MERIP Blog

With the war in Yemen well past its hundredth day, confusion persists as to the underlying causes of the conflict. Far from a sectarian proxy war between Shafi‘is under the patronage of Saudi Arabia and Zaydis backed by Iran, as the mainstream media would have it, the hostilities are rooted in local quarrels over power sharing, resources and subnational identities. These wrangles, in turn, are part of a broader negotiation process among domestic forces over a new social contract after the 2011 removal of the long-time president, ‘Ali ‘Abdallah Salih. At the core of this struggle lies a dispute about the future state structure, which provided the catalyst for the breakdown of the post-Salih transition road map sponsored by the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) and the ensuing escalation to full-blown interstate war.

The continuing failure to bring the adversaries to the table recalls the civil war in North Yemen in the 1960s, when rivalries for regional hegemony between Egypt, Saudi Arabia and Britain prevented a local settlement between Yemeni royalists and republicans. Much to the same effect, today’s international support for President ‘Abd Rabbu Mansour Hadi fuels the adamant insistence of his locally untenable government-in-exile on the implementation of the lopsided UN Security Council Resolution 2216, which calls for the unilateral withdrawal of Houthi fighters from captured territory and the resuscitation of the GCC initiative as preconditions for, rather than objectives of, talks. In order to break the deadlock, it is crucial to reopen a dialogue about the six-region federal division, which was rammed through, over the objections of the Houthis and others, at the National Dialogue Conference (NDC) that was intended to be the showpiece of the post-Salih transition.

Though hailed as a forum for averting Syrian-style civil war in Yemen, the NDC did not live up to expectations. As a Yemeni friend of mine sarcastically remarked after its conclusion in early 2014, “the NDC resolved all of Yemen’s problems—except for the secessionist strife in the south, the Sa‘da conflict in the north, national reconciliation, transitional justice and state building.” In other words, it failed to overcome every major stumbling block on its agenda.

The lack of genuine consensus on a new state structure proved the most salient shortcoming. As the NDC approached its original closing date in September 2013 with no agreement in sight, a subcommittee with eight representatives from each of north and south—known as the 8+8 Committee—was charged with finding a solution to the southern question. In its Agreement on a Just Solution, the working group, which included one Houthi delegate, unanimously affirmed that the Republic of Yemen—a unitary state with 21 governorates—should become a federal entity. This agreement was never revisited or approved by the NDC’s 565-member plenary, but simply accepted as a fait accompli.

Though united behind the principle of federalism, the 8+8 Committee failed to settle on the number of new federal regions (two, five or six) or their boundaries. Instead, the committee outsourced these decisions to another fairly unrepresentative committee, handpicked and chaired by President Hadi, which was to study the parameters of a federal order. Established shortly after the release of the NDC’s final communiqué, this 22-member Committee of Regions took less than two weeks to delineate six new federal regions—Azal, Saba’, al-Janad, Tihama, Aden and Hadramawt. The process violated NDC rules, lacked broad consultation and was too short for the detailed studies that should have been commissioned. Nevertheless, its conclusions were referred to the Constitution Drafting Committee.

Even though all but the Houthi representative had signed off on the new map, most major political movements, including the Yemeni Socialist Party, the salafi Rashad Union and the southern hirak, as well as the Houthis, publicly rejected or expressed reservations about the six-region federal division. The Houthis argued that the plan distributed natural wealth unevenly. It deprived the Azal region, in which the Houthis’ historical homeland of Sa‘da is situated, of significant resources and access to the sea. Here the Houthis were referring, respectively, to the hydrocarbon-rich governorate of al-Jawf and the Red Sea province of Hajja, both of which the movement has traditionally considered within its sphere of influence.

Riding a wave of popular discontent with the transition, the Houthis radically altered the political landscape when they took control of the capital, Sanaa, in September 2014. The conquest fell just short of a coup, as the Houthis signed the Peace and National Partnership Agreement (PNPA) with President Hadi and others to relieve tensions. Articles 8, 9 and 10 of this agreement called on Hadi to reconstitute the National Body for the Implementation of NDC Outcomes, which was to revisit the state structure to align it with the NDC, rather than the Regions Committee, agreements.

Even before the draft constitution was released in January 2015, the Houthis reiterated their rejection of the six-region federal structure contained in the document. When Hadi nevertheless attempted to move forward the constitutional process by circumventing the PNPA, tempers flared. On January 17, the president sent his office director Ahmad bin Mubarak to deliver the draft document to the National Body, which had not been reconstituted. Enraged by this political intrigue, the Houthis flat-out kidnapped Mubarak to thwart the six-region federal order. The move set in motion a chain of provocations that culminated in the overthrow of the Hadi government, his escape into exile and the Saudi-led bombing campaign.

A crucial, albeit frequently overlooked fact is that the Houthis have repeatedly stated their acquiescence to a federal system—be it jointly with the hirak, in the form of a two-region federation, or in the form of a six-region division based on a sound political process. Rather than a rejection of federalism per se, the Houthis’ refusal of the six-region division is as much grounded in the lack of a genuinely inclusive decision-making process as in the specific parameters that undermine their interests. While none of this background serves to justify the Houthis’ recourse to arms, it does highlight the need for a new transition process based on equitable power sharing and sincere ownership across Yemen’s diverse political and geographic landscape as the only way out of the crisis.

With UN-sponsored peace talks in Geneva involving the usual suspects and only a few new faces, it is time to raise the question of Yemen’s future as a state.

The talks involve exiled President ‘Abd Rabbu Mansour Hadi, the Houthi movement Ansar Allah and minor figures from the long-time ruling General People’s Congress (GPC, now split into factions tied to Hadi and former President ‘Ali ‘Abdallah Salih), the leading Sunni-identified Islamist party Islah and its ally in Hadi’s government-in-exile, the Yemeni Socialist Party.

The only representatives outside the competing would-be regimes of Hadi and the Houthis at the talks come from two recently established parties, including the salafi Rashad Union, whose popularity in Yemen remains to be seen. Hadi insists on implementing UN Security Council Resolution 2216, which would compel the Houthis to withdraw from major cities, including the capital of Sanaa, reinstate himself as head of state and continue the transition toward a federal state, as agreed at the GCC-brokered National Dialogue Conference last year. The Houthis oppose the six-part federal plan but agree on key transition issues decided upon at the Conference. From their perspective, Hadi’s regime has failed to execute the agreed-upon policies and, in any case, the situation became entirely different after Ansar Allah took over Sanaa last September. In the eyes of many Yemenis, whether they support the Houthis or not, they are right: Since the conclusion of the $24 million conference, very little has been done to address the demands put forward in the rallies gathering millions of Yemenis throughout the country in 2011.

The questions one has to ask at this stage: Is the National Dialogue Conference plan still viable as a road map for Yemen’s future? And do the delegates at the talks have the authority in the first place to set the country on this path? Many factors point in another direction. Of the Geneva negotiators, only the Houthis seem to have a strong base of political support on the ground, at least in the areas where the movement hails from. Excluded from the talks are representatives of the South, who are battling Houthi aggression under the label Southern Resistance (al-muqawama al-janubiyya). As for Hadi, his term as transitional president ended in February 2014, and amidst the current warfare, in the eyes of many Yemenis, he is a man who invited the Saudi-led coalition to kill civilians while kicking back in the luxury of a Riyadh palace. There is considerable reason to believe that he lacks the local support to return to power in Yemen.

Still, in the international media the war in Yemen is characterized as fighting “between forces loyal to the beleaguered president, ‘Abd Rabbu Mansour Hadi, and those allied to Zaidi Shia rebels known as Houthis, who forced Mr. Hadi to flee the capital Sanaa in February.” The expression “Hadi loyalists” misleads the world about what is happening in the shadow of the Saudi air strikes. This dubious category groups together forces as different as the eastern tribes, popular committees in various regions, the Southern Resistance and even al-Qaeda. Few of these forces actually engage in fighting for Hadi and his regime of failed promises. For some, Hadi’s return to power is downright undesirable; for others, it is simply irrelevant. In central Yemen, such as in Ta‘izz, the country’s third largest city, resistance to the Houthis springs from local motivations rather than support for Hadi. While the Southern Resistance supports the air strikes and receives military aid from the Saudi-led coalition, its ideas about post-war political solutions differ from the expressed Saudi aim of restoring Hadi. Basing the Geneva talks around the reinstatement of Hadi as leader of the country simply prolongs the suffering on the ground and generates a false sense of certainty about post-war stability.

The Houthi militias, assisted by units of the Yemeni army loyal to Salih and stationed throughout the country, are facing armed confrontation in eastern and central Yemen, and in the entirety of the South. The South is the territory that, prior to Yemeni unity in 1990, formed the independent state of the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen. In Marib, the province east of Sanaa, local tribes have united to stop the Houthis from taking over the oil fields, motivated by the tribal ethos of self-rule and alliance with similar-minded state leadership. Further to the southeast, the tribes in Shabwa have formed a coalition with the Southern Resistance.

As applied to the South, the expression “Hadi loyalists” stems from three misconceptions. First, the fact that Hadi is originally from the southern governorate of Abyan makes some believe he must have the fealty of his fellow southerners. The second error is to read too much into the fact that Hadi fled to Aden, of all places, in February and was initially welcomed there after the Houthis introduced their five-man presidential council. That body deposed him de facto, though he had already resigned. Once in Aden, Hadi withdrew his resignation.

The Southern Resistance, the militias fighting against the Houthi-Salih invasion of the South, consists of Popular Committees and groups of local vigilantes who pledge themselves to defend “the people of the South.” The Resistance is part of the pro-independence Southern Movement that has grown steadily since 2007 with the mission of reclaiming the full independence of the South. Activists in this movement consider Hadi and his regime (which includes many southerners) responsible for the years-long marginalization of the South and the erstwhile state’s violence against peaceful demonstrators there. That violence claimed hundreds of victims in the South while the world was focused on the dialogue in Sanaa. For many, the war in the southern governorates is a replay of the 1994 civil war that ended with President Salih conquering the South and sealing Yemeni unity by force. Southerners call it “occupation.” While the Southern Resistance lacks a central command, it has unified the various territories of the South in an unprecedented way. This is a popular resistance movement that organizes locally, involves all sectors of society, men and women, and has fended off the much better equipped Yemeni army and Houthi militia for weeks. Victories in al-Dhali‘ governorate prove the steadfastness of the fighters, many of whom have no military training as a result of systematic discrimination against southerners in the army and security forces.

Here is the third misconception that gives rise to the term “Hadi loyalists.” Some assume that because the Popular Committees were initially set up by Hadi’s government to take care of security in areas without an army or police presence, and remained on the state payroll, they must support Hadi’s comeback. In central Yemen, Popular Committees fight for local concerns, too, allied with tribes and other social forces. The common denominator is resistance to Houthi-Salih aggression and protection of local territories—not an affinity for Hadi.

One of the dramatic consequences of the fighting on the ground, as opposed to the Saudi-led air strikes, is the division of the country. For the Southern Resistance, it is a war between North and South. There is no money or might in the world that would bring southerners back to “unity” under a regime in Sanaa, whether headed by the Houthis or by Hadi. Acknowledging that fact might bring the international community closer to lasting solutions to the Yemeni crisis.

The narrative of “Hadi loyalists” is propaganda aimed at lending legitimacy to the Saudis’ project in Yemen. According to this rhetoric, sadly adopted by the Saudis’ allies and the world media, the Saudis are simply “assisting” Yemenis who want to bring back the proper government. Saudi Arabia has been militarily and non-militarily involved in every single political crisis in Yemen over the past five decades, simply to ensure that a regime on its leash prevails. Yet its strategy of bombing has largely proved counterproductive as more and more civilians die and the blockade of aid convoys exacts a heavy humanitarian toll. What the Saudis could do is to sever the link between their former man in Sanaa, ‘Ali ‘Abdallah Salih, and the Houthis. The war in Yemen has a lot to do with power struggles in the capital. But for Yemenis elsewhere in the country, the fighting is about protecting their neighborhoods from invasion by the troops of the Houthis and Salih and achieving a decent standard of living, something Hadi and his government were never able to deliver.

Amidst widespread fighting in Iraq and Syria, millions of distressed civilians have fled their homes. In Yemen as well, war has led to mass displacement as people try to escape threats to their lives and livelihoods. These instances of forced migration create overwhelming immediate problems such as the need for shelter, food and medical care. If insecurity remains a problem, then forced migration can lead to lengthy displacement of people within their own country or in a country of refuge. The longer displacement lasts, the more significant the problems that can develop with regard to land claims and property rights.

Yemen has experienced conflict-related property issues in the past, particularly in the south after the 1994 war, and these problems are likely to appear again as there is no national cadastral system. In Syria, land registries exist in the governorates, but the internal displacement that we see now, layered on top of what occurred in the past, has the potential to create a tangle of property claims that will be difficult to resolve given the complexities of public administration under contested sovereignty. Iraq already serves as an example of how conflict and population displacement can create a morass of property conflicts and compensation claims.

Property-related problems include:

• Absence of records. Not everyone fleeing an advancing army remembers to take the title to their house or land with them, or can protect documentary evidence during their displacement.
• Contested claims. As a conflict spreads, civilians move to avoid violence or to find protection under a particular group. This movement may lead to situations such as occurred in East Timor, in which people fled rural areas and settled in urban areas, often in the homes of others who had been displaced, creating overlapping property claims.
• Conflicting tenure systems. Many displaced people have customary rights to land rather than formal titles. If they are displaced for long periods of time they may find their property occupied by others. In some situations, such as northern Uganda, people have returned from lengthy displacement to find occupants of their customary land who have titled it in their own names.
• Loss of memory. If displacement is lengthy, older people die and surviving children may not possess knowledge of where the family property was, or know its extent.

The international community’s current approach to the homes, lands and properties (HLP) of displaced persons is to establish a statutory system to examine documentary evidence once hostilities end. But waiting until war is over marginalizes those who have lost important evidence over time, held property under customary or hybrid tenure systems or had precarious tenure to begin with. It also allows multiple claims to be derived over the course of the war as homes, lands and properties are used as spoils of war and ethnic cleansing. Ultimately these problems can make refugees reluctant to return from host countries.

A emerging project at McGill University seeks to establish ways to begin collecting and organizing HLP evidence in wartime, in order both to retain evidence that would otherwise be lost and to allow return programs to be tailored to evidence actually held, as opposed to what is ideal. The project seeks to work with refugees from the Syrian war to establish a digital archive for a wide variety of evidence useful for HLP reclaiming. Initial work with Syrian refugees in Lebanon, Jordan and Turkey found that very few have HLP documentation, because they fled quickly, or because being caught with such documentation while fleeing would provide information about their HLP and kin. The initial work also found that many refugees do not realize they already possess valuable forms of HLP evidence that could be organized and put in electronic documentary form, such as:

• remembered descriptions and histories of HLP, particularly knowledge of details and features that would come only with long-term occupation;
• photographs on mobile phones, including selfies, pictures of residential and farming areas and shops, streets and houses;
• participation in exercises with satellite imagery and aerial photography that involve locating one’s HLP and identifying the HLP of neighbors and relatives, and recording the network of neighbors, relatives and friends in a particular area.

The project looks at examining the primarily informal, hybridized and customary evidence that refugees do have and how this can be gathered, upgraded, combined and corroborated with other forms of evidence, and then inserted into useful types of cadasters for use in their return to, and restitution of, HLP.

Contested property claims can be a residual source of conflict long after violence ends. Families who lose assets face severe challenges in recovering economically from war and displacement.

The more that can be done to document the property rights of displaced people, the faster the recovery will be when the violence ends.

More than any other Arab country, Jordan was linked to nearly every major twentieth-century war in the Middle East. War in the Arabian Peninsula propelled the kingdom’s future rulers, the Hashemites, to come to British-controlled Transjordan in the 1920s. The Palestinian Arab revolt in the 1930s and then World War II helped to solidify the nascent state east of the Jordan River. Jordan was an active combatant in the Arab-Israeli wars, which brought waves of Palestinian refugees and lasting change to Jordanian society. The country was rocked by a brief but bloody civil war in 1970 and belatedly entered the 1973 Arab-Israeli war as well.

In the four decades since, the Jordanian military has had no overt or sustained engagement in regional wars, meaning that Jordan is often portrayed as the only stable patch in a chaotic Levant. Thus, the country’s announced participation in the bombing of ISIS in Syria appeared to mark an historical turning point. But war is more than what the US military refers to as “kinetic action” or “steel on steel.” In fact, the bombing campaign is but a flashpoint in Jordan’s longest war, inaugurated by the Iraqi invasion of Iran in 1980.

That invasion set Jordan on the path on which it continues today. Spared involvement in the battles but not the consequences, the Jordanian state served as Iraq’s most important trading partner throughout the fighting. The war economy provided crucial support to the Hashemite political coalition in the lean 1980s: Urban merchants feasted on re-exports to Iraq while labor in the south, particularly the chronically restive town of Maan, took up trucking at a time when public-sector employment began to stagnate. The Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1990 and King Hussein’s initial stance against the US-led liberation marked the last time a Hashemite voiced real opposition to the policies of his patrons in Washington. The term “client state” is not quite sufficient to capture Jordan’s international position since that time.

With the new status came increased external funding, which invigorated the ruling elite and its clients. The notorious US-led sanctions of the 1990s decimated Iraqi society but also deepened the socio-economic ties with Jordan that lay outside state supervision. And even while official Jordan was wary of the US invasion of Iraq in 2003, important segments of Jordanian business welcomed the “opening” of the Iraqi market. More than a decade later, Iraq burns and Jordan smolders.

The effects of the short-term boost in exports to Iraq, followed by Iraqi capital flight into Jordan’s banking and real estate sectors, have gradually passed. The vital truck route from Maan through the Anbar province to the Iraqi river valleys fell prey to organized militias. While US forces battled the militias, Jordanian truckers paid those same bandit-insurgents to get through to Baghdad. Today, not much has changed. Trucking industry sources claim that while the Iraqi government mans the official border crossing, just beyond lurk ISIS fighters, who charge $200-300 per truck for passage. And ISIS is not alone. Other, lower-profile gangs along the roads extract their own duties and frequently redirect trucks to their preferred destinations.

The ebb and flow of war finance has only aggravated Jordan’s socio-economic decline. Massive public debt and declining public revenue increase the government’s dependence on Gulf and American capital. In return, Jordan is drawn farther into war, hosting more and more US soldiers and equipment. As the Jordanian state sinks deeper into financial crisis, military and civil service pensions, already stretched thin, hardly make up for the stress on a dwindling middle class. Along with unemployment, educational inequality affects nearly every Jordanian family. And corruption—well, that is perhaps the most dynamic sector in the country. The combined political effect is to hollow out the monarchy’s coalition of urban merchants and rural labor. The kingdom’s latest political intrigue concerns the sacking of the interior minister, Husayn al-Majali, over murky events in Maan. While local observers link the Majali firing to elite factionalization, it rests on a foundation of profound structural problems.

There is no easy way out of the Middle Eastern wars of the twenty-first century. Jordan’s divided opposition came too late to the 2011 uprisings. At the recent World Economic Forum, the monarchy and its ministers rolled out warmed-over 1980s rhetoric about increasing employment, engaging the private sector and educating youth for the future. Meanwhile, the best and the brightest flee to the Gulf, provided that the host governments there remain pleased with Jordanian policy. Jordan’s longest war looks far from over.