Mogadishu - Despite promises to end America’s "forever wars," President Donald Trump’s second term has seen a sharp escalation in US military operations across the Horn of Africa—particularly in Somalia, where drone strikes have more than doubled since last year.

Barely ten days after returning to the Oval Office in January 2025, Trump ordered his first overseas military action: an airstrike targeting senior ISIL (ISIS) leadership in Somalia. Since then, US Africa Command (AFRICOM) has carried out at least 43 strikes in Somalia this year alone, according to figures tracked by New America. The majority of those targeted ISIL affiliates in Puntland, with the rest aimed at al-Shabab fighters.

This surge in firepower has reignited debate among analysts and observers, many of whom argue that the US continues to favour short-term military pressure over sustainable peacebuilding in Somalia—a pattern with a long, troubled legacy.

“Trump is projecting power, not solving problems,” says Abukar Arman, a former Somali envoy to the US. “Drone diplomacy has replaced meaningful engagement. And once again, Somali civilians are paying the price.”

American military involvement in Somalia dates back decades, from the infamous 1993 “Black Hawk Down” episode to the post-9/11 global war on terror. But under Trump, the pace and intensity of drone warfare have reached historic levels. His first term saw a record 219 airstrikes—four times more than during the combined presidencies of George W. Bush and Barack Obama. Now, just five months into his second term, Trump appears on track to eclipse the 51 strikes authorized during the entirety of Joe Biden’s administration.

According to Jethro Norman, a senior researcher with the Danish Institute for International Studies, Somalia offers Trump a perfect theatre: high-impact, low-cost, and even lower political scrutiny back home.

“Somalia gives the illusion of effectiveness—precision strikes, minimal US troop presence, and no daily headlines,” he tells WafricNews. “It’s a spectacle more than a strategy. And that’s dangerous.”

Trump officials argue the spike in drone activity is justified. ISIL’s Somali wing is increasingly viewed as a financial and operational hub for regional affiliates, while al-Shabab has regained territory in recent months, reversing gains made by the Somali government.

The Middle Shabelle region, just north of Mogadishu, has become a flashpoint. Al-Shabab fighters have seized key towns, advanced towards the capital, and established checkpoints—posing a growing threat to federal authority.

“This is about battlefield dynamics,” says David Sterman of New America. “As al-Shabab ramps up its counteroffensive, the US is stepping in to halt momentum—at least temporarily.”

But experts warn that such strikes often come without the necessary political groundwork, and may further entrench the very groups they aim to dismantle.

Airwars and New America estimate that dozens of Somali civilians—between 33 and 167—have been killed by US drone strikes since 2007. During Trump’s first term, Amnesty International accused the US of possible war crimes, pointing to civilian casualties and a near-total lack of accountability.

“Not a single Somali victim of US drone strikes has been compensated,” says Eva Buzo, director of Victims Advocacy International. “Washington admits harm but refuses to engage with the communities affected.”

The problem, Buzo adds, isn’t just legal—it’s moral and strategic. “Every unacknowledged death fuels resentment. It strengthens the narrative that groups like al-Shabab thrive on: foreign aggression and Somali betrayal.”

And in rural areas where clan rivalries blur the line between civilian and combatant, drone targeting based on flawed intelligence often misses the mark—literally.

For many analysts, the United States' overreliance on drones reflects a deeper failure to grasp the nature of Somalia’s conflict. Air strikes may suppress insurgents for a time, but they do little to address the fractured political, economic, and social realities on the ground.

“There’s an eerie resemblance to Afghanistan,” says Norman. “US airpower holds the line briefly, while the underlying system remains broken. That gap is where al-Shabab gains legitimacy—posing not just as fighters, but as protectors of Somali sovereignty.”

Even within Trump’s administration, internal disagreements have surfaced. Some officials favour continued kinetic action in Somalia and Yemen; others argue that resources should be redirected toward countering China in other regions. The result, critics say, is a fragmented policy driven by optics, not outcomes.

The US claims its goal isn’t to "defeat" groups like al-Shabab or IS-Somalia, but to contain them, disrupt their networks, and eliminate high-level threats. But even that limited aim remains elusive in the absence of serious investment in governance, local security forces, and reconciliation efforts.

“The US wants results without relationships,” says Arman. “That won’t work. You can’t drone your way to peace.”

As Somalia’s war drags on—and foreign drones continue to hover overhead—the people caught in the crossfire are left with familiar questions: Who protects us? Who listens? And who pays the price?

Until Washington is willing to answer those questions with more than missiles, observers say, groups like al-Shabab will remain not just a threat—but a reflection of Somalia’s long history of being used as a battlefield for someone else’s war.


By WafricNews Desk.