Recognizing Somaliland Would Betray American Values

To recognize Somaliland is to destabilize Africa and undercut America’s values.

This article is part of The Forum’s Debate Series, in which student writers take opposing sides on issues of importance to public life. Read the other side of the debate here.

Somali Prime Minister Abdirashid Ali Shermarke with President John F. Kennedy at the White House in 1962. Credit: U.S. National Archives

Somali Prime Minister Abdirashid Ali Shermarke with President John F. Kennedy at the White House in 1962. (Credit: U.S. National Archives)

The enclave calling itself Somaliland marked the thirty-fourth anniversary of its unilateral secession this May with parades, speeches, and pageantry. Its leaders point to a local currency, passports, and episodic elections as proof of independence. They brand Somaliland as the "only democracy in the Horn of Africa," contrasting themselves with a Somalia still rebuilding from decades of conflict. Yet not a single United Nations member state has endorsed their claim. Only Taiwan—excluded from the UN itself—has extended recognition. The absence of recognition reflects a shared judgment: Somaliland's case does not meet the standards of statehood. For Washington to recognize it now would not affirm American values, but betray them.

The territory that makes up Somaliland was a British protectorate until 1960, when it achieved independence. That independence lasted only five days. In July of that year, leaders from both the north and south voluntarily united to form the Somali Republic. The union was celebrated as a rare example of African unity in an era otherwise defined by fragmentation. In 1964, the Organization of African Unity adopted Resolution 16(1), committing its members to respect the borders they inherited at independence. Somalia, as a recognized state, fell under its protection. Somaliland, having ceased to exist as a separate entity after the union, did not. For six decades since, international law has treated Somalia's territorial integrity as the baseline—a position consistently reaffirmed by the African Union.

Supporters of Somaliland often point to 1991, when the Somali National Movement declared independence in Hargeisa. The claim is that Somalia's collapse justified separation. But the declaration was unilateral. It was not ratified by a national plebiscite or endorsed by any international body. Later referendums organized in Somaliland suffered the same problem. In 2001, unionist regions refused to participate at all, dismissing the vote as illegitimate. Even the 1961 constitutional referendum, often cited by secessionists, is misrepresented. While some northern districts opposed the draft constitution, the majority of Somali clans across the country, including in the north, approved it. In Somalia's clan-based political order, no single region can claim to speak for all. These votes were never inclusive enough to carry the weight of sovereignty.

The image of Somaliland as "the Horn's only democracy" is also less persuasive on closer inspection. Its multiparty system is capped by law at three parties, each dominated by a single clan. International human rights organizations have documented repeated violations: arbitrary detentions, crackdowns on journalists, and repression of political dissent. Historical episodes show a pattern of coercion. In Borama in 1991 and Kalshaale in 2012, civilians resisting secession were massacred. In Las Anod in 2023, authorities expelled thousands of residents southward, separating families in the process. Elections have been held, but under these conditions they reflect control more than consent. To frame Somaliland as a model of pluralism is to overlook the exclusionary politics that sustain it.

Recognition would also cut against America's broader commitments. U.S. foreign policy rests on three principles: sovereignty, democracy, and stability. Recognition of Somaliland undermines all three. Sovereignty, because it would redraw Somalia's borders without its consent, contradicting decades of U.S. support for African unity. Democracy, because it would endorse one clan's dominance as representative of all Somalis. Stability, because it would invite other separatist movements across Africa—from Tigray in Ethiopia to the Anglophone regions of Cameroon—to demand the same treatment. The U.S. cannot credibly defend Ukraine's sovereignty against Russia or Taiwan's democracy against Beijing while disregarding Somalia's unity.

Some in Washington have entertained recognition for strategic reasons. In 2023, Representative Scott Perry introduced legislation, and by 2025 reports suggested that the Trump administration might view recognition as a way to secure influence in the Gulf of Aden. Senior U.S. military officials even visited Hargeisa, underscoring the interest. But treating Somali borders as bargaining chips for access or positioning undermines the very principles the U.S. claims to uphold. For decades, Washington has supported the African Union's insistence that postcolonial borders remain fixed to prevent endless disputes. To discard that standard now for short-term advantage would not strengthen American strategy, but weaken its credibility across Africa and beyond.

Nor is there African support for recognition. The African Union and regional bodies have repeatedly affirmed Somalia's territorial integrity. No African state has recognized Somaliland. The push comes instead from Western think tanks, scattered legislators, and European populists. Acting alone would isolate Washington from Africa and hand China and Russia an easy line: that U.S. support for sovereignty is selective.

Recognition of Somaliland would not mark a victory for democracy, but a return to colonial arrogance—a signal that the sovereignty of African nations can still be bartered away when it suits a superpower. It would silence the unionist communities who continue to reject secession. It would reward an enclave whose history includes repression, displacement, and exclusion. And it would signal that American values—sovereignty, democracy, stability—are negotiable. U.S. policy can either uphold those principles consistently or abandon them in Hargeisa. It cannot do both.