By: Dr. Shafie Sharif Mohamed
When Somalia committed to reserving 30 percent of parliamentary seats for women through the 2012 Garowe Principles, the pledge was widely hailed as a progressive milestone. Backed by the United Nations and international donors, it marked a symbolic step toward gender inclusion in a post-conflict society striving to rebuild its political institutions.
Yet over a decade later, that promise remains largely unfulfilled – admired abroad, questioned at home, and rarely realized in electoral outcomes.
In the 2017 elections, women gained only 24 percent of seats, way below the quota but still a relative improvement.
However, by the 2022 elections, the figure declined to 19 percent, renewing skepticism about the quota’s efficacy. With the 2026 elections on the horizon, few expect a significant reversal of this downward trend. What was once celebrated as a marker of political renewal now teeters between symbolic aspiration and political ritual, raising an urgent question: Does the 30% quota still serve its intended purpose, or has it become a hollow benchmark?
Surveying the ground: Popular sentiment on the quota
A national survey conducted through the Somali Researchers Association, encompassing 1,372 respondents across all Federal Member States, reveals the complex and often contradictory public attitudes toward the quota. Nearly two-thirds of respondents opposed the 30 percent benchmark, favoring smaller figures (10–20%) or rejecting quotas outright.
At the heart of this opposition lies the clan-based structure of Somali politics. Parliamentary seats are allocated not through direct electoral competition, but through indirect selection by clan elders under the power-sharing formula known as the 4.5 system. Within this system, the notion of a numerical gender quota appears structurally incompatible, if not outright disruptive.
As one respondent aptly remarked: “Our politics is based on clans, not gender. Quotas can only work if the system itself changes.”
Such views are not uniformly distributed. The survey revealed stark differences based on age, gender, and geography. Younger respondents and women’s advocacy groups tend to support the quota as a temporary corrective measure, a bridge toward a more inclusive system. In contrast, elderly community leaders and traditional elites often regard the quota as an externally imposed mechanism – a foreign idea that runs counter to Somali sociopolitical norms.
The linguistic and cultural dimensions of resistance
Language plays a crucial role in shaping perceptions. In Somali, the term “ku-simaha” (substitute/stand-in) is often used – sometimes dismissively–to describe women appointed to political office through quotas.
This term subtly implies impermanence or inferiority, undermining the legitimacy of women’s roles. Likewise, some Somali-language political discourse frames the quota as “kootada haweenka ee laga keenay dibadda” (“the women’s quota brought in from outside”), reinforcing the view that gender reforms are externally driven, not internally developed.
Additionally, the linguistic conflation of clan identity with political legitimacy complicates matters. Because a Somali woman typically adopts the clan identity of her father, but may marry into another, questions of “clan loyalty” become politically charged. Our survey found that over 75% of respondents agreed that women married outside their clan face reduced chances of nomination, reflecting fears of divided allegiances – a culturally rooted barrier that quotas alone cannot dismantle.
Do quotas equal power? The global and Somali record
Globally, gender quotas have yielded mixed outcomes. Rwanda’s constitutional gender parity has transformed its legislative landscape. Senegal’s parity law dramatically increased female political representation. Yet in Morocco, Kenya, and Pakistan, quotas have increased numbers without shifting power dynamics.
Somalia’s experience sits uncomfortably in the latter category. The 30% quota exists in principle, but lacks constitutional or legal enforcement. Instead, its implementation depends on informal political agreements, often negotiated behind closed doors among male elders and powerbrokers.
As a result, many women candidates must seek sponsorship from male clan leaders – a form of political patronage that undermines autonomy and reinforces dependency.
Critics argue this fosters tokenism: women present in office but lacking influence. Proponents, however, counter that symbolic visibility is a necessary precursor to real power. Both agree, however, that significant structural barriers remain, including access to campaign financing, exposure to political violence, and lack of institutional support.
Structural exclusion vs. perception of legitimacy
A striking finding from the national survey was that 67% of respondents believed that female MPs lack a clear political vision.
President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud echoed this sentiment in 2023, expressing concern that many women in parliament still rely on clan elders for political direction. But is this a reflection of reality, or a gendered stereotype shaped by systemic exclusion?
Scholars and gender advocates argue that political dependency stems not from a lack of ability, but from a lack of institutional pathways. When entry into politics is mediated by gatekeepers, such as clan elders or male sponsors, the resulting leadership may appear less independent – not due to a lack of competence, but due to the constraints of patronage politics.
Perception, however, matters. Until women are seen as independent actors with distinct political agendas, their representation will remain symbolically contested, even when numerically present.
Quotas and the question of local legitimacy
Somalia’s case underscores a fundamental truth: quotas are not a substitute for inclusive institutions. They work only when grounded in local legitimacy, backed by legal frameworks, and supported by political will.
In Somalia, however, the quota has no constitutional standing. Its implementation is not enforced through statutory law, but rather negotiated informally in the lead-up to each election. As a result, each electoral cycle becomes a repetitive struggle, with women’s inclusion subject to elite bargaining rather than protected rights.
Yet to abandon the quota would be to signal regression. For its advocates, the 30% benchmark is more than a policy tool; it is a symbolic commitment to a more inclusive future – a public declaration that gender equity is part of Somalia’s unfinished democratic transition.
For skeptics, however, it remains evidence of the disconnect between imported reform models and Somali sociopolitical realities. In their view, the quota serves as an emblem of international interference – well-meaning, perhaps, but misaligned with local priorities and norms.
Toward a somali-led model of inclusion
The real challenge may lie not in the quota itself, but in how Somalia defines political representation. Genuine inclusion will not emerge solely from numeric targets. Instead, it will require:
1. Reforming the clan-based selection system to allow broader, more direct participation.
2. Encouraging internal party democracy, where merit and ideas, rather than lineage, shape candidacy.
3. Amplifying the voices of women leaders, not just in politics, but in community mediation, education, entrepreneurship, and civil society.
4. Facilitating national dialogues that include elders, youth, religious scholars, and women’s groups to reimagine citizenship beyond bloodlines.
In short, Somalia needs a Somali-led conversation on representation – one that reconciles heritage with modernity, and participation with legitimacy.
Conclusion: a mirror of transition
The 30% women’s quota remains more than a policy – it is a mirror of Somalia’s political transition. It reflects the tensions between aspiration and implementation, between global norms and local legitimacy, between modern governance and traditional authority.
Whether the quota endures, evolves, or is replaced, its fate will depend less on international advocacy than on Somali consensus. The ultimate question is not whether Somalia can meet a numeric target, but whether it can envision a political future where inclusion is not imposed, but inherent.
Until then, the quota remains both a promise and a provocation – not just about women’s seats, but about who belongs at the table of Somali democracy.
Dr. Shafie Sharif Mohamed is a Somali researcher who leads nationwide social research projects through the Somali Researchers Association.
