Platform kinship and the reshaping of political order in the Somali territories

Abstract

Numerous studies show that digital technologies facilitate diaspora engagement in homeland affairs. However, communities in home countries also adapt digital platforms to harness diasporic support and drive socio-political change. Despite a rich literature on ‘digital kinship’, there remains a limited understanding of kinship's broader political and developmental impact, especially in (post)conflict regions. This article draws on fieldwork in the Somali territories to argue that a distinctive model of governance, platform kinship, is emerging as an alternative to existing state and international development programmes. Focusing on WhatsApp, it highlights how the platform's specific features are adapted to Somali segmentary clan structures, enabling kinship groups to bridge digital divides, preserve oral traditions and uphold egalitarian principles. Platform kinship has state-like effects. Through an ecosystem of WhatsApp groups, geographically dispersed kin mediate disputes, coordinate development projects, fund political campaigns, and respond to conflicts and crises. However, it also empowers new actors, including youth, politicians and business elites, while marginalizing elders. Furthermore, because platform kinship strengthens the clan as the central political unit, it can deepen divisions between kinship groups and undermine state-building projects and conceptions of national identity. This has important implications for policy-makers and academics working on digital governance, development and peacebuilding.

In a café in Las Anod, a city in northern Somalia, I meet Ali, a respected elder in his seventies who is dressed in traditional clothing. As I introduce myself, our conversation is briefly interrupted by the loud buzzing sound of Ali's smartphone, which is on the table next to his tea. I notice that he has received a video call request, which he explains is from members of his subclan who live abroad. Intrigued, I inquire what the significance of video calling is to him, causing Ali's eyes to widen in response:

[My] family is a very big family, and they have a WhatsApp group anywhere they are, whether in the Americas [or] Europe. They communicate and collect money, everyone can access you through Zoom. You haven't seen that person in 30 to 40 years and you Zoom them, show them your family. Technology has advanced so many things. Even in the rural areas when they're milking the cows and goats, we introduce new [newborn] family members [through video].¹

At this point, one of Ali's sons, Omar, joins the conversation and presents his smartphone to me, scrolling through a WhatsApp group created for their (sub)clan. This group not only facilitates communication with distant clan members, but also mobilizes these extended kinship networks for collective action. Omar has become a popular and influential figure within his clan by using this group and many others to raise funds for various development projects in their town. As Ali explains, ‘the technological advancement has made lots of things easier, and [it is] easier to gather funds because the main actors [in the clan] are involved in the WhatsApp group … everything is shared in the WhatsApp group.’²

Diasporas have long been recognized for their impact on international relations, with digital technologies enhancing diaspora reach into homeland affairs for purposes of conflict resolution or participation, economic development and diplomacy.³ However, what is less widely recognized is that communities in the home countries themselves are also adapting digital platforms to harness diasporic support and drive processes of social and political change. Furthermore, despite a recent resurgence of attention on kinship within International Relations (IR),⁴ the literature on digital diasporas has not systematically addressed the vital role of kinship in these interactions. Fortunately, a rich field of anthropological and sociological research is providing important insights into the concept of ‘digital kinship’⁵ and the role of smartphones in lower-income contexts.⁶ While this body of work is revealing how digital connectivity is transforming social relations, the focus thus far has been on transnational families, remittances and caregiving. Therefore, the broader political and developmental consequences of digital kinship, particularly in (post-)conflict zones, are not as well understood.

This article investigates the following key questions: how do digital platforms affect kinship practices in the context of diaspora engagement? Do these platforms preserve, break, extend or transform these practices? What are the broader political and developmental implications of digital kinship? And how does this influence questions related to nationality and governance in a hyperconnected world?

Focusing on the Somali territories, this article posits that a distinctive model of governance and development is emerging—platform kinship—that is premised on digitally-mediated genealogical kinship, rather than nationality or citizenship. Not only do digital platforms allow the diaspora to participate in homeland affairs; they also enable communities to creatively adapt these platforms to existing kinship structures. Clan competition is often used to gain support from the diaspora, resulting in a reshaping of power dynamics within Somali society. This shift also empowers new actors, including educated youth, technologically savvy politicians and business elites. Similar trends have been observed in other studies on African societies, where the digital realm tends to undermine traditional structures, including kinship, and reshape social relationships.⁷ However, the paradox of Somali digital kinship is that while it marginalizes elders (who traditionally serve as mediators, decision-makers and upholders of customary law), it simultaneously reifies the clan as well as clan identity.

To demonstrate these claims, the article focuses on the transformative role of WhatsApp in Somali society over the past decade. It highlights how this specific platform has rapidly become indispensable for Somalis in organizing, communicating and reconnecting with their kin across different locations. While WhatsApp upholds certain traditional aspects of kinship, it also diminishes others. The platform's unique features, such as its ability to effortlessly create scalable and replicable groups, align well with Somali segmentary clan structures. Its accessibility, low data usage and voice message functionality enable Somali kinship groups to preserve oral traditions and uphold egalitarian principles, bridging the digital divide between literate diaspora elites and illiterate rural elders. Furthermore, the use of videos and images on WhatsApp enhances communication, and facilitates fundraising, accountability and transparency in community development projects.

WhatsApp has therefore emerged as an invaluable tool that enables dispersed kin to engage with one another. However, WhatsApp groups serve a broader purpose than just interpersonal communication. Through these groups, specific individuals strategically leverage clan competition to achieve various personal, political and developmental goals. They enforce clan laws, mediate disputes, coordinate the construction of schools, roads and hospitals, fund political campaigns, engage in armed conflicts, and organize emergency relief efforts during crises.

This has significant political implications. Firstly, clan competition serves as the driving force behind collective action, sometimes deepening divisions between different kinship groups. Secondly, digital kinship undermines ongoing state-building projects in Somali territories by bolstering the clan as the primary political unit and organizing principle. This implication stands in contrast to the findings of previous studies that emphasize how digital connectivity to the diaspora strengthens national identities and enhances homeland state capacities.⁸ The international community, which has prioritized the establishment of functional state institutions in Somali territories for nearly three decades in pursuit of stability, must now navigate a shifting landscape of power dynamics and partnerships due to the widespread use of smartphones, even in remote areas. Additionally, by tapping into diaspora resources, digital kinship facilitates much-needed economic development and political order but ultimately contributes to political fragmentation within Somali territories. Thirdly, the importance lies not only in the availability of smartphones and internet access, but also in the specific features offered by different platforms in various social and cultural contexts. In this case, the unique capabilities of WhatsApp, combined with existing kinship structures and a connected diaspora, contribute to state-like effects that present a viable alternative to current state and international development programmes in Somalia. This suggests that digital platforms can not only facilitate resistance against the state, but also present an entirely different yet legitimate governance model. Thus, we should seriously consider the future potential for digital platforms to offer alternatives to traditional state structures.

The article is organized as follows. First, I review existing literature on digital diasporas, digital kinship and smartphone usage in Africa, making the case for a shift in focus from the diaspora to the communities in their home countries. This involves an exploration of the implications of digital kinship for conflict-affected societies themselves, as well as for politics, conflict and development more generally. Next, I set the context of the article and describe my methodology and case selection, with a particular emphasis on the media ecologies and diasporic connections that have emerged in the protracted crisis in Somalia. Building on the polymedia concept,⁹ I then delve into the reasons behind WhatsApp's central role as a platform, specifically examining how it integrates with kinship structures and norms. Through three case-studies featuring a political aspirant, a youth leader and a businessman, I provide examples of how WhatsApp is used to mobilize diaspora support for various political, economic and social causes. These instances demonstrate how digital kinship is shifting power from traditional authorities to educated youth and business leaders. In the final section, I argue that this represents an innovative form of politics that upholds the clan as the central political unit, organizing principle and basis for action, at the expense of the state and concepts of nationhood and citizenship. To conclude, I discuss the theoretical and policy implications arising from these findings.

Digital diasporas and digital kinship

Within IR, there has been a longstanding focus on how digital connectivity is empowering the diaspora. One early study by Victoria Bernal in 2005 explored how Eritrean online communities utilize digital spaces to maintain national identity and engage in homeland politics, ultimately reshaping perspectives on nationality and citizenship.¹⁰ Subsequent research has further established the role of digital tools in enabling diasporas to participate in homeland politics and preserve their identities abroad.¹¹ Much of this work focuses on diaspora–state relationships, in which diaspora are often ascribed significant agency in shaping homeland affairs.¹² More recently, attention has turned to how social media allows politically engaged diasporas to directly participate in conflicts from a distance.¹³ Despite these important contributions, less attention has been given to the role of kinship in diaspora relations with the homeland.

Kinship has been a fundamental component of human communication, mobility and exchange throughout history.¹⁴ However, in recent times, studies of kinship have fallen out of favour due to associations with colonial rule and Eurocentric ideas of societal development, which suggest that modern societies are characterized by the separation of kinship from politics. Although recent scholarship has begun to challenge these notions,¹⁵ kinship has not yet been extensively applied to diaspora studies.

Fortunately, there is a rich body of anthropological and sociological literature on the concept of ‘digital kinship’, which highlights how digital platforms sustain family relationships and reshape social dynamics. A particular focus is placed on the role of smartphones, which have become an integral part of everyday life and have transformed social relationships, communication patterns and cultural practices. Specifically, the use of smartphones among migrant and diasporic communities has revolutionized traditional notions of family and caregiving.¹⁶ In the context of Africa, recent research emphasizes the essential role of information and communication technologies (ICTs) in maintaining kinship ties among transnational families, while also redefining traditional family roles, responsibilities and power dynamics.¹⁷ Although this literature provides valuable insights, our understanding of the broader political and economic implications of digital kinship, particularly in conflict-affected societies, is still limited.

Part of the problem is that while there have been excellent studies on how diasporas relate to homeland communities, we have much less knowledge about how homeland communities perceive and interact with diasporas. Similarly, research on digital diasporas often assumes that it is the diaspora driving technologically mediated interactions with their homeland and distant relatives. While this may have been true in the past, today the rise of social media and the widespread availability of affordable smartphones is transforming political landscapes in Africa, challenging traditional structures and hierarchies.¹⁸ Digital platforms like social media are creating new public spaces and discourses.¹⁹ African youth, in particular, are seen to use social media to renegotiate traditional power structures.²⁰ While digital disparities are very real, many local communities in Africa are engaging with and adapting technology in creative and innovative ways. Katrien Pype's ethnographic research with communities in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo, emphasizes this ‘smartness from below’, paying particular attention to mobile phones as integral to the construction and expression of identity, social status and power dynamics.²¹ Clearly, then, it is not only diaspora that are making use of digital technologies. This article addresses this research gap by examining the broader political and developmental implications of digital kinship in Somalia. It shifts the focus from the diaspora to how communities within Somalia use smartphones to connect and shape a new form of politics despite long-standing conflict and political instability.

Somalia: connectivity after collapse

The study is based on five and a half months of fieldwork in northern Somalia/Somaliland in 2021, providing qualitative insights into the lived experiences of individuals and communities interacting through digital platforms. Fieldwork was conducted in more than 25 settlements and included interviews with a variety of individuals, such as returned diaspora, middlemen, elders, sheikhs, internally displaced people (IDPs), representatives of local NGOs and government officials. The fieldwork was focused on borderland areas, which are characterized as spaces of contested political order. This enabled insights into how digital kinship is practised and understood from the perspective of these communities. During the fieldwork, the importance of the smartphone became undeniable. Elders would greet me with a stick in one hand and a smartphone in the other, highlighting its significance in daily life. Even after leaving the field, I remained connected as people continued to reach out to me through messages, audio notes, pictures and videos. Moreover, it became clear that the WhatsApp platform played a crucial role in kinship practices and diaspora relations.

The Somali territories provide an excellent case-study for examining the political consequences of digital kinship. Since the Somali civil war began in 1988 and the state collapsed in 1991, the region has experienced ongoing political fragmentation. This has been characterized by recurrent conflicts, external interference, prolonged humanitarian crises and widespread displacement. Some Somalis have migrated to various diaspora communities, while within Somali territories the civil war triggered a process called deegaano, in which people returned to their perceived ancestral homelands based on kinship ties. Despite numerous attempts at reconstructing a central state with international support, these efforts have consistently failed, and the weak federal government exists only through foreign military support.²² Consequently, most Somalis now live in areas where political order aligns with and reinforces clan identities and territories.²³ In southern and central Somalia, attempts to establish a federal state system have essentially led to the emergence of clan-based statelets, with the Islamist group Al-Shabaab controlling significant portions of the region. In the north, the secessionist state of Somaliland and the semi-autonomous federal member state of Puntland have become the largest political entities.²⁴

In northern Somalia, extended kinship relations became especially important following the civil war and the breakdown of governing institutions and modes of production. Somaliland was born out of the Somali National Movement, a guerrilla resistance movement with its base predominantly in the Isaaq clan that emerged as the Somali state under Siad Barre was collapsing. Upon declaring independence in 1991, Somaliland claimed the territory of the former British colonial protectorate, which also includes large numbers of people from non-Isaaq clans. Thirty years later, the state remains strongly associated with the Isaaq, who mostly inhabit the central regions of Somaliland. The Somaliland nation-building project has been contested, particularly in the eastern regions of Sool and Sanaag that are also claimed by Puntland.²⁵

On these political and geographic margins there has historically been limited state support and international investment, rendering connectivity to the diaspora especially important. The Somali diaspora is particularly large, and is known for retaining strong social, emotional and financial connections with Somalia.²⁶ While a Somali diaspora in Europe has existed since the colonial period, the civil war prompted a significant exodus. It is estimated that nearly a million Somalis live in North America and Europe today. Many of these diasporas remain emotionally, politically and economically connected to Somalia for reasons including family and kinship ties, a desire to reconstruct their homeland and, more recently, to invest and make money in it.

Out of this context of protracted state collapse a dynamic telecommunications sector has emerged, providing expansive coverage across the politically fragmented Somali territories.²⁷ Strongly tied to the business of remittances, these telecommunications companies thrived without formal legal state regulations and protection by drawing on both clan and religious networks and commercial logics. As digital technologies have become more prevalent, a distinctively Somali media ecology has formed, whereby ‘old’ media (such as print and radio) intersects with new digital technologies, and local public spheres coexist with transnational Somali-language broadcasting and debate.²⁸ Recent studies have given important insights into the importance of digital connectivity for Somali diasporas in Europe, paying particular attention to Somali women.²⁹ However, since the 2010s, cheaper smartphones and expanding internet data infrastructures have also rapidly increased digital connectivity within the Somali territories, the effects of which are only now beginning to be addressed.³⁰

Smartphone handsets from Asia are increasingly inexpensive and have become accessible to more and more Somalis, and Somalia is the cheapest country in Africa—and the seventh cheapest in the world—in terms of the cost of mobile data.³¹ It has fibre-optic connections and widespread network coverage, with more than 70 per cent of adult Somalis regularly using mobile money services.³² Digital connectivity is not only important for both ‘far’ and ‘near’ diasporic connections and mobility; migration, work and money within urban Somalia is increasingly shaped by ICTs.³³

Moreover, as discussed in the introduction to this special section, diaspora and non-diaspora are linked not only through social and political ties, but also through what has been called ‘global crisis ecologies’, whereby the margins of crisis are not simply geographical and growing global smartphone usage affects the speed, audiovisuality and scalability of crisis.³⁴ From this perspective, crisis is not an exceptional, time-limited event. Rather, crisis is context, a continuous terrain of action and meaning in its own right.³⁵ Here, the everyday use of the smartphone both embeds and is embedded into how crises unfold, in turn reshaping diaspora and non-diaspora identities and relationships.

Somali digital kinship

While connectivity has always been of social and cultural importance, the rapid proliferation of smartphones has unquestionably transformed social relations between Somalis in multifaceted ways. One such way is through sustaining kinship relations across distances.

Much of Somali society is organized around a segmentary patrilineal kinship system which traces family lineage (tol) back to the founding fathers of each clan.³⁶ Four major clan families (the Hawiye, Darod, Dir and Digil–Mirifle) divide into clans (qabiil), which subsequently split into smaller genealogical units, including the ‘subclan’ (jilib) and within the subclan numerous diya (‘blood money-paying’) groups. The character of the clan and its relevance to Somali socio-political life has evoked considerable debate. Importantly, scholarship has moved away from early essentialist readings of the clan as a stable and fixed entity towards emphasizing the fluidity, dynamism and contingency of the clan as a social construct.³⁷ As we shall see, this is important in an era of enhanced connectivity accelerated by smartphone usage and widespread adoption of new platforms such as WhatsApp.

While the clan (including the diaspora) has often been associated with conflict,³⁸ it can also function as a way to connect with other Somalis and prevent or resolve conflicts.³⁹ In other words, clan is not some inevitable ‘destiny’ or immutable social fact, but is best understood as providing multiple scripts for mobilizing collective action. While different kinship group ‘segments’ or units can be imagined as a kind of concentric relational map, they are not fixed schema, and even the term ‘genealogical unit’ can be misleading, as it implies a level of permanence that may not actually exist. The way these segments are interconnected depends on the broader socio-political context. They are fluid and constantly evolving, influenced by factors such as birth, death, marriage alliances and shifting political allegiances. In northern Somalia/Somaliland, the significance of clan was repeatedly emphasized due to the specific circumstances of state collapse, mass migration, and being situated on the political and developmental periphery between multiple state-building projects in borderland regions. Furthermore, while clan is important for mobilizing collective action, other factors such as religious duty, friendship, humanitarian need or political ideology also play a role.

In customary clan law (xeer), genealogical groups are not restricted by geography. The global Somali diaspora has led to a significant development—the expansion of kinship norms and structures to various locations. Nevertheless, place still plays a vital role in shaping social identities and collective mobilization. While genealogical groups are not limited to a specific geography, most of them have a recognized homeland (degaan). However, disputes over a degaan are not uncommon among different groups. Fundraising initiatives primarily focus on and are influenced by the politics of a specific place, rather than an abstract concept of a homeland. Contrary to the idea of the internet erasing territorial boundaries, it has actually strengthened the relationship between territory and political (genealogical) identity in Somalia.

From the shade of the tree to the WhatsApp group? Platform kinship explained

In this specific context of kinship and diaspora dynamics, the choice of WhatsApp is not arbitrary. Mirca Madianou and Daniel Miller argue that the increased access, availability and affordability of communication technologies herald a new era of ‘polymedia’.⁴⁰ For instance, someone with a smartphone can choose to communicate with a friend via Skype call, instant message, tweet or video call through Facebook Messenger. These expanding communication mediums are defined in relation to each other, and the distinction that matters is not only the technical or economic constraints of a particular medium, but also the social, moral or emotional consequences of choosing that medium.⁴¹ At the same time, different social media platforms bring specific affordances distinct from previous dyadic or broadcast media, including scalability/replicability, speed/availability, ‘co-presence’ and audiovisuality.⁴²

Following these insights, specific features of the WhatsApp group are significant for Somali genealogical kinship groups. The first important development is WhatsApp's capacity to be both scalable and replicable. In the north, it is generally accepted that the practice of creating subclan WhatsApp groups began around 2011, in the western city of Borama, and spread eastward across Somaliland. According to an individual from central Somaliland, their subclan initially relied on committee members calling specific individuals. WhatsApp allowed them to connect with more people more quickly. They explain, ‘before 2012 we used to support each other, but never in this structured way’.⁴³ Since then, WhatsApp has rapidly replicated and become an integral part of daily practice.

Smartphones enable what Miller refers to as ‘scalable sociality’.⁴⁴ In the past, media choices were generally limited to either public platforms (newspapers, TV and radio, reaching large audiences) or private, one-on-one communication (phone calls, telegrams or letters). However, social media allows for a more flexible range of social interactions based on both group size and level of privacy. Somali kinship groups are segmentary, and WhatsApp can express this dynamic social scalability, particularly within smaller ‘subclan’ and diya-paying groups. Most diya-paying groups have a few hundred members, although they can be larger. Approximately six of these groups can form a subclan. While groups can be formed at higher levels as well, the majority of the everyday work is done within the diya-paying groups. One respondent explains:

[WhatsApp] has simplified a lot. We talk about what's been done and what's to be done … it's possible to be part of each level … [the clan] has branches, everything branches from it … Work is done collectively and shared at the upper levels.⁴⁵

The concept of lineage solidarity (tol) directly influences how WhatsApp groups are organized in relation to each other, and a prominent subclan figure could belong to several ‘branches’ of lineage-based WhatsApp groups at the same time. This does not mean that WhatsApp groups are permanent. They can also be created (and disbanded) as and when specific issues arise. It is not uncommon for a single town or village to have an entire ecosystem of tens or even hundreds of WhatsApp groups focused on specific issues such as education, political campaigns, drought relief or conflict resolution. This is similar to how the clan traditionally functioned, meeting under a tree when the need arose.

Without the translation of customs and norms into WhatsApp groups, their effectiveness would be greatly reduced. Xeer, traditional Somali customary law, consists of mostly unwritten rules and regulations that govern social and political life. Interestingly, rules and norms derived from xeer are sometimes inscribed into the WhatsApp group descriptions, indicating a shift from oral to textual practices. Funding is organized and regulated through these groups in accordance with clan norms. Typically, this involves either one-time payments, such as during times of crisis, or monthly qaraan payments, which are mandatory clan contributions determined by the relative wealth of each member. Failure to adhere to these rules or neglecting to pay qaraan may result in expulsion from the WhatsApp groups.

Another important aspect of smartphone sociality is speed. In the predigital era, physical audio tapes were often sent through the postal service to reach the diaspora. It could take six months for the tape to be received and a response to be mobilized. Interviewees also mentioned making expensive international phone calls or travelling in person to neighbouring countries such as Kenya, Djibouti or Ethiopia to seek assistance. With speed comes increased accessibility. As a teacher from Awdal explained, ‘the [diaspora] connections are very good because most of the people and subclans have WhatsApp groups where they discuss issues like building MCHs [maternal and child health centres] or whether to run for a [political] seat’.⁴⁶ This accessibility has increased the likelihood of mobilizing kin to address specific issues, whether political or developmental.

Related to this, another important aspect of smartphone usage is ‘intimate co-presence’.⁴⁷ It has been suggested that Somalis who are marginalized in the West may find digital co-presence more desirable and powerful than physical co-presence.⁴⁸ WhatsApp certainly reduces social distance and is important for evoking Tolnimo [lineage solidarity or group feeling]; as one participant put it, ‘in the WhatsApp group we are all there … qurbajoog [diaspora] or local members … we are all there’.⁴⁹ It is sometimes claimed that internet technologies are shifting away from physical location as transnational diasporas engage with an imagined community that exists ‘transnationally’ or ‘online’.⁵⁰ However, the research conducted for this article suggests that such technologies can actually strengthen the diasporic connection to specific places. For example, Jama, a member of the diaspora who lived in Canada but visited his birthplace in Sool periodically, emphasized:

There's a connection between here and there. The Somalis who live in New York or London have their hearts and minds here. It can also be that the Somalis in Europe can access other Somalis from Puntland and Mogadishu, so they come together, talk about it, and influence each other.⁵¹

The rise of social media has also shifted human communication from oral and textual content to audiovisual content.⁵² Ali, the 70-year-old elder, noted that his relationship with his extended kin is ‘a lot stronger because people are able to see each other and not just hear. The experience has become more real and interactive’.⁵³ Audiovisuality is also important for transparency. When discussing his subclan's efforts in funding university scholarships, one interviewee explains how ‘now you can see the development … students recording videos saying thank you … the receipts from the universities are shared and are public’.⁵⁴ Strong egalitarian principles govern Somali society, and the simplicity and low data usage of WhatsApp make it a widely accepted platform that can help bridge digital and generational divides. In this regard, the voice message feature of WhatsApp is particularly significant. As mentioned, within xeer, oral agreements hold great value, and some subclans have rules against written text in WhatsApp groups due to varying levels of literacy within the group.

Despite the egalitarian promise of WhatsApp, its use can perpetuate existing hierarchies and structures of authority. Most WhatsApp groups reflect and reinforce the patriarchal nature of the clan, and are dominated by men. Digital kinship also depends on lineage strength and access to the diaspora. IDPs had limited access to smartphones, while members of minority clans reported less interaction with their diaspora, diminishing the significance of WhatsApp groups. Digital fatigue is also evident. Constant availability and perpetual need in hyperconnected digital kinship lead some Somalis, particularly those in the diaspora, to engage in evasion tactics like changing phone numbers or avoiding WhatsApp altogether. The diaspora expresses frustration that communication requests invade their privacy and become overwhelming. Some community members accuse the diaspora of keeping their WhatsApp usage a secret or constantly changing numbers. Politicians have also discontinued WhatsApp use after leaked voice memos from subclan groups caused controversy. A desire to disconnect is therefore also a consequence of intensifying digital kinship.

Finally, the structure of the platform itself can contribute to social division. For example, for a number of years WhatsApp groups had a maximum limit of 256 members. This is an entirely technical constraint. Eight bits are used to identify different members of the group, resulting in 256 possibilities (2^8=256). Therefore, 256 is the most efficient number of members in terms of memory. Of course, genealogical units are not restricted to 256; they change in size based on birth and death rates. For instance, one subclan had over 3,000 members, and in their main subclan WhatsApp group, around 200 of the 256 members were diaspora. In larger diya-paying groups, this limitation has led to tensions regarding inclusion and exclusion, which in at least one instance reportedly became violent.⁵⁵

The connected clan

The use of WhatsApp also alters traditional Somali kinship practices. One of the most interesting aspects of platform kinship is that while it diminishes the role of elders, the traditional custodians of customary law, it simultaneously emphasizes the significance of the clan. This has significant implications for political order and development in the Somali territories. To support these claims, I present vignettes from conversations with three individuals who have all benefited from the increasing use of WhatsApp within their kinship groups.

Ahmed, political aspirant

I am sitting with Ahmed in his home in northern Awdal, surrounded by discarded khat twigs, empty soda bottles and thermal carafes filled with sweet Somali tea. In his late thirties, Ahmed has strong diaspora connections, as he lived in the UK during his studies. He is currently a local election candidate, and his campaigning has just ended. Weary, Ahmed explains the demands of his campaign. He mentions that he has been chewing khat (a plant whose leaves are chewed for their stimulant properties) every day for the past three weeks, sometimes with local constituents and at other times to stay awake while talking to diaspora benefactors in different time zones. The previous night, he had stayed up late chewing khat and briefing members of the diaspora on a video call.

The diaspora were the key to financing most of the costs. There were two groups of diaspora who took part in my campaign … [the first being] the diya-paying group. The most important level. I was talking to them yesterday night … We were talking until three o'clock … they wanted me to update them on how things ended, the lessons learned and stuff like that. We have been talking for a few months now and they mostly talk about politics. These guys played a very active role in financing my campaign.⁵⁶

Ahmed tells me that while diaspora engagement is welcome, diaspora members are more uncompromising when it comes to clan politics: ‘You know one thing I noticed … is that they become more clan-driven’. I ask if WhatsApp has contributed to this tendency:

Before WhatsApp there were local [mobile] telephones but I found it very negative … politicians who spoke of [Somali] unity and oppression policy against Isaaq, it was the diaspora who used to support them and I later realized that it's a kind of business for those politicians because whenever you use that tone, you'd get support from the diaspora.

This continuity notwithstanding, Ahmed is clear that WhatsApp has accelerated diaspora support:

it's [a] very important and a powerful tool … WhatsApp made things easier. The creation of WhatsApp groups is very interesting in the sending of audio and voice messages. I think every candidate has diaspora from the clan involved in the WhatsApp group funding the candidate.

Not only has WhatsApp strengthened clan politics as a logic for collective mobilization, but within Ahmed's kinship group, it appeared that a power shift within the clan was under way:

In my diya-paying group, the impact of the elders was very high and everything was decided by the elders but now a group of young active people from the diaspora joined forces with other young people from the local community, and they are now the key decision-makers.

Indeed, in Ahmed's own political campaign diaspora and local youth had been instrumental in promoting his candidacy.

The diaspora proposed [me] and I talked to some of them and when they accepted my candidacy, they suggested their [youth] counterparts here and these guys here took my proposal to the elders and said we want this guy to be the candidate … because these young people, especially those in diaspora, usually send money, the elders considered them important. Young people now have money and it's always the one with money who makes the decisions.

This is a significant development. Ordinarily, a prospective candidate would approach, or be approached by the elders. Ahmed admitted this caused some tensions, as there were some elders ‘who saw their role being hijacked’. Ahmed illustrates how WhatsApp has become an essential organizing tool in local politics, while also shifting the structures of authority within the clan away from elders and towards youth and diaspora.

Mahamed, youth leader

Mahamed and I relax in the shady corner of a hotel forecourt, sipping sweet tea as we wait for our lunch. Mahamed was introduced as a ‘youth leader’: a connector, active on WhatsApp groups, and a link between the community and diaspora. I ask Mahamed to show me the WhatsApp groups he is a member of. As he flicks through them, he explains:

We initiate a new group for a new emergency … I personally set up a WhatsApp group for a [sick] girl and when her project ended, we shut it down. This particular WhatsApp group was set up by a woman … [this] is my subclan, we established this group for elections and voting.⁵⁷

The WhatsApp groups are numerous, but often temporary. Mahamed elaborates:

The clan has the same purpose as an NGO. If we had established these groups as NGOs we would make it [permanent] but the main reason for their establishment was to support the clan. The current WhatsApp group established for elections and campaigns will probably be shut down after the elections, there will be elections in the future and it would be in the best interest if the group was still operational, but Somalis are spontaneous people who live by the moment so after the elections people leave the group one after another.

Rather than a permanent and formal bureaucracy, WhatsApp groups function as a scalable and self-replicating system. Groups are created and disbanded as different issues emerge, in accordance with Somali custom. While Mahamed has used digital connectivity to engage the diaspora beyond the clan, most of the groups were organized through kinship. Like Ahmed, Mahamed attributed increasing diaspora engagement to the use of WhatsApp, but indicated that there was some mistrust between the diaspora and the community:

They are [so] stressed in their own lives that they don't trust people so much … Sometimes when they send money like $100 to a sick person, a video recording will be sent which entails things like questions or proof of submission and confirmation. There's nothing to be stolen, they are just doubtful.

While the use of videos and images can help assuage these tensions, Mahamed tells me that these WhatsApp groups can be sites of vigorous debate and internal power struggles:

There's always a debate that stirs in the group. Sometimes we call upon someone who knows the angry party to calm them down. Sometimes people leave the group and they are added back [later] … There are some groups in which the power is very pronounced and they remove whoever disagrees with them, but we have admins and a board of administrators who make sure people are not removed without a serious reason … [When] there was a diaspora resident in America who refused to pay, he was removed without consulting board members. This led to some problems in the group because he had influence in the diaspora, they questioned his removal and he was finally added back.

In addition to the administrators who are elected by majority vote, Mahamed explains how these groups are regulated with by-laws that are written into the group description.

Every group is initiated with by-laws that are applied, without bending them for anyone … they are written in the group and whenever a new member is added to the group, the bylaws are automatically sent for them to read … stated in the bylaws [are] who handles finances and all titles like public relations officers, the secretary, mediators and conflict-resolution committee.

These laws combine kinship norms influenced xeer and guidelines for best practices in the digital realm. They cover rules for contributing qaraan payments and procedures for voting on issues, which require majority consensus.

For instance, Mahamed explains how the process of nominating local committee members works:

Usually the nomination process takes place under a tree and the report is posted to the [WhatsApp] group that this and that [is a] particular issue, so be informed. Elders don't use WhatsApp mostly … they are informed by the youth and they respond back with advice using voice notes.

In Somali society, it is customary for meetings, arbitration and consensus to happen under a tree—often a specific tree, with symbolic importance. The process Mahamed describes exemplifies the integration of online and offline practices, demonstrating how kinship norms and structures are embedded in the technology as a means of connecting with others from a distance, while also mitigating the disruptive impact of these technologies.

Of course, this also highlights the growing impact of young people in Somali digital kinship. Like Ahmed, Mahamed notes that elders ‘feel left out and sometimes voice out their concerns claiming that the decisions are taken by young men in WhatsApp groups’. He provides an example of a situation where emergency food relief was being organized during a drought:

It's brought by WhatsApp, because elders feel bossed around by the youth and they've been overthrown as the main decision-makers. There was a diaspora group that would send food; the elders had a problem with the diaspora and they claimed that the role of the diaspora was to send the money and the elders would do the buying and send reports, but they shouldn't be ordered around. But the diaspora was giving them instructions on who is to be the beneficiary … So the food ended up not being distributed because of these issues. A conflict-resolution committee was [set up] within the clan, and the other problem was elders didn't have [WhatsApp] groups so you had to physically locate them and ask them to send audio files. It would also take a long time because of the different time zones between here and abroad.

This experience as related by Mahamed highlights how the WhatsApp group functions as both a cause of conflict and a site of conflict resolution. As an administrator of multiple WhatsApp groups, Mahamed has acted as a mediator between the diaspora and the traditional clan authorities in his town. This resonates with other work on how digital platforms are empowering younger generations in Africa in terms of crisis response—and often undermining traditional kinship structures and identity in the process.⁵⁸ However, just because the traditional clan authorities are marginalized does not mean that the clan is becoming less relevant, as my final case-study demonstrates.

Hussein, businessman

I first met Hussein in a lush hotel garden in western Somaliland. Tall and composed, Hussein exudes an air of importance. In recent years, his construction business has thrived. We had barely settled in when Hussein asked me to list the numerous villages and towns I had visited in the region. As I furrowed my brow, trying to recall, he intermittently interrupted me to share the various buildings he had erected in these different locations—schools, madrassas, MCHs, hospitals and various other projects. He asserts that the majority of the buildings were constructed with funds raised from the diaspora, although some projects also received support from the government and NGOs. I asked why the diaspora was so engaged in developing these areas, and he replied:

It's because of the universal problems that are present in their areas. We also learnt from the communities in southern Somalia and got to know about the importance of having a close-knit clan, the most benefits were reached after we established the WhatsApp groups which had a large outreach. Wherever you are, you can get the information easily. It can be used by both the people who can write and those who can't write using the voice message.⁵⁹

While recalling the towns and cities I had visited, there were some notable exceptions where our contractor remained silent. This region is split between two clans, the Samaroon and the Isse, and it was in places where the Samaroon lived that our contractor had less business. Hussein, who is Isse, explained:

We are totally independent from one another. We see on our WhatsApp groups the development projects the Samaroon are doing, they also tell and show that they have finished a certain project in a certain location … It actually acts as motivation to one another that if they can do such a project, why can't we?

Clearly, competition underlies diaspora-driven development, facilitated by smartphone use. Hussein explains that his role as privileged clan contractor began after he reached out to a family member in the diaspora:

One of the first founders of the [clan] WhatsApp group is my first cousin, and I didn't know about it. I found his number and reached out to him. Before smartphones were invented, it was difficult to connect with each other. He actually bought me a new smartphone to facilitate our communication and collaboration. Imagine, we built trust without ever meeting face to face and completed many projects together.

Since then, Hussein's construction business has expanded by coordinating between different subclan WhatsApp groups, and he is concerned to emphasize to me how available and connected he is. At one point he waves his phone, saying:

My phone blows up all the time and that's why we have had mid-interview interruptions by my phone. It's always people asking for advice and consultancy. I have actually switched it off to prevent further disruptions. I always [give them] the best of my advice, that's why the WhatsApp groups are still functional.

Hussein specifically mentions how WhatsApp's audio and visual features have built trust in his business and within the subclan groups:

Our systems here made it easy for the diaspora people to have trust in us, since all their contributions are accounted for and delivered as per their expectations. We record a video proof sometimes and send it to the WhatsApp groups. I make them contact their beneficiaries directly without a third party to assess us and for transparency … I know people who we have only spoken to over the phone and never met physically who endorse me to other people based on how well I did a task for them.

Hussein represents an example of a third key beneficiary of this new form of digital kinship: local business elites. As he explained to me:

Most of my family members live in the diaspora, and the good thing with technology is that you can find anyone wherever they might be and bring them together. Some people [in the diaspora] used to hide from others, but not any more, as a result of technology.

While the diaspora is often ascribed agency in their interaction with the homeland, Hussein is clearly strategically invoking clan competition to encourage contributions and allow his construction business to grow.

From elders to influencers? The political consequences of platform kinship

The political aspirant, youth leader and construction contractor all achieved personal status or material gain by successfully invoking the clan and clan competition as a logic of action. Ahmed's case illustrates how platform kinship is shifting political power from elders to youth and diasporas; Mahamed's shows how WhatsApp is central in both creating and resolving conflicts, while Hussein's case reveals new patterns of development emerging through platform kinship. Collectively, they highlight a new type of politics emerging through digital kinship that reinforces the clan as the central political unit and basis for action, while sidelining traditional clan authorities.

This has several important implications. First, digital kinship can exacerbate clan tensions. One Somali NGO worker who was critical of diaspora projects explained the logic:

The main motivation is the competition between the subclans as to who develops their community better. A certain clan may implement a certain project, and their neighbouring clan will mobilize their people and try to outdo the other clan in their project.

This competition can be both productive and contentious. An example of the latter occurred in a town in Somaliland, where two clans resided. One of the clan's diaspora funded the construction of a boarding school, which exacerbated tensions as it was seen as an attempt to assert ownership over the entire town by attracting more of its own clan members to settle. Thus, digital kinship can lead to clan conflict.

For others, however, the conflict over the boarding school was not only problematic because it provoked clan tensions; it was indicative of a more serious challenge to the political status quo. A staunch supporter of the Somaliland state-building project explained that the students who were sponsored would always prioritize loyalty to their clan members, as their education was provided by the clan rather than government institutions. As a result, this reinforces clannism rather than fostering nationalism. The second implication, therefore, is that digital kinship also challenges ongoing state-building projects and the construction of national identity. In a manner similar to Bernal's foundational study on the Eritrean diaspora, the Somali diaspora also utilizes digital platforms to influence Somali politics. However, whereas Bernal observes how this reinforces national identity and politics, in the Somali context digital platforms consolidate clan identity at the expense of the state and notions of nationhood and citizenship. Consequently, digital kinship contributes to political fragmentation within the Somali territories.

The third implication is that digital platforms are becoming an alternative and arguably more effective development model to state or international development programmes. These groups enforce clan laws and customs, preserving historical records and resolving disputes. They enable the construction of schools and the coordination of political campaigns, and are activated during times of conflict or crisis. In other words, they offer an alternative model of governance to the centralized Weberian state. The clan is a socio-political group that is not organized through categories such as citizens, nations or territorial units, but is rather based on genealogical logic. Its members are geographically spread across the globe, but their homeland is a place where the state has been either predatory or absent for generations. In this context, governance through and by WhatsApp groups enables a decentralized, self-replicating and accessible structure that has state-like effects while arguably better reflecting Somali social structures and norms. The groups are typically flexible, with funds raised for one purpose being redirected to another as needs arise, and groups being created and disbanded according to need. Unlike the modern state, which separates politics, economy and war, a single WhatsApp group, or ecosystem of groups, can encompass all of these functions.

Conclusion

While studies highlight how digital technologies enable diasporas to become more involved in politics in their home countries, it is often the communities themselves that are driving these relationships. Ahmed, Mahamed and Hussein illustrate how innovative digital kinship practices are reshaping traditional hierarchies and practices, while contributing to an emerging politics that strengthens the clan as the central political unit, organizing principle and basis for action. The specific platform of WhatsApp enables state-like effects and arguably functions better than the current state structures and international development programmes in the Somali territories. Platform kinship should therefore be recognized as a viable model of governance and development that is based on transnational genealogical kinship rather than nationality or citizenship.

These findings have implications for scholars interested in localizing and decolonizing IR and reducing global inequalities, as well as theorists of statehood and political identity in a hyperconnected world. Further studies could examine the operation of digital kinship networks in other conflict zones, especially in countries with significant diaspora populations such as the Syrian or Ukrainian diasporas. Drawing on the wider polymedia literature, this could be accompanied by targeted research on specific platforms, to develop a deeper understanding of their utilization in different contexts.

From a policy and practitioner perspective, digital kinship is both an opportunity and a challenge. Traditionally, international actors have sought to develop the capacity of diasporas to contribute to the development of their home countries, with the assumption that their activities will align with foreign policy and development objectives. However, the research for this article suggests that strengthening the digital literacy and capabilities of local communities may be a more effective way of harnessing this potential. Moreover, focusing on the use of specific platforms such as WhatsApp, practitioners can also develop more effective communication strategies, policy interventions and social programmes that are tailored to these platforms.

There are also challenges. First, international actors may not fully comprehend how the digital sphere is reshaping social hierarchies. Notably, international actors working in fragile or post-conflict areas like Somalia must now navigate a new landscape of gatekeepers and partners. Second, the effectiveness of using WhatsApp for kinship purposes lies in the ability to swiftly redirect funds raised for one objective to another. Somali digital kinship, in other words, does not distinguish between political, humanitarian and social objectives. This complicates effective engagement through traditional categories of international development, aid and conflict resolution. Finally, digital kinship is premised on a logic of clan competition and is most effective in areas where international organizations, NGOs and states struggle to access due to remoteness and security concerns. While this can be viewed as part of the appeal of leveraging these networks, it also strongly implies that trying to partner with them could destabilize these networks and even foment clan conflict.

Footnotes

Author notes