How TikTok Fuels Division in Somali Society

This story by Said Isse originally appeared on Global Voices on October 23, 2025. 

In a recent research project I undertook, I discovered that TikTok is amplifying clannism and reshaping Somali identity politics by fuelling conflicts and intergroup polarization in Somali society. 

Clan identity in Somali society is rooted in the patrilineal lineage and serves as a central pillar of political organization, dispute resolution, and social belonging. In pre-colonial and post-independence Somalia, governance often occurred through “Shir” (clan assemblies). These spaces allowed for deliberation and moderation of information, particularly in conflict resolution. 

However, since the collapse of the Somali central state and the subsequent growth of the Somali diaspora, digital media platforms and other mediated communication platforms have led to the emergence of new digitalized clan interactions.

Platforms, such as TikTok, have facilitated transnational identity connections that disrupted traditional clan governance mechanisms. These platforms have allowed individuals, especially younger users, to express, perform, and weaponize their clan identity through memes, livestreams, and viral commentary.

Clannism goes digital: Old identities in new spaces

Clan identity has long shaped Somali life. Clannism has historically determined politics, protection, and belonging. In traditional forums like the Shir, senior men managed disputes and decided collective matters, while young people and women were largely excluded.

TikTok has disrupted this order. Suddenly, teenagers, young men, and women — previously marginalized in clan politics — can assert their identities online. They do so by displaying clan flags, composing clan-based poems, or inserting coded language into livestreams.

One striking example is the rise of TikTok clan battles. These are battles for supremacy where influencers from different clans face off, exchanging taunts and mobilizing their followers. Donations are sent as digital coins, often framed as a matter of clan pride. What was once the domain of elders in private assemblies is now public, global, and monetized.

This digital performance of clan identity is both empowering and troubling. While it gives new visibility to excluded voices, it also strips away the restraint that elders once enforced, turning clannism into a viral spectacle.

Credible media reports show that these coins also funded conflicts in Somalia. TikTokers from Somaliland and the newly formed Northeastern State in Somalia hosted TikTok battles that donated funds to sides in the 2023 conflicts in Laasanood town, northeastern Somalia.

TikTok’s rise in Somali communities

On any evening, young Somalis from the Horn of Africa and the diaspora log into TikTok not just to watch dances or comedy skits, but to tune in to live battles.

These battles, often led by male Somali TikTok influencers, are not harmless contests of wit or performance. They turn digital arenas into spaces where users hurl clan-based insults, raise funds to defend their groups, and rally support around historical rivalries. Coins flow, emotions flare, and thousands watch.

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In late September, one such battle took place between two Somali influencers on TikTok.  After the live battle ended, recorded clips, edited to fit the platform’s addictive short-video format, were recirculated widely, further amplifying the feud and prolonging audience engagement. 

The platform has taken the world by storm with its addictive short videos, is playing an unexpected, troubling role in Somali society. Although in the beginning, digital technology platforms were celebrated as spaces for cultural pride and connection, TikTok has increasingly become a stage where centuries-old clan identities are re-enacted, sometimes with dangerous consequences.

Since the beginning of 2020, TikTok has become wildly popular across Somali communities in Somalia, Kenya, Ethiopia, Djibouti, and the diaspora. With over 3.9 million active users in Somalia alone, the app is now a staple of digital life.

Why TikTok? The platform’s design makes it easy for anyone, whether literate or not, to create and share content. TikTok’s uniquely designed For You Page (FYP) ensures that even users without followers can go viral overnight. Features such as duets, stitches, and remixes allow playful interaction, making the platform especially attractive to young people.

At first, the euphoria of digital media platforms was seen positively. TikTok was celebrated for connecting the Somali diaspora with their culture, promoting Somali music, comedy, and traditions globally. Songs like “Isii Nafta” became a global sensation. However, as the user base grew, concerns arose about what happens when clan identity — a deeply political and emotional marker in Somali society —meets TikTok’s algorithmic engine.

When online division spills offline

TikTok thrives on emotional content. The algorithm pushes videos that spark laughter, anger, or pride, emotions that make people watch longer and share more.

In Somalia, this means that clan-related videos often gain traction precisely because they trigger such strong feelings. Users are acutely aware of this. Interviewees in my research noted that influencers deliberately play on clan rivalries to boost engagement. The majority of them have noted that the more anger and pride the content shows, the more viral it becomes on the platforms. 

In this way, TikTok doesn’t just reflect clannism, it actively amplifies it. Algorithms build what media scholars call algorithmic identities, shaping what users see and how they see themselves. For the Somali TikTok community, once they engage with clan content, the platform ensures that they see more of it, reinforcing digital identity around clannism.

What makes digital clannism particularly alarming is its spillover into real-world conflict. Several participants in my study recalled TikTok content that directly mobilized clans for violence.

In many cases, diaspora influencers encouraged donations to fund local conflicts, blending performance with political action. Hashtags referring to clan conflicts, namely the Laasanood conflict, are very popular on the platform today.

Others spoke of how stereotypes from TikTok trickle down to schools, where children casually repeat clan jokes they have seen online. What was once taboo, openly mocking or insulting other clans, has become normalized among young people. One interviewee summed it up powerfully: 

“TikTok has torn families and relatives apart. In the past, clannish behavior was despised. Now, everybody comes out publicly with it, and the platform affords even uneducated people to join online clan battles.”

In fragile contexts like Somalia, where governance is weak and inter-clan tensions remain high, this shift is not just cultural; it is political and potentially deadly.

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What needs to change?

While it’s being used to spread clannism in Somalia, TikTok also has the potential to foster unity and promote Somali culture. Many Somali creators use the platform to promote peace and cultural heritage. They share videos of beautiful Somali landscapes, traditional foods, music, and shared history, reminding followers of the bonds that transcend clan lines.

These counter-narratives demonstrate that TikTok can be harnessed for positive purposes. But they often struggle to gain visibility compared to divisive content, which is more emotionally charged and thus more algorithm-friendly.

If TikTok is to avoid fueling further division in fragile societies like Somalia, change must happen at multiple levels:

First, the platform needs culturally informed moderation teams familiar with the Somali language, humor, and symbols to catch harmful content. Across the African continent, only a few of the continent’s over 2,000 languages are actively moderated on TikTok, including Somali.

However, the level of division visible on the platform in the Somali-language content raises questions about the substance and effectiveness of such moderation.

There needs to be more rigorous moderation beyond the surface level of content to also consider the connotation of words, images, and messages, which can carry subtle or harmful meanings. This includes a list of banned keywords and hashtags on the platform.

Second, youth and communities must be trained to recognize manipulation, emotional triggers, and the risks of clannist narratives online. These digital literacy skills will help reduce the online spillover and the negative effects of intergroup online polarization facilitated on the platform. 

Third, policymakers, civil society, elders, and influencers should collaborate to promote unity-focused content and challenge divisive voices. They must distance themselves from divisive figures such as hate-mongering social media influencers. 

For Somali society, TikTok is more than an entertainment app; it is a powerful force reshaping identity, politics, and community life. It amplifies clannism by rewarding emotional, divisive content, undermining traditional forms of moderation, and normalizing stereotypes among youth.

However, the platform also holds potential to promote peace, solidarity, and cultural pride. The challenge is not to abandon TikTok, but to make it safer, fairer, and more accountable.

In the end, TikTok is a mirror of society, reflecting both its fractures and its hopes. The question is: will Somalis allow it to deepen division, or will they harness it to imagine a more united future?

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