowering al-Shabaab insurgents (Al-Qaeda-affiliated Islamist terrorist group which is ready to exploit the instability and division caused by this conflict to further its own agenda) and thereby unravelling decades of state-building efforts—all for the sake of a naval base to counter China and monitor the Red Sea.

Things get worse when one considers Somalia’s counterproposal. President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud’s March 16 letter to Donald Trump offers “strategically positioned assets” to bolster American engagement in the region. Yet Mogadishu’s authority over Berbera and Bosaso—key ports in Somaliland and Puntland, respectively—is a fiction. This is not a generous gift but a desperate ploy to thwart Somaliland’s bid for recognition. The Somali government, weakened by internal strife and an ongoing insurgency, lacks the muscle to enforce its sovereignty over these areas. By inviting the U.S. into this jurisdictional quagmire, Somalia is handing Washington a poisoned chalice—one that could drag American forces into yet another intractable conflict.

And then, to add fuel to the fire,  there’s Israel’s fingerprints. Reports from the Jerusalem Post and elsewhere suggest Somaliland’s willingness to absorb Gaza residents aligns with broader U.S.-Israeli discussions about relocating Palestinians displaced by the ongoing war. This is of course not about humanitarian concerns; it’s a transactional move to curry favour with Washington and Tel Aviv. The echoes of Western Sahara are deafening—Israel’s strategic interests once again intertwine with American power projection, turning a regional dispute into a geopolitical chessboard. Somaliland’s Foreign Minister has explicitly floated the idea of hosting Gazans in exchange for recognition, thereby underscoring the cynicism at play.

Likewise, for the U.S., this is less about humanitarian relief and more about securing a pliable ally near Yemen’s Houthi-controlled waters, where Israel faces threats to its maritime security.

The consequences of this reckless manoeuvring are predictable yet dire. Somaliland’s recognition by the U.S. would not only undermine Somalia’s territorial integrity but also embolden other secessionist movements across Africa, a continent wary of redrawing colonial borders. The African Union, long a proponent of Somalia’s unity, would view this as a betrayal, further straining Washington’s credibility on the continent. Meanwhile, Somalia’s federal government, already stretched thin battling al-Shabaab, could collapse under the weight of this diplomatic blow, ceding ground to extremists who thrive on chaos. Puntland, another semi-autonomous region, might (worst case scenario) follow Somaliland’s lead, fracturing Somalia into a patchwork of warring fiefdoms—a scenario that serves neither regional stability nor American interests even.

Critics might argue that a U.S. base in Berbera offers a strategic counterweight to China’s growing presence in Djibouti and the Red Sea. But at what cost? The Horn of Africa is a conflict-ridden enough region: injecting American military might into this volatile mix risks repeating the mistakes of Afghanistan or Iraq—endless wars fuelled by hubris and a disregard for local realities. Israel’s involvement only compounds the folly, tethering U.S. policy to a narrow agenda that prioritizes Tel Aviv’s security while disregarding African sovereignty. One must also keep in mind that while Washington has approximately 750 overseas military bases spread across over 80 countries (though some estimates suggest this number could be as high as 900 or more), China, by contrast, has only one officially acknowledged base overseas, namely the one in Djibouti.

Washington’s flirtation with Somaliland and Somalia’s desperate counteroffer exemplify a broader malaise in American foreign policy: a myopic focus on short-term gains at the expense of long-term stability. Washington apparently cannot resist the temptation to turn disputed territories into military outposts. History warns us that such interventions rarely end well—least of all for the people caught in the crossfire. Yet, as the Gaza subplot reveals, this is less about peace and more about power. In the end, it’s the Horn’s inhabitants, not Washington’s strategists, who could pay the price for this reckless chess move.

Uriel Araujo is a Ph.D. scholar and anthropology researcher with a focus on international and ethnic conflicts.

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Voice of East.

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