Somaliland wants to be a trading hub. Here are the problems

..and the potential.

Somaliland, a semi-desert territory on the coast of the Gulf of Aden, has set its sights on becoming a regional trading hub for the Horn of Africa. Though not internationally recognised, Somaliland’s "autonomous" status has insulated it from the turmoil that has subsumed Somali for the past two decades. It has a functioning political system, government institutions, its own currency and relatively low levels of political violence.

At the heart of its economic potential is the port of Berbera, used as an import and export hub by landlocked Ethiopia. Its two airports have undergone a USD 10 million Kuwaiti funded makeover which Somaliland hopes will be the start of efforts to develop its infrastructure, creating the potential for it to augment its position as an alternative trade corridor to Djibouti for Ethiopia.

Ethiopia’s USD 43bn economy, while largely closed to the outside world, is growing by 7 per cent a year and the country is keen to develop coffee and leather manufacturing exports.

The need for enhanced infrastructure in the region is demonstrated by persistent bottlenecks at ports in Mombasa, Dar es Salaam and Djibouti. The appalling condition of the Mombasa road linking the port with the rest of Kenya and the countries of the interior exacerbates the backlog.

Ethiopia’s over reliance on one trade corridor through Djibouti leaves the country vulnerable to fluctuations in its relationship with its trade partner, thereby compromising its ability to effectively manage the political economy of trade logistics. The World Bank has encouraged Addis Ababa to develop transport routes through Somaliland to diversify its options and improve its negotiating position with transit corridors.

Infrastructure development will provide a boost to Somaliland’s fledgling natural resources sector. Sharing the similar geology to the oil rich Gulf states, Somaliland and neighbouring Puntland, offer attractive prospecting opportunities for oil & gas companies. Canadian-listed Africa Oil Corp and Anglo-Turkish oil company Genel Energy, have signed contracts with the semi-autonomous governments and are exploring in the region.

In a situation similar to the standoff between Baghdad and Kirkuk, the activities of international oil companies have sparked controversy over which authorities have the right to issue exploration licences. Following the presidential election in Somalia in 2012, Somalia authorities are reasserting their claim that the issuing of such licences falls solely within the remit of the federal government.

The Somali constitution gives considerable autonomy to regional governments to enter into commercial contracts for oil deals, while a petroleum law, not yet adopted by parliament is being invoked by federal officials in Mogadishu to claim that the central government can distribute natural resources contracts.

The seeds of this controversy dates back to the 1991 overthrow of a dictator that plunged Somalia into two decades of violent turmoil, first at the hands of clan warlords and then Islamist militants, creating a political vacuum in which two semi-autonomous regions - Puntland and Somaliland – emerged in northern Somalia.

Multinational oil companies with licences to explore Somalia prior to 1991 have since seen Somaliland and Puntland grant their own licences for the same blocks. At present the federal government is too weak to press its claim and is unlikely to remain so into the medium term. Any concerted effort to force Somaliland and Puntland to rescind contracts has the potential to provoke violent clashes between armed groups and the security forces in the territories.

Activity by a range of investors in infrastructure development and oil & gas exploration is indicative of the potential to be unlocked in even the most challenging territories. With appropriate insurance coverages providing balance sheet protection against the challenges posed by unpredictable government action and the threat of political violence, opportunities abound for the intrepid investor.

Photograph: Getty Images

JLT Head of Credit & Political Risk Advisory

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In the 1980s, I went to a rally where Labour Party speakers shared the stage with men in balaclavas

The links between the Labour left and Irish republicanism are worth investigating.

A spat between Jeremy Corbyn’s henchfolk and Conor McGinn, the MP for St Helens North, caught my ear the other evening. McGinn was a guest on BBC Radio 4’s Westminster Hour, and he obligingly revisited the brouhaha for the listeners at home. Apparently, following an interview in May, in which McGinn called for Corbyn to “reach out beyond his comfort zone”, he was first threatened obliquely with the sack, then asked for a retraction (which he refused to give) and finally learned – from someone in the whips’ office – that his party leader was considering phoning up McGinn’s father to whip the errant whipper-in into line. On the programme, McGinn said: “The modus operandi that he [Corbyn] and the people around him were trying to do [sic], involving my family, was to isolate and ostracise me from them and from the community I am very proud to come from – which is an Irish nationalist community in south Armagh.”

Needless to say, the Labour leader’s office has continued to deny any such thing, but while we may nurture some suspicions about his behaviour, McGinn was also indulging in a little airbrushing when he described south Armagh as an “Irish ­nationalist community”. In the most recent elections, Newry and Armagh returned three Sinn Fein members to the Northern Ireland Assembly (as against one Social Democratic and Labour Party member) and one Sinn Fein MP to Westminster. When I last looked, Sinn Fein was still a republican, rather than a nationalist, party – something that McGinn should only be too well aware of, as the paternal hand that was putatively to have been lain on him belongs to Pat McGinn, the former Sinn Fein mayor of Newry and Armagh.

According to the Irish News, a “close friend” of the McGinns poured this cold water on the mini-conflagration: “Anybody who knows the McGinn family knows that Pat is very proud of Conor and that they remain very close.” The friend went on to opine: “He [Pat McGinn] found the whole notion of Corbyn phoning him totally ridiculous – as if Pat is going to criticise his son to save Jeremy Corbyn’s face. They would laugh about it were it not so sinister.”

“Sinister” does seem the mot juste. McGinn, Jr grew up in Bessbrook during the Troubles. I visited the village in the early 1990s on assignment. The skies were full of the chattering of British army Chinooks, and there were fake road signs in the hedgerows bearing pictograms of rifles and captioned: “Sniper at work”. South Armagh had been known for years as “bandit country”. There were army watchtowers standing sentinel in the dinky, green fields and checkpoints everywhere, manned by some of the thousands of the troops who had been deployed to fight what was, in effect, a low-level counter-insurgency war. Nationalist community, my foot.

What lies beneath the Corbyn-McGinn spat is the queered problematics of the ­relationship between the far left wing of the Labour Party and physical-force Irish republicanism. I also recall, during the hunger strikes of the early 1980s, going to a “Smash the H-Blocks” rally in Kilburn, north London, at which Labour Party speakers shared the stage with representatives from Sinn Fein, some of whom wore balaclavas and dark glasses to evade the telephoto lenses of the Met’s anti-terrorist squad.

The shape-shifting relationship between the “political wing” of the IRA and the men with sniper rifles in the south Armagh bocage was always of the essence of the conflict, allowing both sides a convenient fiction around which to posture publicly and privately negotiate. In choosing to appear on platforms with people who might or might not be terrorists, Labour leftists also sprinkled a little of their stardust on themselves: the “stardust” being the implication that they, too, under the right circumstances, might be capable of violence in pursuit of their political ends.

On the far right of British politics, Her Majesty’s Government and its apparatus are referred to derisively as “state”. There were various attempts in the 1970s and 1980s by far-right groupuscules to link up with the Ulster Freedom Fighters and other loyalist paramilitary organisations in their battle against “state”. All foundered on the obvious incompetence of the fascists. The situation on the far left was different. The socialist credentials of Sinn Fein/IRA were too threadbare for genuine expressions of solidarity, but there was a sort of tacit confidence-and-supply arrangement between these factions. The Labour far left provided the republicans with the confidence that, should an appropriately radical government be elected to Westminster, “state” would withdraw from Northern Ireland. What the republicans did for the mainland militants was to cloak them in their penumbra of darkness: without needing to call down on themselves the armed might of “state”, they could imply that they were willing to take it on, should the opportunity arise.

I don’t for a second believe that Corbyn was summoning up these ghosts of the insurrectionary dead when he either did or did not threaten to phone McGinn, Sr. But his supporters need to ask themselves what they’re getting into. Their leader, if he was to have remained true to the positions that he has espoused over many years, should have refused to sit as privy counsellor upon assuming his party office, and refused all the other mummery associated with the monarchical “state”. That he didn’t do so was surely a strategic decision. Such a position would make him utterly unelectable.

The snipers may not be at work in south Armagh just now – but there are rifles out there that could yet be dug up. I wouldn’t be surprised if some in Sinn Fein knew where they are, but one thing’s for certain: Corbyn hasn’t got a clue, bloody or otherwise. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser