After A Bloody Decade Of Houthi Theocracy, Maybe A New Way Out For Yemen

-Analysis-

My last trip to Yemen’s capital, Sanaa, was two years ago. I walked in the streets of a city that looked like the bones of a dying animal, gnawed by vultures and left to rot in the sun.

You see the signs of death in people’s eyes. Women covered from head to toe in black, moving like ghosts through the alleys. Their faces hidden but their eyes full of stories — stories they will never tell. These are women who have no place in this “new Yemen.” No voice, no rights.

And the children — my God, the children! Pictures of “child soldiers” hang on the city walls, staring at me as if to ask: What was our fault in this war? Why were our lives being lost to the echoes of artillery fire?

As for the detainees and the missing people — those who spoke out or were in the wrong place at the wrong time — no one will talk about them except their relatives, who are torn between mourning and the hope of return.

September 21 marked the 10th anniversary of the Houthis’ takeover of Sanaa, the day they raised their flag over the crumbling city and declared it theirs. It has been 10 years since a coup masquerading as a revolution destroyed what remained of a fragile peace in Yemen; 10 years of darkness, during which the Houthis carved their name on every wall, every street corner and every whisper in the wind.

Ten years ago, Yemen was already disintegrating. It had been torn to threads by decades of corruption and neglect under the rule of former President Ali Abdullah Saleh. The country faced deep political and economic problems and was in dire need of democratic political and economic reforms.

The 2011 uprising against Saleh’s rule seemed like a glimmer of hope for real change and a transition to a democratic system. At first, there was a great opportunity, and the uprising was peaceful despite all the country’s political and tribal complexities.

A flawed transition

Yemen’s neighbors, the Gulf monarchies, intervened in shaping the transitional process with their distorted vision of the meaning of democracy. The Gulf Cooperation Council Initiative came as a political agreement drafted by the Gulf Cooperation Council countries in 2011.

The initiative stipulated a plan for the transfer of power, whereby Saleh would step down in exchange for immunity from prosecution, and the formation of a transitional government led by his deputy, Abdrabbuh Mansur Hadi. It crafted a roadmap for national dialogue and elections.

The Houthis entered Sanaa with Saleh’s military support.

This transitional process crystallized in the National Dialogue Conference, as part of the terms of the initiative that granted immunity to Saleh. The immunity was a disaster for which Yemen is paying a heavy price to this day.

By 2014, the hope for change had faded into a cloud of disappointment. The political situation deteriorated and the transitional process that was supposed to achieve political reform failed to achieve meaningful results due to political fragmentation and the lack of real commitment by the country’s political elites.

But the most important reason was Saleh’s alliance with the Houthis to thwart the transitional process. Amid all this chaos, the Houthis entered Sanaa with Saleh’s military support. They exploited the government’s weakness, and the unresolved grievances of the Yemeni people.

Foreign intervention

In 2015, foreign intervention began. The Saudi military bombed Yemen. The conflict was no longer a Yemeni-Yemeni one. It turned the country into a theater for regional rivalries. Every missile, every airstrike was like a statement in the language of power and death. The streets of Sanaa became a cemetery for dreams, and the skies were darkened by drones and despair.

The Houthis, clinging to their positions, dug deeper, and their rhetoric became sharper. They turned the crisis into an endless elegy to serve their interests.

The Houthis talk about dignity, but their actions reflect control and domination. They stripped people of their rights, including freedom to work, to travel and with the shadow of a man that controls women’s lives in their areas.

Why was this war? A question I heard a lot but never heard answered.

The Houthis entered this city with their weapons, marching under their green and red flags, chanting their slogans: “Death to America! Death to Israel! Curse the Jews! Victory to Islam!” But all they brought was death to the Yemenis.

Soul of a nation

The Houthis hold in their hands more than just guns. They hold the soul of a nation, and they are reshaping it, piece by piece. They have filled the minds of the youth with songs of war and revenge, feeding them fantasies of martyrdom while stealing their future. A generation held hostage by ideas they did not choose, indoctrinated in the name of a higher and more sacred cause.

The Houthis claim to rule this territory now, but what kind of rule is this? It’s a kingdom of ashes and dust; an era of silence broken only by the screams of those who have lost everything.

Are you with them or against them? As if there are only two options in this gray world.

Ten years of arbitrary arrests, and torture chambers hidden behind thick walls where screams are stifled by layers of concrete and deception. Many young men were killed under unimaginable torture.

All this oppression and torture left a deep mark on people’s souls. You cannot walk in any neighborhood without feeling eyes watching you; eyes that know no mercy; eyes that ask: “Are you with them or against them?” As if there are only two options in this grey world.

Houthi arrogance

In recent years, something has happened to the rule of the Houthis, who have been tightening their grip on Sanaa and then the Red Sea — something they do not expect. The Saudis, in political stupidity, gave the Houthis concessions without a fight, which fueled the fire of arrogance in their hearts.

Thinking they had won, the Houthis began to speak more openly and boldly about their vision for the future of Yemen, a vision not of a republic, but of a theocracy, where only a chosen few — the children of Hassan and Hussein, the grandchildren of the Prophet Muhammad — have the right to rule.

By exposing their intention, the Houthis may have planted the seeds of their own defeat. They forgot that Yemen is not just a place. There are people in Yemen who have tasted something that cannot be erased: the taste of a republic, the taste of equality.

The streets of Sanaa and beyond were filled with shouts of defiance.

Last year, Sept. 26, which marks the anniversary of the country’s 1962 revolution, the streets of Sanaa and beyond were filled with shouts of defiance. Ordinary men and women took to the streets, waving the flag of the Republic of Yemen, singing the national anthem, reviving the spirit of the republic that they were told had died long ago.

The Houthis tried to suppress this unexpected resistance and control the situation. They pledged to form a “technocratic” government. They then established the Government of Change and Construction. They are are still determined, dreaming of ending the republic and establishing a totalitarian state. They want to shape Yemen in their own point of view, where there is no place for difference and diversity.

For the Houthis, equality is a dirty word and diversity is a crime. Only the pure and chosen people (the Houthis) have the right to rule, and the rest must bow or risk their death. Their leaders talk about a sacred leader, a sacred ruler who stands above elections, above debate, above everyone.

Glimmer of resistance

This is not the republic that Yemen once knew, but a nightmare wrapped in divine right. A Houthi official says that there is no need for a constitution, and that only the Quran can guide Yemen now. But we know where this leads: to walls with ears, where every whisper of objection is a potential death sentence.

But even in this dark scene, there is a glimmer of resistance and rebellion, and the voice of life that refuses to be extinguished. There are Yemeni politicians, parliamentarians and others who speak out. Their voices are trembling but clear, against the violations of the Houthis and against authoritarianism. They are met with ridicule, threats and even imprisonment, but they speak out. The Houthis believe they can silence these voices, but they forget: silence also has a way of speaking.

The Houthis have shown the world what they fear most: a Yemen that will not bend.

And what about the people? The Houthis can take away their rights, their voices, their freedoms, but they cannot take away their souls. That spirit born from the fires of the 1962 revolution, which cannot be easily extinguished, lives on in the streets of Sanaa; in the songs and stories passed down from mother to daughter, from father to son.

The Houthis may think they are creating a new Yemen, one that reflects their darkest dreams. But for every flag they confiscate, ten more rise. For every voice they silence, a hundred more speak out. They may crush bones, break bodies, and imprison souls, but the idea of a republic, the idea of a free Yemen, is something they cannot kill.

And so the battle continues, not just with guns and bombs, but with words, defiance, and the silent refusal to surrender for the sake of freedom. The Houthis have exposed themselves, and in doing so, they have shown the world exactly what they fear most: a Yemen that will not bend, a Yemen that will not break.

Life goes on

Life somehow goes on, a stubborn, absurd life that refuses to be extinguished. I see it in an old man who still walks around with his cart every morning, selling whatever he can find, a handful of Yemeni mangoes or pomegranates, or a few wilted vegetables.

I see it in a young woman who writes poems she will never publish, hiding them in the folds of her dress like little bombs of defiance. I see it in the laughter of children who have forgotten what they lost because they have known nothing else.

Life goes on, clinging to the edges of this chaos like a vine creeping up a wall, reaching toward a sun it wants to see.

I wonder: what remains of us when we are stripped of everything? When hope itself is a luxury we no longer have? Perhaps the answer is: the stubborn, unyielding will to keep breathing and moving; to keep writing our stories; to look at the madness around us and refuse to close our eyes, to say in the face of it: “I am still here.”

Ten years of war, of coups, of human rights violations that would make even the devil blush — and yet, the people remain. And maybe that’s enough.

I walk in the streets of this dying city, and I hear the silence of the wounded. A heavy, terrible silence, but inside it, I think I hear something else, a whisper, a hum, a faint song that says “We’re not done yet.”