The Qabil and The Church

Qabil Isn’t What You Think

We speak of qabil as a kinship system—at best, a source of solidarity and support; at worst, a political tool for manipulation. But that is only the surface. Qabil is not just a lineage network or a structure controlled by ambitious individuals. It is that, in part. But more fundamentally, it is an autonomous force with its own logic and survival instinct. It shapes identity, distributes opportunity, and imposes obligations. In truth, qabil uses people more than people use it.

To understand what qabil really is, it helps to look beyond Somalia—to another institution that once exercised a similar hold over society: the medieval Catholic Church.

For centuries, the Church in Europe was more than a religious authority. It was a moral monopoly, an arbiter of truth, and a gatekeeper of salvation. People didn’t merely believe in it—they lived within it. It dictated how they thought, how they loved, and how they governed their lives. In return for order, it demanded loyalty. To question the Church was heresy; to resist it was treason.

The Church taxed the population, monopolized education, and punished deviation. It claimed to speak for God, but it enforced conformity. It claimed to protect souls, but it safeguarded its own power. And when the rise of modern states threatened that power, it resisted violently. It branded reformers as heretics, summoned foreign armies, and toppled monarchs who deviated from its authority. In the 14th century, it deposed Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II for asserting state supremacy over papal claims. Later, during the Reformation, it launched wars across Europe to crush Protestant rulers who placed national sovereignty above clerical control. It even allied with Muslim powers, such as in the Franco-Ottoman alliance, to undermine Christian monarchs who defied it.

Qabil behaves no differently. It masks political sabotage in the language of clan interest. It claims to support the state, but only as long as the state remains subordinate to it.

In Somalia, this has come at a heavy cost.

In the 1980s, qabil helped bring down the Somali state—not to build something better, but to take back the power it had lost under colonial rule. Since then, it has stood in the way of every serious effort to rebuild national institutions. The strongest attempts at state-building have come from Islamic movements—and qabil has shut down each one.

In the early 1990s, Islamic groups built grassroots movements that crossed clan lines and made real progress toward rebuilding the state. Threatened by this, qabil pushed back. In the north—across what are now Puntland and Somaliland—it worked with Ethiopia to force them out.

In the south, in 2006, qabil briefly set aside internal rivalries to destroy the Islamic Courts Union. It invited Ethiopia and the United States to invade the country. Qabil returned to Mogadishu not to govern, but to prevent the emergence of any real government—unless it served its interests.

But history cannot be stopped.

The Catholic Church eventually lost its monopoly—not because of a single confrontation, but because the world changed. Literacy spread. The printing press reshaped thought. Trade and science created new classes and institutions. People no longer accepted that power must come clothed in sacred authority.

Qabil is facing the same structural challenge.

It knows that its position is unsustainable. It understands, at least rhetorically, that the state must take precedence. In public, it proclaims loyalty to national unity and declares its readiness to work within a republic. It adopts the language of modernity: elections, law, equality. But in practice, it does the opposite. It infiltrates public offices, manipulates rules, and sabotages every reform that threatens its supremacy.

Because qabil knows the truth: its relationship with the state is zero-sum.

A modern state—governed by law, rights, and impersonal institutions—cannot coexist with qabil. In a republic where citizenship is equal and public office is earned, qabil becomes obsolete. It loses control over land disputes, marriage arrangements, political appointments, and access to justice. It loses its grip over identity itself.

In such a state, qabil cannot control the Somali man. It cannot command his loyalty above the law. It cannot dictate whom he should marry, which leader he must follow, or what job he should get. It cannot reduce the Somali woman to a pawn in clan alliances, or weaponize shame to enforce silence.

That is the real threat qabil sees—not physical defeat, but political irrelevance. And that is why it fights—not to build, but to survive.

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