Yemen's Democracy Experiment in Regional Perspective: Patronage and Pluralized Authoritarianism

Yemen’s Democracy Experiment in Regional Perspective

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Yemen’s Democracy Experiment in Regional Perspective Patronage and Pluralized Authoritarianism Sarah Phillips

YEMEN’S DEMOCRACY EXPERIMENT IN REGIONAL PERSPECTIVE

Copyright © Sarah Phillips, 2008. All rights reserved. Small sections of this book were previously published in Sarah Phillips, “Evaluating Political Reform in Yemen,” Carnegie Papers, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace: Democracy and Rule of Law Project, no. 80, February 2007; and Sarah Phillips, “Foreboding about the Future in Yemen,” Middle East Report Online, April 3, 2006. Available online at http://www.merip.org/mero/mero040306.html First published in 2008 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN® in the United States a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world, this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN-13: 978-0-230-60900-6 ISBN-10: 0-230-60900-7 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Phillips, Sarah, 1977– Yemen’s democracy experiment in regional perspective : patronage and pluralized authoritarianism / Sarah Phillips. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-230-60900-7 1. Democracy—Yemen (Republic) 2. Yemen (Republic)—Politics and government. 3. Islam and politics—Yemen (Republic) 4. Opposition (Political science)—Yemen (Republic) I. Tajammu’ al-Yamani lil-Islah. II. Title. JQ1842.A91P45 2008 320.9533—dc22 2008015083 A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library. Design by Macmillan Publishing Solutions First edition: November 2008 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.

Contents

Acknowledgments Introduction: Yemen’s Experiment with Democracy Pluralized Authoritarianism and the Yemeni Patronage System Soft Power Hard Power Outline of the Book

vii 1 3 6 8 9

1. Resilience and Reform in the Arab Middle East

13

The “Gray Zone” Definitions of Democracy Explaining Arab “Exceptionalism” Authoritarianism and Political Reform in the Arab Middle East: A Genie out of the Bottle or Business as Usual?

15 20 23 33

2. A Brief History of the Republic of Yemen: Electoral Politics, War, and Political Retraction

39

Preunification History Unification and the Democracy Experiment Formal and Informal Retraction Yemen’s Political Economy: Two Steps Forward, Now Where To?

43 47 57 62

3. Government Institutions The Military and Security Apparatus State Finance Elected Bodies: Local Councils and the Parliament 4. Tribalism in a Weak State Tribal Autonomy Reinforcing the Power Status Quo: Co-optation, Coercion, and Fragmentation

67 68 73 76 89 97 103

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CONTENTS

5. Nonstate Actors and Political Reform: Civil Society, Activists, and Political Parties Mechanisms of Control Preexisting Divisions within the Opposition Complementarity of the State and Opposition Groups 6. Political Islamists and the Islah Party

113 116 119 128 137

Party Origins and Ties to the GPC Increasing Popular Support Power Centers, Schools of Thought, and Consistency Islah as Opposition Standing Under the Tree and Waiting for the Fruit to Fall

139 144 147 158 163

Conclusion: Coercion, Managed Pluralism, and Legitimacy

167

Fear of the Alternatives Political Islam Civil Society

168 170 172

Notes

175

Bibliography

217

Index

235

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank everyone at the Centre for Arab and Islamic Studies at the Australian National University for providing me all the resources and support during the preparation of this study and for making coming to work each day so pleasant. I am particularly grateful to my PhD thesis supervisory panel, which comprised Professor Amin Saikal, Dr. Matthew Gray, Dr. Robert Bowker, and Dr. Douglas Sturkey, for all their encouragement, patience, and advice. Their wise comments were crucial to the completion of this project. In Yemen, I must thank the American Institute for Yemeni Studies for all its assistance on the ground and for the fellowship that allowed me to return in 2005. There are so many people in Yemen who generously gave me their time and friendship and helped make writing my dissertation a pleasure. They trusted me with their insights and their stories, and I thank all of them deeply. Very special thanks are due to Abd al-Ghani al-Iryani, Murad Zafir, Saad al-Deen Talib, and Bob Burrowes, who each spent so much time teaching me the intricacies of Yemeni politics. Their passion for Yemen was infectious, and their friendships made the research process a pleasure. Finally, to some (other) great friends—Adam, Ali, Anna, Floor, Marc, Nellie, Richard, Rosie, and Tonee—and my wonderful family, James, Robin, Jesse, Eliza, and Tamara: thank you.

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Introduction: Yemen’s Experiment with Democracy

hortly after the Gulf War of 1990–91, Yemeni President Ali Abdullah Saleh met with the then Iraqi vice president Taha Yaseen and his envoy. President Saleh recommended that the smartest thing for the then Iraqi president Saddam Hussein to do to recover from the war’s damage to himself was to democratize Iraq. President Saleh came to power thirteen years before offering this advice, presided over the creation of a new constitution that declared Yemen a democracy that same year, and fifteen years later was elected to rule for a further seven years. In late 2007, he recommended constitutional amendments that could extend his term by another ten years. Was President Saleh really indicating that he intended Yemen to become a democratic state, or did he perhaps see the idea of democracy more as a means of accomplishing other goals, particularly the preservation of the incumbent elite? This study examines the nature of changes to Yemen’s power structures, public political spaces, and political institutions since its leadership announced its intention to democratize in 1990. The study covers the period up to the 2006 presidential and local elections—a time at which the country faced serious questions about its future—although at times it also uses observations from the following year to provide additional context. It asks what the impact of the partial political opening was on the resilience of the Yemeni regime and examines some of the mechanisms and conditions that facilitated the continuation of authoritarian power in Yemen. It also looks at how political and social actors maneuvered the altered political spaces of postunification Yemen and in what ways state-society relations changed as a result of the constrained liberalization process. Yemen is not a strong state, but Yemeni society’s capacity to muster coordinated or consistent opposition to it has thus far proven much weaker. Alongside the regime’s coercive capacity, which has been a key element in its endurance,1 the divisions within Yemeni society and the conscious manipulation of these divisions reinforced coercion and contributed to the resilience of the regime. They helped to establish a widely held belief that the most likely result of a serious challenge to the political status quo would be a dangerous vacuum and reinforced calls for more gradual change.

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YEMEN’S DEMOCRACY EXPERIMENT

In the early 1990s, Yemen was buzzing with optimism. The long-held dream of unification between the former North and South had been achieved, oil revenues were increasing, and the dramatic political reforms enacted by the new government had Yemen dubbed as a vibrant transitional democracy. At that time, there was also considerable optimism surrounding the electoral, and seemingly democratic, experiment that was occurring throughout the Arab Middle East. A decade or so later, the will for reform had largely evaporated and Yemen occupied what Thomas Carothers referred to as a political “gray zone,”2 being neither fully autocratic nor genuinely democratic. Like most states in the region, the Yemeni regime had promoted a limited political opening, but the reform process had not consolidated democratic practices in the regime, opposition, or society. However, the country had not reverted to the level of suppressed opposition and muted debate that characterized the two Yemeni states prior to unification in 1990 either. This as-yet unfulfilled promise to democratize illustrates the highly contingent nature of political transitions initiated from above and the resilience of Arab political systems that have been opened to a point short of freely competitive electoral democracy. Samuel Huntington argued that “the experience of the third wave [of democratization] strongly suggests that liberalized authoritarianism is not a stable equilibrium; the halfway house does not stand.”3 If this is true, the protracted cycle of political reform and subsequent retraction in the Arab world suggests that collapses are overdue, but the halfway house of most Arab Middle Eastern systems has been considerably more resilient than Huntington’s statement suggests. While built to a different design, the foundations of the house are still reasonably well reinforced. The house may not be entirely stable against sudden political or economic shocks, but it has certainly developed norms, institutions, and dynamics of its own that warrant close examination. Some scholars have suggested that this political model is at least stable enough to “trap” some states in a “dysfunctional equilibrium,” where there is sufficient political openness to prevent unsustainable public pressure but where power does not significantly change hands.4 This study attempts to chart some middle ground between two competing strains in the literature on democratization in the late twentieth century by examining evidence from the Yemeni experience. The first strain contends that the recourse to even a facade of democracy can instill a normative commitment to it farther in the future. James Piscatori writes, for example, that elections enmesh or entangle these actors in the rules of a game of inter-group bargaining, even as they may seek to subvert those rules. The entanglement and the bargaining are by no means guaranteed to make democrats [however] the habitual patterns may well have a spill-over effect.5

INTRODUCTION

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He suggests that the recurring presence of elections and the competitive processes that they foster may “initiate a learning process whereby participatory experience exercises a kind of socializing, feedback effect” and the spirit of democracy is gradually instilled by recourse to the logic of political bargaining and competition.6 The presence of democratic notions in Yemeni political discourses and formal institutions has changed some of the ways that the state and social forces relate to and interact with one another, but it remains an impossible stretch to describe the Yemeni system as genuinely democratic. Another possibility is, therefore, that democracy does not necessarily possess behaviorist properties and that the reconfiguration of authoritarian rule may also create enduring norms and institutions of its own. A second strain in the literature on democratization suggests that the trappings of democratic norms and institutions can provide legitimacy to authoritarian regimes, which serves to reinforce them. Daniel Brumberg argues, for example, that by allowing increased pluralism, Middle Eastern regimes are better able to contain opposition groups. Under state-managed political reform processes, the opposition may “blow off steam” but they may not fatally undermine the regime.7 By detailing the Yemeni experience, this study attempts, therefore, to provide an understanding of a political environment that is neither fully autocratic nor appreciably democratic but which endured as a political “halfway” house. It argues that the use of a democratic facade represents a political shift in itself, though not necessarily a democratic one. It also asks why Yemen’s hybrid political system was resilient and under what conditions it may be likely to endure? While many in Yemen insist that the country is a dictatorship, this is accurate only in emphasizing the centrality of President Saleh. It does not give sufficient consideration to the elite bargaining to which he has been committed or the fact that despite the regime’s overwhelming dominance, there is some room for alternative voices. The term “authoritarian” is broad enough to encompass most of the regime’s traits but is not suggestive of the level of pluralism that has actually been permitted. The term “semiauthoritarian” is a more accurate description, but it probably implies a greater margin of political empowerment than actually exists. The Yemeni regime is still fully authoritarian but the political space that is available for alternative voices—though, crucially, not alternative institutionalized power centers—constitutes a slightly different regime type. Pluralized Authoritarianism and the Yemeni Patronage System This study follows Marsha Pripstein Posusney’s suggestion that the adjective “pluralized” is better suited than “liberalized” to the variant of authoritarianism that exists throughout much of the Arab Middle East. This is because

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while there has been an opening in some elements of Arab political society, the multiparty pluralism and (sometime) freedom of political association have coincided with a growth in power of some intolerant and illiberal regimes.8 The conditional nature of the political reforms enacted throughout the region shows that they were seldom, if ever, intended to emphasize the value of individual liberties, expand the role of the state in protecting its citizens, or enhance the rule of law over personalized rule, and thus the use of the term “liberal” or “liberalizing” is potentially misleading. Most Arab regimes maintain their power and seek to maximize their legitimacy through some flexibility: accommodation, incorporation, and controlled debate where possible; suppression and outright coercion where necessary. Political reforms and democratic ventures have not, to date, empowered the population to a degree that endangers the position of the incumbent leadership. Posusney notes that the Arabic term for the process of regional political reform ta’addudiyya (pluralization or multipartyism—but not full democratization) is, therefore, more appropriate.9 The definition of democracy and the differences between democratization and liberalization are developed further in the following chapter. The Yemeni regime is a collection of individuals whose interests and opinions are taken into account in decision making by the president, often with regard to the receipt of government contracts, licenses for economic commons, and the allocation of smuggling rights—in other words, the bounty of the patronage system. It is a fluid and informal group, membership of which is continually fluctuating, and the president does not necessarily consult the same people each time. The dominant group is a small, carefully selected circle consisting of elites from the Sanhan tribe (President Saleh’s tribe) and the Hashid tribes (the dominant tribal confederation of which Sanhan is a minor member), military officers who are either connected by kinship, demonstrated loyalty, or tribal links to President Saleh, and tribal leaders who command significant independent support in their local areas. The Yemeni regime is neopatrimonial. In a patrimonial system, the “right to rule is ascribed to a person rather than an office.”10 The ruler governs and maintains his or her power through patron-client relations as opposed to law or ideology, and the clients extend their political loyalty (or at least acquiescence) to the patron in exchange for benefits. Neopatrimonialism refers to the permeation of these informal patrimonial loyalties into formal political institutions. Political parties, civil society organizations, and parliaments—institutions associated with a modern state—are used in conjunction with traditional informal organizations by the leaders to expand their patron–client networks.11 As is discussed in Chapter 5, patron–client relations are of benefit to both parties despite their hierarchical nature.

INTRODUCTION

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The post-1994 Yemeni regime is built on and sustained by a system of patronage that is funded largely by oil revenues. Its survival is predicated on its ability to maintain these patronage networks. A patronage system is essentially a method of crisis management—it is reasonably good at containing or at least channeling crises but is hopelessly inadequate at preempting them through alternative policy generation. Solutions to problems are created through the dispersal of resources, benefits, and status, and the way to attract these is, therefore, to create a crisis and then negotiate a solution with the leadership. The problems created by this cyclical nature are obvious. A patronage system necessarily concentrates its power at the center, and the political parties and other formal political institutions that are created under this system must, therefore, also concentrate their power at the center so that they can lobby the leaders. In a patronage system, ideological concerns take a backseat to the more material considerations of resources, benefits, and status upon which the system is maintained. The dilemma of political parties and other interest groups under a patronage system is that their most likely chance to gain the necessary resources is to mirror the system that was built to favor those in power and lobby from within that framework, because to do otherwise usually means marginalization. Without a legal framework that prioritizes institutions it is extremely difficult for regime outsiders to compete with incumbents because they cannot obtain the resources necessary to be competitive.12 In a patronage system, the lines of political influence between the rulers and those around them are blurred, allowing considerable flexibility for the leader. As James Bill and Robert Springborg write: Since there are no clearly defined responsibilities, and since hard and fast assignments are nonexistent, the patrimonial leader can interpret spheres of authority in almost any way he chooses. Those individuals who are most apt to challenge the leader find themselves severely crippled in this informal environment … Informality in the system builds distrust among those who are relatively influential in the system…Such a semisecretive pattern of politics enables the leader to engender a great deal of division and distrust among his subordinates … Rivalry is institutionalised in the system, and the traditional ruler has only to encourage processes that were already at work.13

In neopatrimonial systems, therefore, part of the leaders’ strength relies on their ability to divide those under them who may be capable of mounting opposition. By manipulating and channeling preexisting divisions, the leaders create additional space for themselves to maneuver, whether by then presenting themselves as the point of legitimate arbitration between competing parties or by simply ensuring the weakness of those around them.

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The Yemeni regime uses many of the tactics described by Joel Migdal in Strong Societies and Weak States as “the politics of survival” to maintain its power. These tactics include shuffling officials in state agencies to prevent them from building their own personal power bases and deliberately weakening those who could potentially threaten the power of the top leadership; nonmerit appointments to those with proven loyalties to the ruler; the use of corruption to keep people tied to the regime by threatening legal action or public smear campaigns against those who try to opt out of the system; and the use of “dirty tricks” such as physical threats, violence, or bribery to thwart or undermine potential political challengers or threats.14 Migdal argues that these particular tactics, which are intended to keep the ruler’s head above water when surrounded by strong social forces, ultimately place the leader in a dilemma. The leaders’ fear of surrendering too much power to these social forces causes them to undermine “the very mechanisms leaders need to reach their own goals.”15 This prevents the state “from enhancing its capabilities by not allowing the development of complex organization in state institutions.”16 In so doing, the state perpetuates its own weakness. However, Migdal does not outline the ways that this dynamic can also be part of a cycle in which the state not only undermines it own capacity but also undermines the capacity of social forces to an even greater degree. As Omar Daair points out, the dynamic described by Migdal does not fully explain state-society relationships in Yemen because it overemphasizes the strength of society. Daair argues that despite the limits to his own power, President Saleh still successfully weakened society to the point of subordination to him. In Yemen, state–society relations do not run on zero-sum logic. The state is not necessarily weak because of the relative strength of society. Thus, while the state is unable to successfully penetrate society and its recourse to the politics of survival undercuts its own legitimacy, the fragmentation enacted on society by the state ultimately leaves both state and society weak and poorly equipped to adapt to changes in the political environment. This can render Migdal’s supposedly “strong society” too fragmented and impotent to depose even a relatively weak leader.17 Saleh’s longevity also suggests that he has in fact surpassed mere survival. While still limited in his power, he rules from a position of comparative strength over society.18 Soft Power The version of authoritarianism that exists in Yemen gives citizens the ability to speak with relative freedom, without the ability to act correspondingly. Expansions to free expression and political association that coexist with the repression of political action (in all but a marginal sense) have reinforced either debate or, at the other end of the spectrum, spontaneous violence as

INTRODUCTION

7

the most viable form of action. Members of the opposition or nonregime political actors are permitted to express their discontent verbally, but their ability to convert this into coherent, organized opposition to the regime carries the threat of repression. Debating the nature of Yemen’s political problems has, therefore, been the most common manifestation of antiregime sentiment; well-organized and consistent opposition has been considerably rarer. The Yemeni regime has generally preferred to harness the power of potential counterforces than to seek their outright elimination. It does this through a mixture of legitimization, co-optation, and coercion, in which each element can reinforce the other. At one end of the spectrum is soft power (suggestive or suppressive as opposed to coercive or oppressive), which involves two key elements: co-optation and legitimacy-enhancing measures. Both elements can be used to entice “others to want what you want,”19 as Joseph Nye Jr. put it, or at least to get them to do what you want. Co-optation refers particularly to financial incentives offered either to individuals or to the population at large. Patronage is a key factor in the co-optive process as one’s interests become wedded to the patron’s. In a political environment where co-optation is prevalent, the lack of economic independence or stability can act to diminish the desire, and indeed the ability, to oppose. It can thus create apathy or helplessness as a rational response to the perceived barriers to action, which reduces the need for the government to implement hard-power measures. However, while the Yemeni regime might like to co-opt all potential dissenters into its patronage system, it simply does not have the financial resources to do so. It must, therefore, also try to enhance its legitimacy by using measures to expand or consolidate its base of popular support, usually through populist politics, moves against a perceived national enemy, or the introduction of political reforms. Legitimacy building can also include the promotion of the idea that more progress is made by working with the system than against it or that the present system is flawed but still preferable to its likely alternative. Managed pluralism forms the softer end of the regime’s power potential and works through the co-optation and fragmentation of legal opposition groups, social forces, and elected representatives. The two forms of cooptation (consumable and complementary) incorporate elements of hard power and soft power. Consumable support draws directly on the state’s ability to distribute economic benefits and rewards—either in the form of welfare or in the form of direct payments—and ties an individual’s or group’s needs or interests to the discretionary power of the state. If the state ceases to be able to fill this role and provide these benefits, this aspect of its support base becomes very tenuous. The element of mutual benefit between the regime and the opposition, or complementary support,20 works in conjunction with consumable support and forms the softer element of

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the regime’s co-optive potential. It draws on the legitimacy of the regime as the guarantor of less tangible benefits like stability, thereby making the regime the provider of “safe” mechanisms of change. Consumable support is of course still dependent on the regime’s capacity to adequately maintain its consumable support base and by 2006–7 this capacity was being questioned much more openly in Yemen. As elsewhere in the Arab Middle East where a process of limited political reform has been initiated by an incumbent leader (Egypt and Jordan are noteworthy examples), many politically active and aware Yemenis who want greater democracy and oppose the status quo contend that without the acceptance, and even guiding hand, of President Saleh, chaos cannot be avoided. What Marina Ottaway says of the Egyptian system is true of Yemen, that a great number of Yemenis would like Saleh to be more liberal and tolerant, but they have no intention of fighting him to obtain the change, lest the outcome of the fight be instability …. Semiauthoritarian regimes play on these genuine fears, seeking in many cases to portray themselves as the only safeguard against chaos.21

These genuine and rational fears of citizens reduce the expectation of the type of change that can be reasonably achieved, and very few of Yemen’s potential counterbalances advocated a radical alteration of the current order during the period under review. Instead, they preferred to work within the constraints set by the regime in an effort to gradually expand their room to maneuver, while still allowing the centrality of President Saleh. The coercive and co-optive power of the Yemeni state reinforced the lesson that it was better to operate within the system than against it, and to push for the gradual reform of the current order instead of its collapse. Hard Power At the other end of the control spectrum is hard power (that is, the physical coercion of the military and the security services), which is used when the regime perceives that relying on softer methods could expose it to an unacceptable level of risk. The existence of a security apparatus that has been shown to be willing to use force against the population has contributed to the feeling that to oppose or rebel against the current order is futile. Furthermore, the regime’s lack of consistency between its use of hard and soft power has had an effect similar to former U.S. president Richard Nixon’s “madman” approach to foreign policy during the Cold War. Nixon reasoned that if the other side could not predict whether he would respond

INTRODUCTION

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rationally or irrationally to a situation, they would be more wary of provoking him. If a relatively minor incident might trigger a disproportionate response, it is likely to be treated with greater caution. Meanwhile, the “madman” does not need to incur the political cost of continually employing force to achieve his goals. This control spectrum lowers the horizon for groups proposing changes to the status quo. While patrimonial Arab regimes do not maintain themselves only because of their soft power capabilities, part of their resilience derives from it. The Saleh regime has been effective at incorporating dissenters into the regime, both overtly through threats and payments and subtly through incentives and the suggestion that progress and stability are better achieved gradually within the framework of acceptable behavior set by the regime. Outline of the Book The first chapter of this study surveys the theoretical literature on political transitions from authoritarianism, particularly in relation to the Arab Middle East; the debates over the compatibility of Islam and democracy; the effects of oil exports on a political system; and the role of the domestic security apparatus on the possibilities for political reform. Material presented in this chapter is used to locate processes occurring in Yemen that are detailed in the following chapters. Chapter 2 provides an overview of Yemeni politics between 1990 and 2006. It discusses the use of democracy as a means of attempting to placate competing political factions during and after the process of unification between the former North and South Yemen in 1990. Chapter 3 looks at the role of government institutions (the military and security apparatus, the ministry of finance, local councils, and the parliament) in the maintenance of the status quo during that period. It then examines the legal limitations, co-optation, corruption, and deficiencies in the parliament’s capacity to explain its largely ceremonial function. It also investigates the instances where the parliament was empowered to affect political decision making and asks whether this was a function of genuine mobilization of a traditional parliamentary role or merely the formalization of decisions already finalized elsewhere. Chapter 4 focuses on the impact of tribalism on the political dynamics of Yemen and looks at the ways in which the regime has co-opted tribal elites and practices to suit its ends. It examines the role of the tribes in supporting or threatening the current order and emphasizes the circular nature of the state–tribe relationship, in which each reinforces traits in the other that create obstacles to the state or to institution building.

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YEMEN’S DEMOCRACY EXPERIMENT

Chapter 5 evaluates the impact on political changes by some of Yemen’s nonregime political actors: civil society, opposition political parties, and political activists. It argues that in contemporary Yemen (and elsewhere in the Arab world), it is misleading to talk of civil society as the key consideration in a political transition, whatever its direction is. Chapter 6 looks at the impact of political Islamists on the Yemeni regime. It discusses the internal structure of the Islah Party, its relationship with the ruling General People’s Congress (GPC), and its patronage ties to the regime, with an emphasis on the factors that have informed the party’s changing relationship with the regime. The chapter also discusses the party’s internal debate over whether to become a full member of the opposition and its strategies, ideologies, successes, and failures affecting political decision making. It examines the contradictions and conflicts within the party over the appropriate role of the opposition in national politics. The conclusion discusses the insights that may be derived from examination of the Yemeni experience thus far in relation to the challenges and possibilities for greater popular political empowerment in the Arab Middle East. The bulk of the research for this study was conducted for a PhD dissertation and was carried out over a total of thirteen months in Yemen and one month in Jordan between 2004 and 2006. Subsequent time spent in Yemen between 2006 and 2007 provided further information and context after the dissertation was submitted in mid-2006. Interviews were conducted with a wide variety of political actors including members of parliament, ministers, former prime ministers, tribal leaders and members, advisors to the president, advisors to the king (in Jordan), journalists, political activists, academics, civil servants, diplomats (foreign and local), NGO employees, and opposition political party leaders and members. Owing to the absence of reliable written records, cross-referenced interviews with a wide group of informants provided much of the basis for much of this study. Around 200 formal and informal interviews were conducted during this time. The primary aim of the interviews was to establish the ways in which a wide variety of political actors understood the maintenance of the political status quo and their strategies, successes, and failures in countering the regime’s dominance. The methodological problems with interviews and open-ended questionnaires must be noted: subjects may intentionally or otherwise misrepresent the truth, be afraid to speak openly, be self-aggrandizing, or may have an ulterior motive in speaking with a foreign researcher. Subjects may also not have accurate information themselves. In addition to formal interviews, some of the information used in this study was gathered during informal discussions; sometimes with friends, sometimes in chance meetings, and sometimes at formal or informal qat chews (where Yemenis gather, often daily, to socialize and discuss current affairs).

INTRODUCTION

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The gender bias of the sample should also be noted, since the majority of the interview subjects were men. The majority of the interviews were conducted in Sana’a, although many people from different governorates— Upper and Lower Yemen—were interviewed. Interviews were also made in Aden, Hadhramaut, Lahj, Abyan, ’Amran, Ta’izz, Ibb, and Hodeidah governorates. The majority of the subjects were educated and politically active and aware, and almost all were literate. Some had studied abroad, and a significant number spoke English fluently, although at times a translator was used during interviews (and qat chews), and at times I relied on my own Arabic. Finally, a note on statistics: statistics of almost any kind are infamously unreliable in Yemen. They are sometimes deliberately inaccurate, misleading or incomplete, or more often, inaccurate owing to a lack of recorded data. Reference to and reliance on accurate statistics is not the way that Yemeni politics is practiced. In a society where illiteracy is very high, education is still often of poor quality, the broadcast media is government controlled, and genuinely independent sources of information are restricted, perceptions of political realities are often more important than the realities they present. Politics in Yemen are highly symbolic and are often played out through rumor and misinformation. This study, therefore, refers not only to the official policies and actions of political elites, but also to the ways in which various groups perceived them, and the mythologizing that sometimes developed as a result of this.

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1

Resilience and Reform in the Arab Middle East

hen Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak explained in a 2006 interview that the protests occurring in his country were “evidence of democracy,” he was careful to underline several limits to the democracy he said they demonstrated.1 First, he warned that much of the domestic media coverage they attracted “could be punished according to the law, because it is libel and blasphemy,” and second, he underlined his own centrality in Egyptian democracy: “If they think that what they are doing is an expression of their freedom, they should remember who gave them this chance, and who is insisting on its continuity.”2 Mubarak’s definition of democracy was clearly intended to leave room for a good deal of authoritarian control. A large body of literature, usually referred to as “transitions literature” or “transitology,” emerged in the 1970s. It analyzed transitions from authoritarianism toward a more democratic system in Latin America and Eastern Europe.3 These studies shifted the focus of political transitions theory away from explanations based on the supposed socioeconomic, structural, or developmental prerequisites of democracy and instead, highlighted the importance of human agency. This literature sought to overwrite stereotypes that only certain types of societies are ready for democracy. It stood opposed to earlier modernization theorists who had argued that some societies do not have the socioeconomic conditions suitable to support democratic governance.4 The transitions literature also opposed reductionist explanations, which suggested that authoritarian rule is somehow innate to some countries, cultures, or religions. By shifting the focus away from rigid structural or cultural impediments to political actors, the transitions approach was essentially optimistic about the prospects of democracy spreading in the developing world. The fundamental insight of this literature was its analysis of the dynamics of elite bargaining. It studied incumbent elites who enter into pacts with

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their opponents with the short-term goal of enhancing their position sufficiently to maintain power. It hypothesized that bargains made between these usually undemocratic but rational elites have the likely carry over effect that over time, even authoritarian hardliners are drawn into the logic of political compromise.5 It suggested that once engaged in a pact arrangement, the cost of preventing a full transition to democracy greatly increases. In this view, liberalization or democratization is enacted as a rational choice by the leadership as a means of survival amid environmental changes such as economic decline or popular unrest. It holds that by offering greater political freedoms or rights, the incumbent leaders hope to defuse opposition to their rule and manage opposition movements better, while still controlling the rules of the game. As a rational choice made by the leaders, the significance of culture in the process is minimal to absent. The transitions literature predicted that over time, the values associated with democracy, such as bargaining, compromise, and establishing a base of popular support, are instilled into the national political culture, and it becomes increasingly difficult for the government to maintain legitimacy through undemocratic means. Nondemocrats attempting to extend their power may thus unwittingly contribute to the creation of a democratic system, and the logic of democracy may instill its spirit into undemocratically inclined elites.6 The political changes that occurred in the Arab Middle East in the late 1980s and early 1990s were met with optimism from both domestic and foreign observers, political and scholarly, that a third wave of democratization was imminent in the region. As Arab regime after Arab regime began to create parliaments, allow elections, and soften somewhat toward alternative voices, there were similar expectations that the leaders would inevitably be swept out of power by the changes that they implemented.7 Many were quick to characterize the process of political liberalization or increased pluralism as the first step in the transition to democracy.8 Optimism waned as the decade progressed and parliaments were dismissed, elections canceled, emergency laws instated, and civil wars witnessed in Algeria and Yemen. However, it underwent a notable resurgence in 2005 with the antiregime “Kifaya” (enough) demonstrations in Egypt, the protests that led to the ousting of Syria from Lebanon following the assassination of former prime minister Rafiq Hariri (termed the “Cedar Revolution”), and the Iraqi and Palestinian elections. Again commentators speculated that irreversible movements toward democracy were occurring across the region. The Egyptian political analyst Amr Hamzawy noted, for example, that “there is something truly revolutionary about these events. The autumn of the patriarchs is approaching.”9 While these events were significant, they were not entirely unfamiliar. More than a decade after the initial burst of optimism, with the exception

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of Hamas in Palestine, the same entrenched elites remained in power (unless they were removed by a foreign power as in Iraq), and the process of political reform remained under their control, expanding and contracting as they deemed appropriate. The increase in regular elections, a plethora of civil society organizations, and greater margins for free expression have not dislodged the leaders that initially granted them. In most cases, the leaders’ resilience has not been merely the result of brute force; they have found their longevity also through their ability to adapt to change. Controlled political openings have helped establish a level of legitimacy (domestic and international) and, perhaps more importantly, a means of adapting to environmental pressures. The increased willingness of elites to respond to some of the potential forces of change was driven by the desire to safeguard the bigger picture—their own political survival. Political arenas expanded, therefore, enough to allow alternative political voices but not enough to allow alternative political power bases. This process led to the establishment of less easily defined but resilient systems of pluralized authoritarianism, where political expression is less restricted but where institutionalized feedback mechanisms from society to the state remain weak. That democracy has developed roots in the region is no more certain now than it was prior to the implementation of the elite-enacted reforms. Instead, what has become most apparent is that authoritarianism in the region has been adaptable in the face of change. Considerable confusion is apparent in the recent literature over the implications of this trend, and much effort has gone into defining and redefining democracy, authoritarianism, and various subtypes of both.10 A call has mounted in the literature to review the assumptions that led to predictions of an Arab “third wave” of democratization. Alongside this is a critique of the agency-focused transitions literature and its inability to adequately explain the mixture of democratic institutions and entrenched authoritarianism that exists in the contemporary Arab Middle East. The “Gray Zone” A number of recent studies on Arab politics have focused on the spate of political closures that followed the initial openings and critiqued the assumption that an Arab “third wave” of democratization was pending. A subset of this literature focuses on the ways in which authoritarian Arab regimes have maintained their monopoly on power, in part through the very mechanisms (particularly elections and greater pluralism) that some scholars predicted signaled their demise.11 Despite the longevity of its regime, some have seen Yemen as having made genuine moves toward democracy. Sheila Carapico concluded her 1998

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book Civil Society in Yemen by suggesting, for example, that by virtue of its adaptable and resilient civil society, “among Arab countries [Yemen] offers greater hope for democratization in the medium term than most.”12 Other political reforms, such as the country’s 2001 NGO law, have been hailed as some of the “most progressive law[s] in the Arab world.”13 Furthermore, citizens and opposition figures routinely criticize the government in public and President Saleh continues to invoke the idea of a transition to democracy as a way of defusing political opposition. As tension increased over the inevitable but hugely unpopular reduction of fuel subsidies in 2005, Saleh announced that he would not seek reelection in the 2006 presidential elections, saying that people were sick of him and that it was time for “young blood” to lead the country. He retracted this in late June 2006, but only after a long dramatic pause. His calculation that the promise of a peaceful transfer of power would help deflect popular anger over the increased cost of living was telling about the Yemeni system: despite the clear persistence of authoritarianism, the president still felt the need to establish democratic legitimacy for himself. A peaceful rotation of power and electoral politics were still perceived as tools to dampen popular discontent. Alongside some apparent progressivism and some popular receptiveness to the procedural norms of democracy, however, there is a president now in his fourth decade in power, an increasingly corrupt and repressive government, and a deeply fragmented, though still significant, opposition. It can be misleading to suggest that democracy is or is not coming to the Arab Middle East because it implies that there is a clearly demarcated threshold to be crossed. What criteria determine when this threshold has been reached? The incumbent elite may insist that it has already been passed, and opponents may not be willing to concede that there has been progress until they themselves are in power. There are, however, several important trends that can indicate that there has been a significant shift from the established order. The existence of a large number of civil society organizations may not, as will be demonstrated, necessarily indicate a very significant shift in political trajectory. Nor may regular elections, the legalization of political parties, or the establishment of a parliament be unambiguous indicators of a major shift. The growth in the organizational skills and membership numbers of political parties is, however, more likely to indicate a significant change, as is an increase in voter turnout or a cooperation between opposition groups in an effort to gain electoral advantage.14 When assessing these dynamics, it is important to remember that becoming less oppressive does not necessarily mean becoming more democratic. A government “benevolently” granting rights that remain contingent upon its good graces “rather than the recognition of inalienable political rights of the citizens” does not, as Marina Ottaway points out, indicate that there has been a

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shift of political paradigm.15 However, it still remains possible that reforms imparted from above may, in some contexts, entrench the population’s demand for further reforms in the longer term. The expectation that Arab regimes are heading toward democracy or away from authoritarianism should not override the study of where they currently sit and the nature of their posture. It is important to delineate where real political power lies and how, if at all, this has changed since the idea of democratization became a conscious platform of the regime and (usually) the opposition. If the fundamental distribution of power remains unchanged, how has this been achieved? If it has changed, to what extent and under what conditions do nonregime actors, such as opposition political parties, NGOs, activists, the media, tribal groups, the parliament, and political Islamists have the power to affect political decision making? Has any additional empowerment been extended to or claimed by any of these groups? What have government institutions or political and social organizations done to shift or consolidate the country’s position on the spectrum of democratic and authoritarian possibilities? Have they merely reinforced an authoritarian regime and created an enduring hybrid political style, or do they suggest a more significant shift from centralized control? The ambiguous nature of “gray zone” political systems causes considerable confusion over whether they should even be considered transitional or whether they have actually reached a consolidated equilibrium. Ahmed Saif, Abdo Baaklini, Guilain Denoeux, and Robert Springborg argue that Arab parliaments have become important transitional institutions and provide a vehicle for bargaining and compromise between the regime and the opposition.16 On the other hand, Daniel Brumberg contends that the presence of parliaments need not indicate a nascent democracy: “Liberalized autocracies almost always allow elections and the creation of parliaments” to enhance their legitimacy and longevity.17 A certain freedom of the press is also permitted in “liberalized autocracies,” and members of the opposition are occasionally allowed to hold positions of relative power so long as the fundamental dominance of the regime remains clear. Despite the popular view that increased pluralism and civil society are precursors to democratic governance, Brumberg argues that the nature of pluralism in the Arab world may actually impede the chances of democratic consolidation. He suggests, for example, that the regimes in Egypt and Morocco have fostered the existence of many small civil society organizations to enhance the competition between them and reduce their effectiveness.18 The same can be said for Yemen, where in 2005, a total of 4,930 NGOs were officially registered. The endurance of the regime indicates that the encouragement of pluralism has not led to a commensurate reduction in their hold on power.

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The idea that civil society necessarily counters the state in a non–Western European context has come under criticism in recent years. Ferenc Miszlivetz and Jody Jensen discuss civil society in Hungary following the collapse of the communist government in 1989, arguing that while the numbers of people involved with the vast array of different civil organizations were impressive, they did not correspond to a similarly impressive impact on the political decision-making process or the independence of or interaction between the different organizations.19 They argue that the political authorities were effective at influencing and controlling many of the political associations and underline the way in which the pliability of the civil society allowed the authoritarian tendencies of the state to reveal themselves again. Similarly, Frances Hagopian discusses the persistent weakness of Brazil’s civil society, arguing that even an invigorated civil society in Brazil did not bring significant political change to the country. She disputes the common assumption that wide public enthusiasm for democratic sentiment is necessarily likely to bring significant change in the direction of democracy. She says that while citizens of Chile and Peru also showed great enthusiasm for democratic governance in the opinion polls, one should not “overstate the extent to which political culture has changed in a few short years.” 20 These observations can be applied to Yemen and the Arab Middle East, where the existence of democratic sentiment among some of the population cannot be assumed to necessarily portend a deep systemic shift in the nature of governance. Democratic preferences among groups within the population need not mean that democratic practice within either state or wider society will follow. As in the Middle East, political policy may be discussed and even be open to debate by the parliament, the media, and the general public, but it is not open to amendment by anyone other than the ruler and, indirectly, his circle of trusted advisors. While so-called democratic institutions are increasingly vaunted by Arab regimes and political violence is usually not the method of maintaining political control in the first instance, authoritarianism remains “embedded” in the laws, constitutions, and unwritten rules of political engagement.21 These embedded control mechanisms continue to undermine genuine systemic political transition. That is why when President Hosni Mubarak outlined his “evidence of democracy,” he was careful to include the centrality of his own benevolence to this process. The ability of so many regimes to endure in an altered hybrid form led Thomas Carothers to argue in 2002 that many of the countries once championed as examples of transitology’s predictive value actually provided case studies of its conceptual weaknesses.22 These hybrid regimes highlight the difficulties associated with preemptively assigning democratic or transitional status to countries that are undergoing an uncertain period of change. Liberalization and democratization can be separate processes without any

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necessarily linear relation.23 This is not to say that there cannot be a collateral link between the two and that they may have some indistinguishable starting points, but there is no necessary causal link between liberalization and democratization. A leader may relax his or her control over some elements of the political environment, such as the media or the capacity for popular political organization, without necessarily placing the country on the path to democracy. The difficulty, then, is in determining when the political changes are sufficient to indicate that systemic change has occurred.24 Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble attempt to clarify where the difference between political freedoms and democracy may lie, arguing that liberalization involves an opening in public space in which the rights of citizens to organize and engage politically are recognized and protected. In Yemen and throughout the Arab Middle East, these new political freedoms have not become rights. Though they are enshrined in a number of Arab constitutions, they remain a gift from the leader that may be revoked if later deemed to threaten his power, as President Hosni Mubarak elucidated. During the process of democratization, as Brynen, Korany, and Noble suggest, the ability of citizens to exert “meaningful collective control over public policy” becomes protected.25 Brumberg draws the line between the two concepts more clearly and argues that liberalization entails the expansion of political freedoms such as the freedom of expression and political organization, while democracy refers to the legally guaranteed political rights to affect public decision making through the ability to “replace or modify [the] leadership.”26 While there are many clear parallels between liberalization and democratization, particularly in the West, one cannot necessarily be inferred from the other.27 Liberalization, therefore, includes the encouragement of pluralism that occurred throughout the Arab Middle East in the 1990s, the resort to which has not, to date, significantly undermined authoritarianism. A statement by Najib Ghadbian in Democratization and the Islamist Challenge in the Arab World illustrates how such confusion can lead to misleading conceptualizations of democracy: “The [Jordanian] King has placed himself above and outside the entire process. It is true that Hussein increased the scope of political participation, widened the margin of freedom, and legalized political parties, but no mechanism was developed for the transfer of power. On the contrary, the King, in return for these reforms, has reasserted his role as the ultimate arbiter and decision-maker. Thus the Jordanian democratic case can be characterized as democracy without the transfer of power.”28

Where one person remains an unaccountable “arbiter and decisionmaker” in a hereditary position for life without the possibility of the peaceful

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transfer of power, the process cannot be termed democracy, no matter what careful qualifications are given. The process Ghadbian described is one of increased political freedom and openness, but this is different from democracy in both theory and practice. Just as the transitions literature sought to expunge assumptions that political transitions are propelled from society to the rulers, as was the case in the West, conceptions of democracy should also not assume that democracy necessarily follows liberalization. As long as political freedoms and popular consultation are understood to be gifts from the leader rather than the rights of the citizenry, it is unlikely that genuine democratic consolidation has occurred.29 Definitions of Democracy Democracy is both a treasured and a vague concept in modern political thought, and debate still surrounds its precise definition. In Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy, Joseph Schumpeter’s highly influential minimalist definition centered on the fundamentality of competitive elections “in which individuals acquire power to decide by means of a competitive struggle for the people’s vote.”30 In Schumpeter’s view, once this vote has been cast, the role of the voters should be minimal: they “must understand that, once they have elected an individual, political action is his or her business and not theirs. This means that they must refrain from instructing him about what he is to do.”31 Samuel Huntington later built on Schumpeter’s elections-centered definition in The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century. He suggested that democracy is not just the presence and fairness of elections that proves democratic consolidation but what he termed a “two-turnover test,” whereby competing groups gain and subsequently lose power peacefully in the electoral process.32 In other words, elections can be deemed truly democratic only if they result in the fairly regular turnover of power between a variety of political actors. Minimal definitions based on easily observable conditions are attractive to those trying to measure democracy, because they facilitate comparisons between systems of governance. Other scholars have thus rejected the minimalists’ singular focus on elections and see them instead as a subset of democracy, not as its defining criteria. The fairness and competitiveness of an election can be undermined, for example, by a lack of protected political rights, such as the equality of citizenship and the rights to political association and expression. Can a state be considered democratic if women or minority groups are excluded from voting or if, as in Jordan, electoral laws are manipulated to the extent that a vote from one (traditionally proregime area) is effectively worth five votes cast in another?33 Can a state that is guilty of human rights abuses against its citizens be considered democratic? Can a state that has peacefully rotated

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power be considered democratic when an unelected elite body, such as the Council of Guardians in Iran, holds the power to veto electoral candidates? Or how should Turkey be classified when the military retains the ability to intervene in politics and remove elected governments under the guise of protecting the secularism that is mandated in the constitution? Further, the presence of free elections does not necessarily indicate the relative power of the elected institutions; lobby groups, religious leaders, or an overly powerful executive can undermine the level of democracy in a country’s system even when elections are free, fair, competitive, and regular.34 Finally, the presence of freely competitive elections does not say anything about the limits placed on the victors or how the victors are compelled to be responsive to the public while in office. For those who felt that Schumpeter’s definition focused too heavily on elites and glossed over societal aspects of democracy, Robert A. Dahl provided an alternative. In Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition, Dahl argued that the combination of electoral competition, pluralism, and considerable freedoms forms the essence of democracy.35 In On Democracy, Dahl listed six factors that he argued detect the presence of democracy: the presence of elected officials; free, fair, and frequent elections; freedom of expression; access to alternative sources of information; associational autonomy; and inclusive citizenship.36 To this, Larry Diamond added that all citizens must be equal under the law and that they must be protected from “undue interference in their personal lives” by the state or antistate organizations.37 The merit of the minimalist approach is that it deromanticizes the definition of democracy and emphasizes its role as a tool for managing political decision making. At the same time, however, it overemphasizes the institutions associated with democracy rather than the purpose of the process of democracy. The dynamic that Schumpeter, Huntington, and others seem to imply when they discuss competitive elections as a measurable benchmark is the protected ability of the citizenry to provide feedback to the government in a regular, safe and nonviolent manner.38 The procedures associated with liberal democracy, such as elections and parliaments, are not ends in themselves. They are considered democratic because they attempt to formalize a feedback mechanism to increase the subjection of decision makers to the political will of those affected by their decisions. These institutionalized processes, which include but are not necessarily limited to regular elections and access to independent sources of information, should be open to all adult citizens. Feedback is more than advice to the rulers. The stability of a political system depends on its sensitivity to the requirements of its various parts and institutionalized or protected feedback serves to depressurize tensions before wild swings of political behavior occur. A lack of feedback, or a consistent neglect of it,

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eventually destabilizes the system.39 Feedback is manifested through society’s reaction to government decisions and ranges from opinion polls, media commentary, free and fair elections, and legal demonstrations to riots, civil chaos, revolution, and civil war. It is a cycle of power between the ruler and the ruled, not simply a cycle of information. By codifying individual democratic traits, the complex dynamics of the whole political environment can be simplified beyond much usefulness. At least ideally, democracy at the state level is the endeavor to protect the feedback mechanisms between state and society by institutionalizing them. Feedback is of course a two-way process. The sentiment on which the feedback is based depends largely on the quality of the information from which it is drawn. The accuracy, breadth, and diversity of this information are necessary for an assessment of where a political system sits on the spectrum between democracy and authoritarianism. This dynamic is one of the primary oversights of analysts who consider elections to be the fundamental criteria by which to assess the level of democracy in a country. Some qualifications are necessary to prevent democracy from being all things to all people. Political empowerment for all adult citizens is the fundamental element of the feedback mechanism in a democratic system. Without a citizenry that is willing and able to act and react to the decisions of the state, the leadership is not compelled to modify its behavior before unrest either breaks out or becomes imminent. The empowerment of the population to affect changes in policy and leadership must be reflected in the rule of law and through a regularized process of popular political participation. As authoritarian systems already have well-established methods of delivering the decisions of the leadership to the citizenry, the purpose of democracy is to protect the ways in which the citizenry’s reactions to government actions reach the leadership. By regulating the methods by which society engages with the state and dispersing power from a central individual or group, democracy tends to minimize fluctuations in political, social, and often economic trajectory. In practice, it institutionalizes a search for stability by using feedback between the various elements of the society in order to adapt to environmental change. Viewed in a holistic manner that emphasizes the purpose of democracy rather than its manifestations, democracy is more than merely the outcome of varying combinations of competitive elections and the freedom of expression and association. With its emphasis on the necessity of consultation, which is deeply rooted in the Arab and Islamic tradition, it is also a concept that may enjoy a degree of legitimacy in the Arab context as one that arises outside the culturally specific experience of Western countries. The emerging norm of pluralized authoritarianism in the Arab Middle East also undermines structurally based definitions of democracy or authoritarianism and adds further appeal to a concept of political

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empowerment that is broad enough to account for informal mechanisms but still narrow enough to require that the citizenry is capable of affecting political decision making. Explaining Arab “Exceptionalism” The debate over whether the roots of democracy are evident in the Arab Middle East or whether it remains “exceptional” in its resistance to formal democratic standards has become something of a preoccupation among regional specialists. On traditional measures of democratic practice such as competitive elections, the peaceful rotation of power, the existence of democratic institutions, freedom, and an active civil society, the Arab world still ranks very low despite the changes of the last decade or two. Specialists often seem so consumed with trying to isolate a key variable to explain the lack of democratic politics that they have tended to overemphasize one variable at the expense of others. The following literature review shows that there need not necessarily be one such variable; in fact it seems rather unlikely that one variable—as opposed to several mutually reinforcing variables— can explain the enduring authoritarianism in an entire region. The main arguments advanced in the literature include ●

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the idea that Arab culture, tribalism, or Islam are somehow innately authoritarian or that they at least value authority in a way that is different from other cultures that the rentier state model, in which the majority of state revenues accrue directly to the state, has inhibited the impetus for political reform because states can afford to purchase their citizens’ political acquiescence that the patronage system created in rentier states forms an artificial layer between state and society, undermines ideology as a political mobilizational tool, and impairs the establishment of formal institutions that the well-funded security apparatuses make dissent very dangerous that the region’s poverty and low literacy rates make democracy less of a priority for the people that Arab states exhibit strong social cleavages, which leads to weak and divided opposition movements that the ruling elites so entirely dominate national politics that political reforms are driven only by the rational choices of those elites, not as the result of grassroots demands that strategic and economic concerns have caused Western governments to artificially prop up authoritarian regimes in the Middle East more so than in other parts of the post-Cold War world.

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Explanations revolving around culture have waxed and waned in popularity since Gabriel Almond and Sidney Verba’s pioneering work, The Civic Culture (1963). This book emphasized culture as a vital determinant of national politics and laid important foundations for scholars pursuing culture as an explanation for the Middle East’s resistance to formal democratic politics. Almond and Verba’s suggestion that a state’s political system “is internalised in the cognitions, feelings, and evaluations of its population”40 can be seen in the pursuit of isolating cultural norms as the cause for the persistence of authoritarian rule. Some writers have argued that the Arab world exhibits unusually high levels of respect for authority figures. Michael Hudson argued in 1977 that cross cultural comparative studies indicate that the authoritarian personality traits are significantly stronger among Arabs than Americans … It would be simplistic to claim that there is a direct relationship between authoritarian, patriarchal family structures and the absolutist behavior of national governments … But it is permissible to conclude that the classical family situation at least does not seem to foster participant behavior or egalitarian norms.41

Hisham Sharabi famously explained Arab authoritarianism as being a result of traditional patriarchal family and gender relations that imbue submissiveness to authority and, by extension, a willingness to accept undemocratic patriarchal leaders. He wrote: “Between ruler and ruled, between father and child, there exist only vertical relations: in both settings the paternal will is the absolute will, mediated in both the society and the family by a forced consensus based on ritual and coercion.”42 Taking this line of argument even further, Fouad Ajami claimed that Arabs lack “the institutions and habits of mind needed to allow the citizenry to become more than sheer spectators” in national politics43 and that the Arab world is “stubbornly impermeable to democratic stirrings.” 44 On this observation, Ajami overlooks the fact that that strong opposition to rulers and questions about appropriate power structures run throughout both Arab and Islamic history. Furthermore, as Jason Brownlee argues, Islam has also provided a discourse and a set of ideas for mobilizing against autocratic rulers.45 Throughout the contemporary Middle East, Islam is increasingly being used as a political vehicle for expressing discontent against the incumbent leaders. Other authors have looked at the ways in which the tribal structures of most Middle Eastern societies may inhibit modern state building, some arguing that democracy is impeded by tribal autonomy, the tribes’ lack of respect for centralized state authority, and the preeminence of kinship loyalties over state-based loyalties. At its most simplistic, this idea has been used to suggest that tribal authority structures place a high premium on avoiding

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social rifts, which has led to the uncritical acceptance of leaders. Adam Garfinkle argues, for example, that “when [Egyptian President] Hosni Mubarak or [Syrian President] Bashar Assad wins 95% of the vote in an election—which we usually interpret as an empty act of egomaniacal perversity—it does not strike a typical Egyptian or Syrian as odd.”46 First, this notion assumes a level playing field between the incumbent leaders and the plausible alternatives to their rule. Second, it would probably be equally odd to find an Egyptian or Syrian citizen who believed that the elections were representative of the public’s genuine feelings about their leaders. Until 2005, Egypt’s President Mubarak was returned to office after each election by what was actually a “yes” or “no” referendum, in which he was the only candidate. Syria’s Hafiz al-Assad was returned to office five times in elections in which he was the only candidate and where he captured around 99 percent of the vote. A high level of manipulation, underwritten by a strong coercive capacity, ensured these otherwise unbelievable results. Cultural reductionism has undergone something of a resurgence recently. One variant appeared in the 2003 Arab Human Development Report and implied that authoritarianism is built into tribal Arab culture, which is then imprinted onto the state: Traditional Arab social structures, whether represented in patriarchal societies or in tribes and clans, were not less harmful to modern human values. The values of citizenship, law and normal human rights—in addition to religious rights—all gave way to the mentality of the tribe.47

If this “mentality of the tribe” is indeed so all pervasive, it leaves little possibility for change while tribal structures remain in place, and yet the incredible resilience of tribal structures suggests that they are more than simply relics of the premodern era. Tribal structures have adapted to their changing environments since before the rise of Islam, and it is simplistic to assume that they are no longer capable of adaptation. Furthermore, by this logic the very idea of democratic governance should be unpopular, a suggestion that, as will be discussed shortly, is highly debatable. The suggestion that tribal structures are the key variable in explaining Arab authoritarianism also overlooks the fact that authoritarianism has been just as robust in tribal Arab states as it has been in nontribal Arab states such as Egypt and Tunisia.48 More sophisticated arguments suggest that authoritarianism is due less to the prevalence of primordial or kinship links, which are not of themselves necessarily antithetical to strong civil organizations or independent political action, than to the ability of leaders to work these relationships

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into a patronage system that undermines other forms of affiliation. Halim Barakat argues that the destruction of those modern institutions that exist outside the framework of full state control (such as secular political parties, labor unions, popular movements, and voluntary associations) has left the people with very limited options except to seek refuge in their traditional institutions (that is, religion, sect, tribe, family, ethnicity) to express their discontent.49

Barakat points out that authoritarian Arab leaders have consciously removed organizations commonly associated with Western liberal democracy from the political arena, which makes traditional institutions the only viable means of political expression remaining. Similarly, Bassam Tibi points to tribal structures as a form of protection against a predatory state: “Because the nominal nation-state has not met the challenge [of development], society has resorted to its prenational ties as a solution … Tribalism has been revived under a new cover … that … obstructs the process of state formation.”50 In this analysis, it follows that were the state able to meet the challenges of development, tribal loyalties might be diluted vis-à-vis the state or at least accorded a lower priority on issues pertaining to the country as a whole. This position is considered in Chapter 4. Using adherence to Islam to explain the lack of democracy in the Arab Middle East forms a subset of the arguments concerned with possible cultural impediments. Some writers have argued that the Qur’an gives specific guidance on matters of political and economic organization and that adherence to Islam, therefore, provides a large part of the reason that Arab states have not developed democratic systems of governance. Eli Kedourie argues along these lines that democracy is “alien to the mindset of Islam” and that in the Middle East, people have been historically accustomed to “autocracy and passive obedience.” 51 Samuel Huntington and Bernard Lewis are also commonly criticized for maintaining that Islam is averse to democracy.52 Huntington argued in The Third Wave that Western Christian cultural values, particularly individualism and equality, drove Western Christian states to develop democratic systems of governance.53 In a subsequent article in Foreign Affairs, “The Clash of Civilizations” (later a book),54 he notes that “Western ideas of individualism, liberalism, constitutionalism, human rights, equality, liberty, the rule of law, democracy, free markets, the separation of church and state, often have little resonance in Islamic, Confucian, Japanese, Hindu, Buddhist, or Orthodox cultures.”55 Attributing the continuation of authoritarianism to inflexibility in the doctrines of Islam, John Waterbury contends that “for the present there does not seem to be much room, in practical political terms, for interpreting and

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relativizing those texts insofar as they bear on the organization of government and the definition of political rights.”56 However, Robert Bowker argues that it is more the lack of a universally accepted authority on Islamic doctrine than the doctrines themselves that impedes the introduction of reform. Islam’s doctrines are actually “generally silent on the question of how society should arrange its political affairs.”57 The acceptance of change is thus informed more by social, economic, and political norms and is therefore cautious. The intense debates in the Islamic world are a testament to the lack of consensus about what forms of political organization the Qur’an and the Hadith unambiguously require from a Muslim population and what forms of dissent are religiously acceptable. It is true that some early Islamic jurists set rigid guidelines that mandated almost complete obedience to the leader. Some of these include the notion that “sixty years of tyranny are better than one hour of civil strife” or that “an unjust ruler should not be deposed if strife would follow” (from the eleventh-century jurist al-Ghazali); or al-Ash’ari’s (d.935) view that popular revolution was not religiously permitted under any circumstances, even if the Caliph violated his duties.58 However, to explain these maxims as prescriptive knowledge that is inextricably woven into the fabric of Arab or Muslim society leaves much unanswered. Islamic theologians have also consistently worked to define good governance and social justice—principles in seeming contrast to the malevolent but stable leaderships described by al-Ghazali or al-Ash’ari. Furthermore, while the debate surrounding the compatibility of Islam and democracy provokes the most passion at the theoretical, doctrinal level, this is probably the least important sphere of contestation.59 At its doctrinal base, any revealed religion could be described as antidemocratic;60 it has been previously argued that, for example, Catholicism was incompatible with democracy. 61 It is the sense of community and the identity-based societal aspects of Islam that have a greater impact on the lives of most Muslims in the Middle East. Attempting to explain the impact of Islam in the region at the theoretical level is therefore likely to be misleading.62 Alfred Stepan and Graeme Robertson argue that it is not the Muslim world so much as the Arab world that displays a statistically surprising democracy deficit. In fact, when one considers the low Gross National Income per capita (GNIpc) of many non-Arab Muslim states, the presence of at least competitive elections and regular changes in government can be found in a high percentage of these countries. 63 There have been a number of opinion polls taken in the last few years based on the assumption that the doctrinal acceptance of, or conflict with, democracy is less important than its social acceptance. The World Values Survey (WVS) provides some empirical data about the levels of support

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for democratic governance in the Arab and Islamic world. Fares Braizat, a researcher at the Jordanian Center for Strategic Studies (JCSS), analyzed WVS data from seventy-five countries and found that being predominantly Muslim was “among the strongest predictors of its aggregate level of support for democracy.”64 Furthermore, he demonstrated that of the eleven Muslim countries included in the survey, the three Arab states (Egypt, Jordan, and Morocco) showed some of the highest levels of support for democracy.65 Of course it could also be argued that it is not surprising for these respondents to support democracy because they are living without it, but it undermines the often-made claim that Arabs or Muslims prefer rigid authoritarian structures to more democratic ones. These results also indicated that Arab respondents were fairly equally divided over preferences for a secular or nonsecular system. Mark Tessler and Eleanor Gao report that “roughly half ” of the Arabs that responded to the WVS in favor of democracy also called for a system that grants Islam an important role.66 However, other opinion polls conducted in Jordan indicate that while support for democracy may be widespread in the Arab world, it is not an urgent concern for most people. Other figures from Fares Braizat and the JCSS are suggestive on this point. On the one hand, in a poll taken in 2001, close to 95 percent of (893) Jordanians responded that democracy is either a “good” or “very good” political system for Jordan.67 On the other hand, in another survey by the JCSS taken two years later, only 1.4 percent of respondents said that they saw “enhancing democracy and freedom of speech” as being the country’s most pressing need. Improving poverty and unemployment and fighting corruption were given by a total of nearly 83 percent of respondents as being the most urgent problems in the country.68 Many people living in the Arab world, therefore, do not necessarily equate democracy with their more immediate concerns such as improved in living standards. Democracy also tends to be equated with perceived Western imperialism and, more recently, with the Bush Doctrine rationale and the “war on terror.”69 While many may strongly believe that democracy is preferable to authoritarianism, forcing a transition is not necessarily a top priority, when compared to the more pressing demands of everyday life. The gap between the popular enthusiasm for democracy as a preferable form of government and the reality that not many people give it top priority indicates some of the difficulties in elevating democracy from something that is desired to something that is practiced. Yemeni writer Abdullah al-Faqih argues that the most important key to understanding the fluctuations between political openings and closures in the Middle East are the rational responses made by elites to enhance their legitimacy in the face of perceived threats to their power. For example, during economic austerity or alliances with traditionally unpopular states

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(particularly the United States or Israel), liberal reforms have been offered. When these reforms are perceived to then potentially threaten the regime, they are retracted. Al-Faqih argues that Arab regimes are reactive, flexible, and manipulative and suggests that Arab states will leave this cycle when, and only when, genuinely competitive politics becomes the least unfavorable option for the leaders.70 His thesis removes the impetus for reform from nonruling elite actors and marginalizes both the actors that are working for change and the possibility that reforms may be propelled from actors or forces outside the incumbent elite. It therefore begs the question: what might make democratic politics the least unfavorable option for an incumbent Arab leader if politics are so entirely dependent on the actions of elites? Another important factor in perpetuating the status quo is the weakness of opposition forces. Most Arab leaders preside over a society in which opposition groups are both weak and divided, often along secularist and Islamist or Islamist and non-Islamist lines, but also sometimes along regional, sectarian, or ethnic lines.71 Daniel Brumberg discusses the use of divide-and-rule tactics in pluralized-authoritarian polities and argues that these political environments endure because opposition groups continue to gain something from the arrangement, despite the constraints placed on them. Contrary to popular wisdom in much of the democratization literature, Brumberg suggests that by allowing greater pluralism, Middle Eastern regimes are better able to contain opposition groups. Under a state-managed political opening, the opposition may “blow off steam” but it may not fatally undermine the regime. Under this arrangement, neither party gets everything it wants but it does not lose everything either.72 In a subsequent article, Brumberg suggests that democracy is also kept at bay by the frailty of state institutions in the Arab world, particularly the vague constitutions that may be interpreted according to the interests of the rulers and legal systems that do not protect citizens equally, especially those calling for change. Brumberg recommends constitutional reforms that separate the judiciary and the executive and changes to articles that tie freedoms to arbitrary benchmarks such as Islam or national security.73 The hurdle still remains, however, in strengthening these institutions and, more importantly, in ensuring that the regime complies with the new strength of institutions that are not under the direct control of the executive. Other writers have argued that the resilience of authoritarian structures in the Arab world is drawn from the state’s disproportionate access to externally generated income, also known as rents. The ruling elite in rentier states is reliant on income generated through means other than its own domestic labor force, such as foreign aid or the international oil market. Access to this form of income means that much, sometimes most, of the

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state’s income is simply received from abroad, rather than extracted from the people. In these states, leaders can afford to demand less tax from the population and can, therefore, essentially purchase their legitimacy by distributing economic benefits. The argument goes that without a heavy tax burden, people are far less inclined to demand the right to play a role in political decision making and change their leaders. The people are, therefore, more economically dependent on the state than they are on their own productive capacity, thus reducing their ability or need to demand greater political inclusion. John Waterbury showed that the Arab world is not significantly undertaxed when compared to other developing nations, and in fact was taxed more heavily than any other developing region (citing World Bank figures from 1975 to 1985). He says, however, that a number of regimes in the region “live more from rents than from direct tax revenues” (italics added). Direct taxes are quite low but he argues that this still suggests that there is no straightforward correlation between democracy and levels of taxation. However, having the commanding stake in the national economy does afford states the ability to distribute funds to the population as and when they wish, creating a political economy of reward and punishment based on loyalty to the regime and inclusion in its patronage networks.74 Rentierism takes a number of different forms and can include cases where the external income accrues to the population instead of to the state, as is usually the case with remittances received from foreign workers. In each type of rentierism, however, the level of external income forms an artificial barrier between the state and the society and can increase the autonomy of one over the other. Along these lines, Michael Ross suggests that the presence of exportable quantities of oil renders states more likely to be authoritarian than does a majority of the population practicing Islam.75 However, again it is not just the oil-rich Arab states that are authoritarian. States with small amounts of oil, such as Egypt, Tunisia, and Syria, are not democratic and neither are states with no oil, such as Jordan, although they do have access to other forms of rent, such as donor aid, rent for foreign military bases, or transportation costs related to the oil industry. The rentier-states model predicts a crisis of political legitimacy when the economy declines owing to a reduction in its externally generated income. As this decline is generally beyond the control of the government, an increase in domestic political freedoms can be used as a way of reducing popular pressure for regime change amid economic austerity measures and increased taxation. Of course, it is also possible that this situation leads to a coup or even state collapse; pressure for reform is not a necessary outcome. However, neither the level of wealth that accrues to the state vis-à-vis the society nor the fact that direct taxation is unusually low in the Middle

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East explains why, after the economic crises have subsided, the subsequent deliberalization has not led to more aggressive demands for democracy. Larbi Sadiki argues that the political opposition that swelled in Algeria and Jordan in the wake of economic crises was an example of the “people’s power” that resulted in “clear-cut democratic experiments … These riots have served as a catalyst to effect change in the direction of democracy.”76 If Sadiki’s thesis that “evidence from the Arab world supports the idea that democratic transition can be the result of social disorder triggered by bread riots”77 is accurate, one would expect further social disorder when the government revokes the democratic reforms that the people won. However, while Sadiki is right to point out the catalytic effect of the popular opposition to government in these instances, popular anger—even when it is expressed against the government—is not necessarily a sign of democratic change. In each of the instances he mentions,78 the authoritarian power was reconfigured slightly and survived. The forces of regime maintenance have thus far outweighed the forces operating against it. When Jordanian reforms began to be reeled in as the 1993 elections approached, there was little significant public outcry, and deliberalization was able to continue. In addition to Algeria and Jordan, Sadiki refers to civil disobedience in Tunisia, Morocco, and Egypt that was followed by “incremental but continuous, though token, pluralisation.” He notes that in Sudan, authoritarian governments have fallen to “people’s power” on two occasions. It should be noted, however, that the governments that replaced these authoritarian regimes in Sudan were also authoritarian. Fighting against an authoritarian regime does not necessarily mean fighting for a democratic alternative, and it certainly does not necessarily indicate the likelihood of eventual democratic consolidation. Similarly, the retraction of reforms in post-civil war Yemen (1994) did not provoke a public outcry that the regime was seriously forced to contend with, despite the fact that the economy was in a worse condition than it was when democratization was initially invoked in 1990. The rentier-state model provides a useful explanation of some of the catalysts for reform but is not very useful for understanding why authoritarianauthoritarian political systems have endured when the reforms are subsequently retracted. However, the artificial distance between state and society that rentierism creates can greatly reduce the cost of coercion for the state and help shield Arab leaders from the usual costs of repression.79 The Arab world spends more per capita on its military than any other region in the world. In the late 1990s, Arab countries spent an average of 7.4 percent of GNP on defense, as compared with a global average of 3.8 percent (in 2000). 80 By comparison, NATO countries spent 2.2 percent in 2000.81 More importantly, these states have also shown themselves to be very willing to use this

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capacity against their own citizens, especially where unwelcome grassroots challenges to incumbent leaders are concerned.82 The Middle East also stands out from other regions by the levels of external support that it receives to bolster its security apparatus. During the Cold War, most authoritarian regimes received financial support from one of the major superpowers. When the Cold War ended, so did the majority of this patronage, and a large number of authoritarian countries in Latin America, sub-Saharan Africa, and Eastern Europe experienced significant democratic reforms.83 The Middle East, on the other hand, still receives an extraordinary amount of foreign military assistance, particularly in comparison with the rest of the world, although the massive funding to Israel and Egypt skews these figures considerably. For example, of the total $3.6 billion in Foreign Military Financing (FMF—military grants and underwritten weapons and services purchases to foreign countries) requested by the United States in the 2001 financial year, the Middle East absorbed $3.4 billion. Israel was allocated $1.98 billion, Egypt received $1.3 billion,84 Jordan was allotted $75 million, and Morocco and Tunisia were each granted $2.5 million.85 Since the U.S. invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, these two countries have also been on the list of the largest FMF recipients.86 It is important to note that while these amounts are not evenly spread throughout the region, the extremely high levels of military financing received by Israel and Egypt have helped provide part of the justification for the high military spending throughout the Arab world. Gary Gambill argued in 2003 that historically, the United States had been entirely disinterested in democracy in the Arab world and that they could, therefore, bring about democracy by withholding benefits and endorsements from Arab states that refused to introduce liberal reforms.87 Though this seriously overestimates Washington’s centrality in Arab reform processes, the same logic flowed through the U.S. administration’s rhetoric in mustering support for the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003. President George W. Bush famously drew on the argument that Western imperialism was partly responsible for the lack of democracy in the Arab world: Sixty years of Western nations excusing and accommodating the lack of freedom in the Middle East did nothing to make us safe—because in the long run, stability cannot be purchased at the expense of liberty. As long as the Middle East remains a place where freedom does not flourish, it will remain a place of stagnation, resentment, and violence ready for export.88

To the U.S. administration, the notion that terrorism emanating from the Arab world was due to the lack of democracy provided the justification (rhetorical or otherwise) for a change in its foreign policy in the region.

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By extension, therefore, exporting “freedom” to the Middle East was both desirable and achievable. This is also tied to the notion that trade and market forces underpin liberal democracies and prevent them from going to war against one another. The United States has, however, continued to ply other authoritarian Arab governments (notably Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Jordan, and, more recently, Yemen) with huge sums of military aid and equipment to combat international terrorism, which facilitates their domestic coercive power. During an interview, a senior Yemeni government official paused as a fighter plane roared overhead: “See, this was supplied by the U.S. [to combat terrorists], but all this is for [non-terrorism related uprising in] Sa’ada now.”89 While the coercive capacity and willingness of Arab Middle Eastern states are the most salient factors in explaining the resilience of authoritarianism, physical force, and the threat thereof, is clearly not the only factor. It is reinforced by a combination of access to external rents that fuels personalized patronage networks at the expense of institutions; societies that are divided along ethnic, regional, or religious lines; high levels of poverty; and the regimes’ effectiveness in combining soft power and legitimacyenhancing measures with their coercive capacity. While each factor taken alone may be insufficient to satisfactorily explain the reason for such an overwhelming authoritarian presence in the Arab world (there are usually examples of other countries or regions that have overcome a similar obstacle), the sheer number of plausible contributing factors offered in the transitions literature points to the cumulative nature of the effect. This study, therefore, does not seek to explain the persistence of authoritarianism in Yemen with reference to any single factor, although it does emphasize the importance of the state-sponsored patronage system—fueled by rentier income and the coercive capacity that this underwrites—in explaining the regime’s resilience. Authoritarianism and Political Reform in the Arab Middle East: A Genie out of the Bottle or Business as Usual? There are two main camps on the issue of democratization in the Arab Middle East in the near-to-mid-term future: those who think it more likely that the obstacles to democracy will prove insurmountable, and those who are optimistic that democratic habits are already being incubated. Authors skeptical of the chance for liberal democracy emerging in the Arab world tend to see such hopes as being inextricably linked to the optimism of the “third wave” era and detached from the more somber reality of flexible authoritarianism that is able to adopt specific aspects of democracy where appropriate. Picking up on threads of Eberhard Kienle’s argument about

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political deliberalization in Egypt in the 1990s,90 Oliver Schlumberger articulates this position.91 He argues that the political changes in the region are no more than authoritarian leaderships reacting to new currents in the domestic and international environment, implying that liberalization tells nothing of the prospects for democratization. Like Thomas Carothers and Daniel Brumberg, Schlumberger contends that state-enacted political openings can be instrumental in perpetuating an authoritarian regime.92 Schlumberger attempts to provide a new framework through which the nature of regime change in the Arab Middle East can be understood in a comparative context. He concludes that while the resource-poor,“traditional authoritarian” states of Jordan and Morocco have been generally hailed as the most likely to democratize, their authoritarian power structures remain firmly in place, and none of the political freedoms granted are designed to address this. This, he argues, actually makes them the least likely countries in the region to experience systemic change.93 Schlumberger is dismissive of the possibility of concurrent liberalization and invigorated civil society leading to democracy in the Arab world, despite the fact that such currents have been evident for less than one generation.94 He rejects such prospects on the basis of the confusion that he correctly identifies between liberalization, freedom, and democratization: Democratization in the Arab world’s longer term future cannot be ruled out, but that the arguments brought forth by those advocating the interpretation of current processes of regime change as democratization must be dismissed.95

Stating that liberalization in the Arab Middle East has not yet and need not end in democracy is somewhat different from arguing that it cannot end in democracy. As John Waterbury suggests, “One must entertain the possibility that a civic culture [leading to democracy] can be nurtured in the bosom of autocracy. Was that not the English pattern?”96 While this study follows Schlumberger’s recommendation that more careful investigation be made of the factors that facilitate regime maintenance,97 it rejects the conclusion that the current reforms and processes of change only reinforce the incumbent elite and cannot provide a basis for a process of democratization. Authors who present the more optimistic view of democratization generally argue that democracy is a gradual process that evolves through negotiation between citizens and rulers. This seems a reasonable starting point for investigation. However, within this body of literature, there also tends to be the underlying suggestion that like biological evolution, political evolution is also self-optimizing and culminates in higher political forms

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such as democracy. In this sense, democracy is implied to have some innate connection with human society, where over time and without unnatural impediment, it becomes an inevitable mechanism of political expression. While time may bear witness to these assertions, they are nonetheless bold assumptions. On this point, Ghia Nodia quotes John Mueller: The transitional experience in many postcommunist countries and elsewhere suggests that democracy as a form of government and capitalism as an economic form are really quite simple, even natural, and, unless obstructed by thugs with guns, they can emerge quite easily and quickly without any special social development, prerequisites or preparation.98

This view ignores the complexity of political transitions and fails to examine closely whether any system other than democracy may also have “natural” connections with a society. It may be asked, for example, whether democracy is any more precisely associated with the human condition than with other useful tools. As Samuel Huntington demonstrated in his 1968 book, Political Order in Changing Societies, seemingly liberal openings can also lead to new power struggles between reformers, conservatives, and radicals. They are not necessarily the initial point of an inevitable process of progressive political development.99 Democracy is not as logical or effortless as sometimes suggested. The idea of democratic innateness runs through Dankwart Rustow’s seminal 1970 article, “Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model.” He contends that once democratization has started, it will almost inevitably be completed eventually: Even under such limited conditions of partial democratization of the political structure, a competitive dynamic that completes the process may have been set off … This, roughly, would seem to have been the nature of British developments between 1832 and 1918. Complete democratization, of course, is the only logical stopping point for such a dynamic.100

The question is whether democracy really is analogous to a genie that, once released, cannot be replaced securely in its bottle. Do democratic currents gather strength in the background until some sort of critical mass of support is attained? Does the use of democracy as a legitimizing platform for a regime gradually wear away the legitimacy of any other political system? Despite significant skepticism in the Middle Eastern context (particularly from the mid-1990s onward), the argument that political liberalization mounts gradual pressure for more open and competitive systems of government still forms a scholarly norm. One of the assumptions contained

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in this thinking is that once installed in a society, even if by a self-serving incumbent authority, democracy is likely to increase over time. It is appropriate to quote Rustow again: “We should allow for the possibility that circumstances may force, trick, lure or cajole nondemocrats into democratic behavior and that their beliefs may adjust in due course by some process of rationalization or adaptation.” 101 The idea that democracy can evolve in such a way is echoed by Larry Diamond: In Mexico, Jordan and Morocco, and a number of states in sub-Saharan Africa where former one-party dictators engineered their reelection under pseudodemocratic conditions, these democratic fragments are pressing out the boundaries of what is politically possible, and may eventually generate breakthroughs to electoral democracy. 102

In a similar vein, writing in 1997, Najib Ghadbian states that “the fact that most Arab regimes are under pressures to make more such [liberalizing] changes or face deepening legitimacy crises indicates that liberalization is pushing steadily in the direction of democracy.” 103 In this analysis, authoritarian leaders as rational, self-interested actors who see tactical benefits in offering certain reforms may nevertheless unleash political outcomes over which they cannot maintain control. In his study on game theory and transitions to democracy, Josep Colomer suggests that “democracy creates democrats, rather than a previous democratic culture bringing about democracy.” He argues that where democracy is installed by the ruling elite (as was the case when North and South Yemen unified in 1990), “waves” of democratization are likely because other countries learn to imitate in order to receive tactical benefits.104 Along these lines, Saad Eddin Ibrahim argued in 1995 that a domino effect of democratization is likely in the Arab world, possibly starting with Palestine and hence fortifying existing movements in Morocco, Jordan, and Kuwait.105 Fouad Ajami made a similar point in early 2003 about the possibilities for democracy spreading in the Arab world following a U.S. invasion of Iraq.106 The argument made by the administration of U.S. President George W. Bush prior to the Iraq war was of course strikingly similar. The theoretical model of democratic transitions in the Arab world advanced by Abdo Baaklini, Guilain Denoeux, and Robert Springborg in Legislative Politics in the Arab World clearly illustrates some of the problems with the optimistic view of democratization. Their key argument is that Arab parliaments are increasingly working to create more open political systems. The authors differentiate between Arab democratic experiments and those elsewhere, citing the distinctive political discourse that has

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developed in the region. Democratization in the Arab world, they argue, is characterized by “three stages—al-mithaq (the pact), al-hiwar al-qawmi (national dialogue), and the phase at which the legislature asserts its authority—and power is redistributed away from the executive.”107 The assumption that the process is evidence of a democratic resurgence is implicit, despite the admission that of all the countries studied in this book [Yemen, Kuwait, Morocco, Jordan, Egypt, and Lebanon] Lebanon is the only one to have reached an early phase of the third stage of negotiated transitions—and even there, Syria’s overwhelming influence constrains very heavily what parliament can and cannot do. Morocco and Jordan are not far behind.108

In other words, this linear three-stage process of development is yet to be demonstrated and lacks an empirical basis beyond the hesitant endorsement of Lebanon’s seeming compliance. Developments in Jordan call into question how close that country really is or was to a “third stage” of transition and highlights the necessity of not assuming linearity between liberalization, institutionalization, and democratization. By terming reversals in the transition process as temporary, the authors imply that democracy has been released and cannot, therefore, be completely contained again: “Certainly, this process is not unilinear and can be temporarily reversed—as has been demonstrated since 1994 by the examples of Jordan and, especially, Yemen. Nevertheless, we believe that the overall trend is positive and will continue to be so”109 (emphasis added). By confining itself to proving the beginnings of an as yet undetermined conclusion, however, this model lacks the ability to adapt to complex political, social, and economic forces. It is therefore unlikely to be predictive. While postulations of democratic evolution, such as those described above, have not been demonstrated in the region, they can also not be proven incorrect. Political reforms are often harshly retracted, transitions to democracy remain inconclusive at the very best, and there is yet to be a flurry of imitative behavior beyond that which results in an awkward mix of authoritarianism and vaguely expanded freedoms. However, while the assumption that consolidated liberal democracy evolves in any organic sense takes liberties with the empirical evidence, there remains the possibility that bouts of political reform may still result in political empowerment becoming, to an increasing extent, out of the state’s control. It is against this background that this study examines the possibility of political empowerment expanding in Yemen, despite a regime that is determined to maintain its own power.

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2

A Brief History of the Republic of Yemen: Electoral Politics,War, and Political Retraction

emen’s image for most people, if it evokes one at all, is that of a backward tribal badlands. Most of the Western media attention that it receives quickly delivers two statements about the country: that there are some 60 million guns spread among 20 million people and that it was once home to the bin Laden family:

Y

In the governorate of Ma’rib, a cigarette-smoking 10-year-old carries a Desert Eagle handgun in his belt, one of some 60 million weapons scattered throughout this country of 20 million people … Yemen, bin Laden’s ancestral home, is widely considered a war-on-terrorism basket case.1

Yemen occupies a position of strategic importance on the Bab al-Mandab (The Gate of Lament), a critical choke point where the Red Sea meets the Indian Ocean. It is one of the world’s most important shipping lanes through which an estimated three million barrels of oil travel each day. Yemen is one of the poorest countries in the Arab world, with an annual average per capita income of around $800.2 It has a local population at least equal to but possibly more than, the combined local populations of Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Oman, and the other wealthy but tiny states on the Arabian Peninsula.3 Impoverished and well armed, Yemen forms the demographic core of the peninsula, and its richer neighbor, Saudi Arabia, is very conscious of Yemen’s potential to threaten its own stability. The problems facing Yemen are not unique, and most exist, to varying degrees, throughout the Middle East. However, the level of economic

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instability faced by Yemen amplifies many of its problems. The population is increasing at around 3.45 percent per year (2005 estimate)4—one of the highest rates in the world. Women lack social and legal equality, health care and education are extremely inadequate, and illiteracy is widespread in around 50 percent of the population. The water table is falling to such an extent that the current rate of depletion may render the capital city, Sana’a, uninhabitable in the not-too-distant future. Yemen is not self-sufficient in its food production, and the vast majority of arable land is used to cultivate the nonedible qat plant, popular for its mild stimulant effect. Yemen’s GDP growth for 2005 was 2.4 percent, which was insufficient to keep pace with population growth, let alone meet the World Bank target of 8 percent required for sustained development.5 Rampant corruption further distorts the balance between the rich and the poor. The Ministry of Public Works admitted in 2005, for example, that only 20 percent of its contracts were awarded by tender.6 The national budget relies almost totally on oil and foreign aid, but the long-awaited discovery of vast quantities of oil remains elusive. Oil revenue makes up some 75 percent of the country’s budget and, failing the discovery of substantial new deposits, the World Bank estimated in 2005 that with the current rates of extraction, Yemen’s reserves would be negligible by 2012. This date is ten years earlier than what was previously thought.7 Other estimates are discussed later in this chapter, none of which extend this date by more than eight years or so. With the economy facing a potential freefall and foreign investors and donors exercising caution, it is unlikely that the levels of patronage that have sustained the regime can continue without new sources of rent for the regime’s elite. In addition to these domestic issues, the Yemeni government is under pressure from the United States to combat the cells of Islamist militants and al-Qa’ida sympathizers that are active in the country. Yemen is an player in the United States’ antiterrorism efforts, but the level of apparent sympathy for Islamist radicals within some elements of the regime has prompted the U.S. administration to make its concerns about Yemen’s commitment to the cause public on a number of occasions.8 Within this turbulent environment, the regime fluctuates between political reform and retraction— between a relaxation of controls and retribution against its opponents. The purpose of this chapter is not to provide an in-depth view of Yemen’s political history but to examine the themes of the country’s experiment with democratic concepts and institutions that has been carried out against the backdrops of unification and, later, an entrenched patronage system. It introduces the areas in which limited reforms have been possible and those around which the regime set its red lines to prevent a genuine devolution of power. Specific analysis of the impact of the postunification reforms on

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Yemen’s powerful tribal groups, political Islamists, government institutions, parliament, and opposition groups is left to the remaining chapters. A brief outline of the Republic of Yemen’s (ROY’s) political geography is important at the outset because Yemen’s physical contours have had a considerable impact on its social and political contours, the effects of which are still apparent in the unified state. While this is discussed further in Chapter 5 with reference to the preexisting divisions among opposition groups, several of the key divisions warrant explanation here. Much of the literature and contemporary discourse refers to the differences between the former Northern and Southern states. However, in terms of Yemen’s socioeconomic and sociopolitical cleavages, there are some clear differences between Upper and Lower Yemen. Upper Yemen refers here to the northern highlands region that stretches from the Saudi border in the north, to Shabwa in the east, to Hajja in the west, and to Dhamar in the south. It solely consists of territories in the former Northern state, the Yemen Arab Republic (YAR). Lower Yemen includes the former YAR governorates of Ta’izz, Ibb, and Hodeidah, which are at a much lower altitude than the highland region of Upper Yemen. Upper and Lower Yemen are separated by the mountainous ridge that severs Ta’izz and Ibb—the most populous and agriculturally rich region of the country—from the arid northern highland region.9 Broadly speaking, there is a sectarian divide between the two regions; a majority of the population in Upper Yemen are Zaydi Shi’ite Muslims while the vast majority of Lower Yemen and the former People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen (PDRY) are Shafi’i Sunni Muslims. In many ways, the Zaydi sect of Upper Yemen (some 20–25 percent of the population of unified Yemen) is closer to other Sunni sects than it is to other Shi’ite sects, and historically there has not been significant religiously fueled animosity between the two groups.10 However, there has been, and is still some antagonistic “usthem” feelings between the two communities, which have been founded more on cultural, social, and political grounds than on theological differences.11 Some media coverage of the sporadic Sa’ada uprising, which is led by a Zaydi Sayyid family, has suggested that sectarian divisions were the primary motivation for the conflict. The Grand Ayatollah of Iran, for example, accused the Yemeni government of waging war against Shi’ites and of persecuting them “for their faith.”12 However, while sectarian lines are a factor at the very local level of this conflict—and have become more relevant as the conflict drags on—at a national level, Yemen’s sectarian divisions are unusually blurred and are generally not a reliable gauge for determining political allegiances. What has proven more significant than a sectarian split between Upper and Lower Yemen is the location of natural resources. Upper Yemen does not have sufficient natural resources or productive land

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to sustain itself and has historically had to look beyond the region for its basic survival. This historical reality has continued to shape the political organization of postunification Yemen.13 In the Lower Yemeni governorates of Ibb and Tai’zz, the considerable amount of annual rainfall historically allowed for settled communities of subsistence farmers.14 The land was sufficiently fertile for surplus production, which gave rise to a tax base, a formal bureaucracy, and formal legal institutions. In short, the greater economic predictability of an economy based on reliably productive land allowed for greater political stability. In the arid highlands of Upper Yemen however, where the low rainfall meant low yielding land and an unstable food supply, political organization was dominated by the need to forcibly extract supplementary produce from other regions. Society was structured into military-tribal units to achieve the agility required by this mode of production. Political organization was maintained by a tribal legal code, ’urf, instead of the shari’a law used in Lower Yemen. As Abd al-Ghani al-Iryani writes, the tribal code is a mechanism that “is exceptionally effective [at] conflict containment … conflict resolution … [and] wealth distribution … but [is] tragically deficient in organizing wealth creation.”15 The tribal structure allowed those in Upper Yemen to fight for what they could not produce themselves, and looting raids into Lower Yemen were very common. One of Yemen’s most famous political leaders, Ahmed No’man, referred to Upper and Lower Yemen as “Yemen al-Geesh” (Yemen of the Army) and “Yemen al-Eesh” (Yemen of the Bread), respectively, to denote the physical domination of the highlanders over the lowlanders.16 As a result of these two competing forms of income generation and social organization, the Zaydi highlanders have typically been the political elite while the lowlanders have been the economic elite. This balance has shifted in the Republic of Yemen, however, as the state’s economic resources are increasingly distributed by the highland elite to their traditional clients. The disempowerment of the traditional economic elite of Lower Yemen is now sharply felt. In the oil era, regions outside the northern highlands still possess the lion’s share of the country’s most important resources. Roughly 80 percent of unified Yemen’s oil is located in the former PDRY (the majority of which is in Hadhramaut governorate).17 The remaining 20 or so percent is in Marib, a strongly tribal area in Upper Yemen with considerable animosity toward the Saleh regime. The coastal region, with all of its fisheries and strategically located seaports, is also outside landlocked Upper Yemen. Maintaining access to these resources is thus vital to the maintenance of the resource-poor highlands-based regime. The people of the southeastern province of Hadhramaut maintain a strong identity that is distinct from that of other Yemenis. Historically, it was a sultanate in its own right and had strong financial connections with

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Hyderabad in India and with Southeast Asia. The Hadhrami diaspora, throughout Southeast Asia, is still enormous, particularly in Indonesia, Singapore, and Malaysia. Its considerable oil reserves strengthen the conviction of many Hadhramis that theirs is a viable independent state that is being milked of its resources by the poorer and more populous North. Since the 1994 civil war, the regime’s fear of another secession attempt has been focused primarily around the Hadhramaut. Much of the YSP leadership was from the Hadhramaut, and some in the Northern regime believed that their intention after unification was to create a separate Hadhrami state. The fact that President Saleh did not officially capture Aden and claim victory in the war until Mukalla (the capital of Hadhramaut) was captured weeks later lends credibility to the claim that Hadhrami secession was President Saleh’s main fear. Preunification History The YAR was established following the overthrow of the Zaydi Hamid al-Din Imamate on September 26, 1962. The Zaydi Imams had ruled in Yemeni territory for roughly one thousand years (with the exception of two periods of occupation by the Ottoman Empire from 1538 to 1636, and from 1849 to 1918), and the Hamid al-Din family dynasty was founded in 1891.18 The North Yemeni Imamate was governed by a system of theocratic, hereditary, and absolutist rule, with the Imam controlling all aspects of judicial, administrative, and legislative authority. In 1931, for example, it was suggested to Imam Yahya that he establish a cabinet, whereupon he appointed several ministers, each of whom was one of his sons.19 It would be hard to overstate the lack of development that typified North Yemen prior to the 1962 revolution. The Imam’s ministries were entirely incapable of providing any social services to the population (then around 4.5 million). There were three hospitals (of grim reputation) and two orphanages, and there was neither a local currency nor any sewage systems.20 The Imams, Yahya and Ahmed (particularly the former), prided themselves on stemming any potential external influences on the country, and it was not until 1947 that Imam Yahya permitted his subjects to leave the country.21 The Imam relied significantly on tribal support for its legitimacy, and the Hashid and Bakil tribal confederations were often referred to as the wings of the Imamate. In 1960, Imam Ahmad ordered the execution of the paramount sheikh (and his oldest son), from the important tribal confederation (the Hashid) for opposing his rule. One of the executed sheikh’s other sons, Sheikh Abdullah bin Hussein al-Ahmar (paramount sheikh of the Hashid, head of the Islah party, and Speaker of parliament until his death in 2007) was thereafter bitterly opposed to the Hamid al-Din Imamate and

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threw his support, and the support of the Hashid confederation, behind demands for a North Yemeni republic. The military coup that toppled the Imamate was the result of increasing political opposition to the power that was concentrated in the position of the Imam and in tribal enmity and drew upon the surge of republican nationalism that was sweeping the Arab world at the time. A week after Imam Ahmad died of natural causes in September 1962 and was replaced by his son Mohammed bin Badr, a small group of revolutionary officers forced the new Imam out and declared North Yemen a republic. In the ensuing civil war (1962–70) between the royalists backed by Saudi Arabia and, to a lesser degree by Jordan and Iran, and the republicans backed by Egypt under Gamal Abd al-Nasser, the republicans were victorious and established the conservative, tribally based YAR. More details about the tribal foundations of the post-civil war YAR are given in Chapter 4. The YAR experienced significant socioeconomic developments in the 1970s that were spurred by workers’ remittances from Yemen’s huge foreign labor force, large amounts of foreign aid, and the local development association (LDA) movement.22 The self-help ethos of the LDAs drew upon the influx of the unregulated remittances to provide education and basic infrastructure, such as roads, schools, health facilities, and water pipes, to communities beyond the reach of the government.23 Political uncertainty accompanied these developments, however, and the 1970s were characterized by power struggles among political leaders and by weak state control. The bloodless overthrow of President Abd al-Rahman al-Iryani in 1974 by Ibrahim al-Hamdi was followed by al-Hamdi’s assassination in 1977 (with the almost certain involvement of the current president, then Major Ali Abdullah Saleh). Al-Hamdi’s successor, President Ahmad al-Ghashmi, was also assassinated just eight months later when he was sent an exploding briefcase by the YSP from South Yemen. Shortly after coming to power with the assistance of several powerful tribal leaders, Ibrahim al-Hamdi had begun to base his policies on stemming the influence of tribal leaders. He resented the political power wielded by tribal leaders and saw it as inimical to development. He tried to exclude sheikhs from politics and killed and jailed a number of them. These policies earned him powerful enemies, particularly because they had previously formed part of al-Hamdi’s support base. One of al-Hamdi’s ministers explained that al-Hamdi “was killed because he tried to stop corruption, he tried to curb tribalism and to establish a state, and this angered the sheikhs and the military, so he was killed. Saleh has learnt this lesson and is not prepared to try to stop these forces.”24 Comments such as these are indicative of the resentment felt by elites who are not part of the tribal or military base of the current regime.

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Many also tie Saleh’s personal style to the fact that al-Hamdi’s death was a product of his exclusion of strong popular forces. While Saleh maintains many characteristics of a military leader, for whom following orders and heavily centralized control are paramount, he is also aware that the exclusion of any powerful element of Yemeni society would likely lead to his own downfall. On these abilities, a member of the Majlis al-Shura observed: “He is a tremendously resilient leader—he can bend and bend but does not break.”25 President Saleh has built his power through the incorporation of the various power groups into his patronage network, particularly the tribes and the military, but also opposition leaders. Within that network, actors are given some room to move, and some of their interests are considered, usually on an inconsistent basis. Upon assuming the presidency of the YAR in 1978, Saleh’s ability to accommodate and incorporate his rivals strengthened the regime and brought about a period of relative political stability. Under Saleh, the army and the civil service were modernized, and some outlying tribal regions were brought under something resembling state control. Robert Burrowes notes that “for the first time … the republican state [became] more than just a nominal presence in the countryside.”26 Saleh’s concern with maintaining legitimacy, coupled with his aversion to multiparty politics, led to the establishment of the GPC as a permanent body in 1982. Although the GPC is now the ruling party of Yemen, it retains the ideological incoherence that justified its inception in the early 1980s, when political parties were banned and an incorporative political umbrella was the preferred method of accommodating competing political factions. It was, as it remains, comprised of a vast number of diverse elites that had supported the regime and formalized the existing system of patronage that was available to politically relevant supporters of Saleh’s rule. In 1988, President Saleh called elections for the People’s Constituent Council, the legislative body of the GPC, which went on to merge with the YSP’s People’s Supreme Council upon unification in 1990 to form the unified interim parliament.27 The South Yemeni state was also established after a revolution in the 1960s, although its experience was quite different from that of the North. The port city of Aden was part of the British Empire between 1839 and 1967, and the city stood apart dramatically from the hinterland in terms of both development and prosperity. The combination of the surge in various strains of nationalism following World War II, the republican revolution in the North, and the prorepublican assistance of Egypt against Britain helped nationalists in the South achieve independence from Britain in 1967. A socialist state—the People’s Republic of Yemen—was quickly declared by the leftists within the National Liberation Front (NLF). Paul Dresch estimates that about one-quarter of the population fled shortly

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after Britain’s withdrawal and that much of Aden’s prosperity followed closely behind.28 In 1969, the radical faction of the NLF, led by Abd al-Fattah Isma’il, seized power from Qahtan al-Sha’bi’s relatively moderate faction. The South Yemeni regime became the most radical in the Arab world, identifying itself with revolutionary socialist struggle and espousing an austere Marxism.29 In 1970, the NLF changed the name of the state to the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen (PDRY). The new PDRY’s constitution deliberately pitted itself against its more populous neighbor, calling for the “liberat[ion of] society from backward tribalism.”30 Ideological clashes between the conservative Northern elite and the socialists in the South kept the relationship between the two independent Yemeni states fraught, and each side devoted considerable energy and resources to supporting opposition movements in the other. This mutual animosity developed into border wars in 1972 and in 1979. One of the ironies of the postrevolutionary period was, however, that two states with such diametrically opposed ideologies and in regular open conflict each professed their desire to unify with the other.31 Under the leadership of Isma’il, the PDRY quickly began to nationalize the economy and introduce state-led development policies. Land was redistributed, companies were nationalized, and the traditional power holders, such as sultans, religious clerics, and dominant tribal clans, were dislodged.32 Control of society was attempted through tight police surveillance, but it was the factional violence at the center between the leaders of the NLF (which was transformed into the YSP after the assassination of President Salim Rubayyi Ali) that most severely undermined the regime’s efforts to genuinely transform the PDRY. By the 1980s, the regime had largely accepted the necessity of incorporating traditional leaders into the regime, despite its continued rhetoric against tribalism in its ideological pursuit of “scientific socialism.”33 The factional violence within the YSP came to a head in January 1986. President Ali Nasser, who had been pursuing a closer relationship with his Northern counterpart, President Ali Abdullah Saleh, was strongly criticized by former president Abd al-Fattah Isma’il for his personal excesses, consumerism, corruption, and alleged betrayal of the socialist revolution.34 Isma’il returned from exile in the Soviet Union and successfully applied pressure for Ali Nasser to be demoted, while Isma’il regained standing and seized the second-most powerful position in the YSP. On January 13, fearing a coup from their rival faction, a group of Ali Nasser’s supporters entered party headquarters and shot dead several members of the politburo, including Isma’il. In the ensuing two-week civil war, several thousand party members and many civilians were killed, leaving a total of around ten thousand dead. The PDRY and YSP never recovered from the damage caused

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by this conflict. Ali Nasser fled to the YAR with up to thirty thousand of his followers, where they were permitted to remain, and the leadership of the YSP passed to Ali Salim al-Beidh.35 In the wake of the 1986 crisis, the YSP began to look to pluralism in an attempt to recover from the massive societal and political rifts caused by the conflict. YSP General Secretary Jarallah Omar wrote in 1989 that greater pluralism was required to counter the fact that “the working class here is quantitatively and qualitatively weak.”36 By the late 1980s, Aden had the freest press in the Arabian Peninsula.37 When North and South Yemen unified in 1990, the population of the South was only about one-quarter of that of the North. Since the Northern victory in the 1994 civil war, the political culture, institutions, and elite of the former North have almost entirely dominated the country, much to the anger of the former South. By 2005, resentment at unification in the former South had reached levels unseen since the 1994 civil war. One member of the Political Science Department at Sana’a University noted in 2006, for example:“There are indicators today that Yemen is traveling on the same road it took in 1994.”38 Even the victors in that conflict, the Northern elite, were quoted nervously acknowledging the rising Southern discontent. Sheikh Abd al-Majeed al-Zindani, a popular and powerful Sunni cleric from the North who railed against the South in the lead up to the civil war, was quoted by the Yemeni weekly newspaper al-Wasat in June 2005 telling President Saleh that “if there were a referendum in the South today on the union, they would all vote against it.”39 After the anniversary of unification in May 2007, large demonstrations broke out throughout the former South protesting the perceived nature of Northern domination over the South. As poverty deepened and perceptions of political exclusion sharpened, the unification that was the backdrop to Yemen’s democracy experiment became more openly questioned. Unification and the Democracy Experiment For all of the cleavages that exist within the Yemeni nation, the idea of unifying “the two parts of the country” had strong support in both the former North and South. The end of the Cold War reduced the status of the PDRY as a Soviet client and lent weight to the popular idea that the two states should unite. The Republic of Yemen was created on May 22, 1990, and was the first in the Arabian Peninsula to declare itself a participatory parliamentary democracy. Voting rights were granted to all citizens over the age of eighteen, along with far greater freedoms in expression and in political organization. These moves, particularly the inclusion of women in the electoral process, earned Yemen the censure of neighboring Saudi Arabia for being “un-Islamic.”40

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The democracy experiment must be viewed against the backdrop of unification, which was the overriding concern for both the Northern and Southern elites. The invocation of democracy was used primarily to ease the process of unification and, hopefully, to settle conflicts between the leaders over the direction of the new state. The YAR was a traditionalist, free market state that was heavily dependent on foreign aid, and the PDRY identified itself as Marxist. Neither state had an established history of electoral or democratic politics.41 Political parties were banned and institutionalized political participation was virtually nonexistent. Nonetheless, the public was very optimistic about the inclusive foundations of the new state. Since unification, the political elites of the former YAR have expanded their authority over the unified state, and those of the former PDRY have been largely incorporated into the Northern structure, marginalized, or removed (either killed or exiled). There is considerable debate in the literature over the fundamental reasons behind the sudden unification, the details of which need not be dwelt upon here, except to say that underlying the decision was the fact that both sides perceived the likely short-term political and economic benefits of unification. Both were suffering from a lack of legitimacy and looked to grand actions to enhance it. Most significantly, both thought that they could outmaneuver their counterparts to expand their own power.42 The atmosphere of intense distrust between leaders in which unification was conducted ultimately meant that despite proclamations and initial appearances of democratic willingness, intense interparty rivalry undermined tolerance and cooperation. It served to strengthen regional, tribal, and sectarian identities both in the leaders and in the population.43 Considerable quantities of oil had been discovered in 1984 along the border of the YAR and PDRY (between Marib and Shabwa), and it was clear that a decision over ownership rights would be fraught—and probably be determined militarily—if unification was not achieved. There is also reason to believe that the North had more information about the South’s potential oil reserves than the South did.44 The GNP of the YAR had also risen to levels that threatened the income it received from foreign donors and uniting with the PDRY was, according to Sheila Carapico, one way to prolong its access to aid money.45 Similarly, having lost the economic support of the collapsing Soviet Union, the PDRY was acutely aware of the looming economic turmoil and believed that unification with the North might help produce the necessary capital and legitimacy. In the hurry to solve pressing short-term concerns, the enormity of the project was underestimated. Unification was achieved essentially by merging the two former regimes together in what was, theoretically, a reasonably equitable power-sharing arrangement. Despite South Yemen having had only about 20–25 percent of the

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population of North Yemen, the two former ruling parties (the YSP and the GPC respectively) decided that they would share power on a roughly fiftyfifty basis until elections could be held in November 1992.46 Democracy was seen, naively in retrospect, as a convenient mechanism with which to blend the dramatically different conceptions of an ideal political system. Joseph Kostiner writes: “In the Yemeni leaders’ view, democratization meant unlimited and unstructured debate. The result was a proliferation of proposals and amendments and counterproposals over an unrestricted time span.”47 As will be discussed later, the relative freedom to debate has remained one of the most conspicuous aspects of the Yemeni political experiment. Democratization has also been seen as a way for the Yemeni government to secure donor commitments and significant amounts of foreign currency. The then prime minister Abd al-Kareem al-Iryani reminded the international community at the 1999 Conference of Emerging Democracies that Yemen required financial support to “ensure the continuation of democracy.”48 Similarly, on the night before the 2003 parliamentary elections, state television ran a documentary celebrating the achievements of President Saleh. The program showed him meeting with various heads of state, but the closing scenes were the most telling about Yemen’s bid for international acceptance. As President Saleh was shown standing with various U.S. presidents (Jimmy Carter, George Bush Sr., Bill Clinton, and George W. Bush), the narrator noted that U.S. approval was essential for Yemen’s relationship with the international financial institutions, or in other words, for access to donor money.49 Electoral politics has been an important element of Yemen’s endeavor to secure foreign capital. The new constitution, adopted after a nationwide referendum in 1991, granted voting and candidacy rights to all adult Yemeni citizens equality before the law, a democratic political system, and judicial independence.50 Shari’a law was to be the main basis of legislation—a controversial inclusion with a potential secular interpretation that the Islah party successfully worked to overturn—whereafter shari’a was referred to as the sole source of all legislation. Robert Burrowes notes that the ruling coalition of Northern and Southern elites “probably got more democratic politics than bargained for”—a contention that is supported by the rapid retraction of reforms following the defeat of the former South in the 1994 civil war.51 The new press law of 1990 made considerable promises regarding the right to the freedom of expression, the press, and access to information, which led to an almost overnight explosion in the number of publications in Yemen and in the public’s potential to scrutinize the government. Yemenis embraced with great enthusiasm the lifting of old laws that curtailed their ability to speak freely. However, the new law also stipulated strict qualifications that journalists had to meet and other restrictive conditions under which

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an organization could publish material. The publication of material deemed harmful to national unity, national security, Islam, the economy, or the president was prohibited. One can only assume that the vague nature of this list was designed to ensure that the rules of the expanded political sphere were still under the control of the government.52 Similarly, the political parties and elections laws paved the way for the establishment of a plethora of political parties (most of which did not survive the first parliamentary elections in 1993) but again aimed to prevent people from misusing their new rights against the interests of such loosely defined entities as “Islamic precepts and values,”“the sovereignty, integrity, and unity of the country and the people,” “the republican system,” or “the national cohesion of the Yemeni society.”53 These articles made an ambiguous safety valve that could conceivably be used against anyone genuinely threatening the power of the ruling elite.54 However, the removal of restrictions to meet and organize freely saw an entirely unprecedented number of grassroots organizations springing up. The roughly three thousand candidates that competed in the 1993 elections and the actual conduct of the elections—which, though significantly flawed, still marked a considerable departure from the practice of politics just three years earlier—underlined the enthusiasm within the Yemeni population for political action. Some observers, particularly Sheila Carapico, have rightly used this to demonstrate that Arab populations do not necessarily prefer to be passive observers of the decisions made by their leaders but embrace the opportunity to participate, given a chance.55 Most of the forty-five political parties to emerge from this new legislation were very obscure, and only twenty-one of them even contested the 1993 elections (most unsuccessfully). Three main parties contested the elections, the GPC, the YSP, and the Islah, each of which was, despite pluralistic appearances, built partially on social, religious, and regional cleavages.56 While more information is given about the makeup and strategies of the major parties in Chapters 5 and 6, a brief outline of their stance and structure is given below. As Ahmed Saif writes, the political manifestos of each of the parties are essentially variations on the same themes: support for democracy and unity; strengthening the judiciary; economic development; denunciation of corruption and terrorism; and improving regional relationships … Moreover, [the] manifestos [have been] full of aggrandizement of leaders and party history at the expense of issues and policies.57

The GPC retains its mish-mash of ideologies, which includes vague commitments to national and party democracy, Islamic values, and development

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of the private sector. It continues to take pride in describing itself as an “umbrella” organization in which many disparate interests are incorporated into one political group. Abd al-Aziz al-Saqqaf described the GPC in 1989 (that is, prior to unification) as an organization that seeks stability through attempting to balance the influence of Yemen’s differing regional, intellectual, and tribal groups: One finds in the Shura Council that the Speaker is from Bakil (the main tribal confederation in Yemen), the deputy speaker from the Hajariyya region (which represents the commercial and administrative sector); the secretary-general is from Hashid (the second main tribal confederation) and his deputy is from the Tihama region.58

The pattern described by al-Saqqaf of the attempt to give at least the outward appearance of regional and tribal balance through the appointments of GPC elites has endured to the present. To be a member of the GPC, therefore, requires no necessary ideological leanings. Members and leaders are able to pursue various personal and business interests. While personal, military, and tribal affiliations are very important in the competition for resources distributed by the president, the party quite happily incorporates people from very different ideological backgrounds on the strength of its own patronage system. Islamists, former socialists, merchants, tribal leaders, moderates, hard-line religious conservatives, and some genuinely progressive reformers all exist side by side under the GPC umbrella. As a party, the GPC is driven by the desire to maintain power, perceiving its biggest threats to come from the tribes, potential renewed efforts from the South (particularly the historically autonomous Hadhramaut region) to secede from the unified republic and, more recently, the Islah party. It works to incorporate the powerful elites from each group into the president’s patronage network. Although the inclusion of the various regional and interest groups described above has continued, the party remains dominated by elites from Upper Yemen and the patronage links that it forms with other politically relevant elites. It is strengthened by its ability to vastly outspend the other parties through its monopoly on state and economic resources and its dominance in the parliament and the military.59 While the constitution allows members of parliament to cross the floor and go against their party line, this occurs only rarely in the GPC because MPs understand that obedience is demanded on significant issues.60 Further, it is made clear to party members that disagreeing with the directives of the president is likely to result in the removal of benefits or the withdrawal of party nomination in the next election.61 For its lower-level members, belonging to the GPC brings benefits and an element of protection. It is made clear to people in many professions,

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particularly teaching and academia, that finding a job or career progression is not likely without a GPC card. However, the GPC is not a “ruling party” in the usual sense of the term. Political decision making does not begin and end with the party caucus but rather with a shifting set of alliances between notables and traditional (generally tribal and religious) and military leaders—not all of whom are even necessarily GPC members—at the top of whom is the president. The ruling party itself is far less important than the individuals who are its leading members. The GPC was essentially created as a political mobilizational tool for the state and is a semi-formal shell in which the Saleh regime’s patronage networks operate. The party is granted inordinate access to public money and the security apparatus, which explains the majority of its strength. Without its privileged access to the resources of the state and its role in their distribution, the party would cease to exist in its current form. Even when the party began to devolve some of its limited institutional power to the geographic periphery in the lead-up to the 2006 elections, it did so by targeting local traditional elites, members of the state security apparatus, and district local council directors as new party members, not by appealing to the people with its policy platform. Restructuring in this way helped the GPC to better harness the input of local elites but showed that the party was still firmly founded upon the personalized patronage system. As a party, the GPC is weaker than the sum of its parts and derives most of its power by being the party of the president. The GPC essentially lends support, and its parliamentary majority, to the will of President Saleh and, by extension, to the elites with whom he consults. Being both a tool and a symptom of the regime’s patronage system, the strength of the GPC is seriously undermined as that system unravels. Being a GPC member does not necessarily indicate membership in the regime; the two are not mutually inclusive. One can serve the regime without being a part of the GPC, Islah’s former leader Sheikh Abdullah bin Hussein al-Ahmar being the most obvious case in point. Technically, the Yemeni “regime” refers to the president, the cabinet, and the parliament, but in reality, the latter two institutions are extremely restricted in their ability to act. The president is the decision-maker, but he consults with a range of allies and partners. The vast majority is from the Northern highland region (Upper Yemen), but there are some Southerners, such as Vice President Abd al-Rabbuh Mansour Hadi, whose interests are considered. As oil reserves dwindle in the post-2006 elections period it is increasingly clear that the circle of regime partners is restricting. Ali Muhsin al-Ahmar is a somewhat distant cousin of the president and also a Sanhan tribal sheikh. He is often incorrectly termed Saleh’s halfbrother. Ali Muhsin is widely considered the second most powerful man in the country but remains a shadowy figure in Yemeni politics. He is the

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commander of the Northwestern Military District (one of Yemen’s six military zones) and the First Armored Division and has a level of support within the military that ensures his leverage with the president, and his economic interests are taken seriously. He has, therefore, established a role for himself in making significant appointments to the point that ambassadors are generally nominated only after he has been consulted. His economic holdings are extensive, if also difficult to pinpoint exactly. The Hashid tribal confederation is the smaller but more cohesive and powerful of Yemen’s two major tribal confederations. The Bakil confederation is roughly four times the size of Hashid in numbers, but many of its members are isolated, and there are around ten contenders for the position of Bakil’s paramount sheikh. This position is undisputed within Hashid and was held by Sheikh Abdullah bin Hussein al-Ahmar until shortly before his death in 2007, when the title was passed to his oldest son, Sadiq. While it can still be argued that only a small percentage of Hashid members benefit directly from the current political order, favoritism toward Hashid is still said to be rampant when it comes to allocating lower positions in the civil service and military. Northern tribal sheikhs (even those outside Hashid and Bakil) can be considered collectively as members of the regime (their interests are considered); however, with the exception of Sheikh Abdullah, the Sanhan sheikhs, and some of the politically relevant major sheikhs of Bakil, they are not individually members of the regime. Sheikh Abdullah bin Hussein al-Ahmar (referred to in Yemen and in this study as Sheikh Abdullah) was the paramount sheikh of the Hashid tribal confederation, Speaker of the parliament, and leader of the Islah Party. Sheikh Abdullah was sometimes referred to as the sheikh al-mashayikh (sheikh of sheikhs) and wielded extensive traditional authority throughout the country, even in non-Hashid regions. Sheikh Abdullah’s many and varied political roles, particularly within the parliament and the Islah party, are discussed throughout the body of this book. Independent business leaders are notably absent from this list largely because since unification, business has been increasingly funneled into the hands of the “tribal capitalists” and the “bureaucrats in business” who distribute the economic largesse of the state “according to political criteria.”62 In these political criteria, independent business leaders are much less of a consideration than traditional clients. Similarly, technocratic advisors are not consulted in any consistent fashion, and their personal interests are generally not weighted to the extent of the traditional clients. The Islah Party, with its roots in the Islamic Front of the 1980s and the Muslim Brotherhood, is a nonmilitant Islamist party that, like the GPC, rests on a diverse coalition of tribal elites, moderate and radical Islamists, and businessmen. The tribal group, with its strong links to the leadership of the GPC and President Saleh, held disproportionate power throughout most of

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the 1990s, but this balance has shifted in recent years toward the members and leaders affiliated with the Muslim Brotherhood.63 Jillian Schwedler points out that neither the tribal nor the Islamist groups (the Brotherhood’s members and the hard-line conservatives) adhere to a cohesive ideology and that the party is better understood through the examination of its leaders’ positions in Yemen’s power centers.64 This remains largely true although, as is discussed in Chapter 6, Islah has been in a transitional phase, particularly from around 2005. The party’s old power structures were being questioned and, in part, being adjusted to adapt to the realities of a country increasingly perceived to be on the brink of a potential disaster. Part of this transition was a more marked division between the moderate Muslim Brotherhood leaders and the conservative Salafi leaders within the party. Islah was formed in September 1990, a few months after unification. In its early years, it presented an organizational structure and policies that were almost identical to those of the GPC.65 After the defeat of the YSP by the GPC-Islah coalition in the 1994 civil war and the YSP’s boycott of the 1997 elections, Islah’s position declined vis-à-vis the GPC, and it faced the question of whether to consider itself as part of the opposition, a question that was to plague it for many years. Most of the top figures in the party retained their close links to the GPC, and even by 2004–05, many did not appear to want to unambiguously become part of the opposition. As the 2006 elections approached, some leaders became more outspoken against the status quo, and the lower party ranks were generally keen to take up a more actively opposing stance. Islah has the fastest-growing membership of any political party in Yemen and an active women’s section, and has been increasingly using democratic rhetoric as a legitimizing platform. The Islah party is perceived as one of the biggest threats to the GPC, an issue that will be dealt with in detail in Chapter 6. The YSP presents a more coherent ideology than the GPC does but continues to be racked by cleavages within the leadership and harassment by the GPC. Its members also continue to attempt to bolster its legitimacy by talking about the experiences gained as the former ruling party of the South and from having been a party to Yemeni unification. The fact that many Southerners do not remember the days of YSP rule fondly and that it is remembered as the party that tried to break from unification helps explain why the YSP has failed to successfully use these platforms to expand its support base. Furthermore, following its defeat in the 1994 civil war against the GPC and Islah, its boycott of the 1997 elections, the assassination of its charismatic and progressive leader Jarallah Omar in December 2002, and its poor performance in the 2003 elections, the YSP is by far the most marginal of the three major parties. The increasing irrelevance of the YSP in Yemen’s main power circles was illustrated clearly in the 2003 parliamentary

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elections where it won a mere 7 of the 301 seats. The immediate family of Islah’s Sheikh Abdullah al-Ahmar did nearly as well, with him and four of his sons winning a total of five seats.66 Despite this, however, some of its leaders maintain symbolic power as Southern leaders and are invited to the negotiating table with the GPC. There is intraparty rivalry between reformers who want to steer the party toward a modern socialist democratic ideology and the old guard who advocate the boycott of elections, refuse to negotiate with the government, and maintain a party ideology more consistent with its Marxist origins. Some among the old guard have also rejected the conditions of post-civil war unity with increasing openness since 2007. Like Islah, the YSP remained unsure about its position—whether to work with the government or use its position as an opposition party to work for change from the outside—but, with the exception of some of its elite, had largely resolved this in favor of the opposition by 2006. In 2002, the YSP, Islah, and four smaller opposition parties entered into an opposition coalition, the Joint Meeting Parties (JMP), which is discussed in greater detail in chapters 5 and 6. Yemen’s political experiment and unification was threatened almost immediately by the stance that the new government took regarding Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait on August 2, 1990, which occurred less than three months after unification, during its unfortunately timed tenure as a temporary member of the United Nations Security Council. In part because of North Yemen’s long-standing relationship with Saddam Hussein, Yemen advocated an “Arab solution” to the invasion, that is, no international military campaign against Iraq. This move was regarded as pro-Saddam Hussein and infuriated Saudi Arabia, the United States, and Kuwait. The Yemeni government’s stance led to the cancellation of most of Yemen’s foreign aid and the expulsion of close to 1 million Yemeni workers in Saudi Arabia, upon whose remittances (roughly $1 billion per annum) much of the Yemeni population were dependent.67 It was quickly apparent that Sana’a had grossly overestimated its international leverage.68 The government absorbed many of the returning workers into the already bloated civil service, with half of the national budget going toward paying their salaries in 1991. The economic decline that followed Yemen’s diplomatic miscalculation had a disastrous impact on the newfound unity and, by extension, its speculative experiment with democracy.69 It would be hard to overstate the deleterious impact that the resulting economic nose-dive had on the fledgling state. After several postponements, Yemen’s first parliamentary elections were held on April 27, 1993. The delays were unpopular, and both the GPC and the YSP realized that if the elections were not held soon they would both lose considerable support.70 During the elections, party loyalties ran a distinct second to regional and tribal loyalties. International observers, most of whom

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emphasized the encouraging turnout figures, deemed the process relatively free and fair although electoral violations were still clearly apparent. Joseph Kostiner argues that despite certain accolades from the U.S. embassy and other foreign observers: the achievement of voter turnout was, however, offset by serious deficiencies in the election procedure. Voters were required to write out the name of their chosen candidate on the ballot slip, a measure which fundamentally compromised the secrecy of the ballot in a society where some 80 percent of the population were illiterate, providing opportunities for ‘helpers’ to manipulate the voting … Moreover, the results … were construed by several Yemeni and other Arab observers as a perhaps tacit, but nevertheless agreed, deal among the three parties.71

However, the official electoral turnout figures become somewhat less impressive when the relatively low percentage of eligible voters who actually registered in the first place is also accounted for. The official turnout figures also misleadingly indicate that the percentage of voter participation has declined since 1993, when in fact it has increased significantly, although in 2003 it was still only just over half of all eligible voters. In 1993, official figures show an 84 percent turnout, even though only 43 percent of adult citizens registered to vote; the percentage of the population that actually voted then was only 36.2 percent. The official figures for 1997 show a turnout of 61 percent, which means that 40.5 percent of eligible voters participated. The turnout for 2003 is listed as 75 percent, which was actually 53 percent of eligible voters—a considerable increase.72 The fact that rural turnout has been higher than that in urban centers may seem counterintuitive in a less developed country like Yemen,73 it underlines the strength of the tribes and the ability of sheikhs to muster their tribes to the polls. That the percentage of voters has increased considerably in the decade between 1993 and 2003 is significant. It indicates that an enthusiasm for political participation has persisted despite the extensive electoral violations. The relatively lively public debate surrounding the issue of democratization suggests that for some Yemenis, there is hope that the seeds of change have been planted. The 2006 local and presidential elections were also a victory, at least on one level, for popular participation and electoral administration. The elections showed that the Yemeni people are increasingly expecting politics to be conducted through an electoral process, which is conceivably an unintended form of institution building and a consequence of the regime’s use of democracy to legitimize itself. The number of people who worked in the polling booths on election day, many as volunteers, demonstrated a level of enthusiasm for participation

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in the political process, and the relatively even spread between GPC and JMP representatives showed considerable pluralism. At least two hundred thousand people, including independent local monitors (which some estimates put as high as forty-five thousand people), observed the process across the country on election day. Despite the regime’s heavy-handed attempt to manipulate earlier elections, Yemeni political activists and voters believed that there was still something to be gained at the polls. Even though democracy is increasingly referred to because of its conspicuous absence, it is becoming an unavoidable part of local discourse, and political actors have found accusations of being undemocratic to be an effective, if unchallenging, way of tarnishing their competitors. Formal and Informal Retraction Relations between the GPC and the YSP, which had already deteriorated in the lead up to the 1993 election, became increasingly antagonistic after it, and each made claims and counterclaims decrying the other’s commitment to either unity or power sharing. In October 1993, the YSP issued a letter outlining eighteen political demands. These included the greater decentralization of power, comprehensive reforms to the rule of law, and the maintenance of some autonomy for the South where the North had gained administrative dominance. To the North and to some Western observers at the time, it seemed that the demands for decentralization were an attempt to wrest direct financial control of the substantial oil reserves in Hadhramaut.74 The GPC responded in kind with a set of nineteen demands, which called for unity and condemned the “regional basis” of political parties—a pointed swipe at the Southern-based YSP.75 A group calling itself the Yemeni National Dialogue of Political Forces emerged, largely under the leadership of respected Northern elites, in an attempt to cool the mounting crisis. Despite their connections to the Sana’a government, the document that they produced, the Document of Pledge and Accord, favored the eighteen points raised by the YSP. Primary among its demands were a bicameral legislature, more limits to executive power, and greater decentralization of power. Support for the document was widespread, and Carapico writes that: every party, public personality, newspaper, and civic association came out in favor of the accord. The GPC and Islah leadership sometimes dismissed it as extra-institutional, thus unconstitutional … But even in the GPC and Islah, and especially within the YSP, the rank and file waxed rhapsodic about the document.76

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By March 1994, the National Dialogue Committee broke down, its leaders accusing both the GPC and YSP elites of duplicity.77 In late April 1994, fighting broke out between the two groups. Despite the constitutional requirement that the two parties merge their militaries, this had not happened, which made an armed face-off all the more feasible. A bloody two-month conflict ensued and destroyed much of the buoyancy surrounding the idea of unity and, by extension, democratization. The victorious GPC cracked down on the elements of the YSP that it deemed secessionist and through the constitutional amendments that were quickly passed, retracted many of the progressive reforms that had followed unification. Pessimism engulfed the hopes of both the Yemeni public and the international community that Yemen would emerge from the conflict as a consolidated democracy. In his PhD dissertation, Stephen Day draws attention to the attempt in the literature to assign blame for the outbreak of the war. The view that is more sympathetic to the North suggests that by not accepting the outcomes of the 1993 elections, the Southern elites were unwilling to adhere to democratic practice.78 The civil war is publicly remembered as a defense of unity and majoritarian politics against a small group of Southern traitors.79 Another suggestion is that the Southern leaders were not representative of public opinion in the former South, a claim that Day says is contradicted by the strong electoral support for the YSP. Others argue, however, that much of the YSP’s electoral support was a function of electoral violations by the YSP in the South.80 The Southern view charges that the civil war was a power-grab and a takeover by the Northern elite followed by the deliberate annexation of the South, a claim for which there is also evidence. Southern discourse sees the Southern leadership as the defender of modern (usually democratic) values against a corrupt, hegemonic Northern tribal elite that is determined to reinforce patronage, tribalism, and kinship networks at the expense of modernization. Northern discourse reinforces the idea that democratic values are inherent in tribalism, while Southern discourse maintains that tribalism is backward and is the antithesis of democracy and progress. Day argues that the Southern elite’s decision to secede was a product of Northern corruption and the harassment of Southern officials. In his view, the decision was only made three weeks after the war commenced as a result of there being no alternative. He argues that the civil war was a product of a Northern power-grab, not a Southern conspiracy, and that even on the eve of the war, the decision to secede had still not been made.81 Day writes that al-Beidh declared secession “only after these events [the commencement of fighting on April 27], when there was no basis for reconciliation between the two regimes [did] al-Beidh [declare] the separate Democratic Republic of Yemen in Aden on May 21.”82

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Fred Halliday argues along similar lines that “the south ‘seceded’ only when its attempts to develop the political system failed, and three weeks after the northern forces launched their attack against the south. The responsibility for this turn of events lies with the northern regime.”83 However, while Northern antagonism is beyond doubt, there are reports contrary to Day and Halliday’s claims, which indicate that the secession had been a desire of at least some within the Southern elite for a considerable period of time and certainly well before the war broke out. A Northern businessman working in the oil industry claimed that by February 1993 (14–15 months before the date given by Day and Halliday), the ROY government had received a note from the Canadian government saying that the Oil Minister Saleh bin Hussein (a Southerner) had demanded that the oil revenues from Canadian Oxy be paid directly to the old Southern government. The oil minister had reportedly argued that Canadian Oxy had signed its production-sharing agreement with the YSP and that he therefore wanted the money paid into the Central Bank of Aden, instead of to the headquarters of the Central Bank in Sana’a. When the company refused, he reached a compromise that the money would instead be held in an escrow account, and when a Southern state was reestablished, the YSP would be able to access the money.84 According to this same source, the escrow account was established and was not settled until several months after the fighting ended in 1994. Canadian Oxy spent the few months following the war negotiating with the government about how to settle the matter of the escrow account, having already paid some of the money to the YSP through the Consolidated Contractors Company (CCC) with whom it had built the oil pipeline from Masila (the largest oil-producing block in the former South). This story illustrates that the competing claims over the ultimate responsibility for the war continue to echo through Yemen’s political landscape. Neither the GPC nor the YSP acted with the altruism they professed throughout the 1990–93 interim period prior to the elections or the subsequent descent into civil war. Unity was pursued by two leaderships that would have liked to see their own interests and ideology stamped over the unified republic. The GPC proved the more successful of the two at this, though it must be noted that it was also more willing and able to resort to violence.85 As the Secretary General of the United National Assembly Party, Omar al-Jawi, commented in 1996, “Yemeni unity was achieved between two separatist leaderships.”86 In September 1994, less than three months after the fighting ceased, constitutional amendments were drawn up and passed by a special committee without a public referendum. The defeat of the YSP in the war had cost it its parliamentary veto and allowed the amendments to be drawn up by the GPC-Islah coalition.87 The amendments abolished the Presidential

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Council and broadened the powers of the chief executive. Close to half of the original articles were amended, and twenty-nine new articles were added. The article that had kept the old laws of the former North and South active until a proper unity constitution was ratified was also removed, thus signifying the constitutional completion of the unification process and the end of the former South’s laws. The amended constitution created an appointed Consultative Council (Majlis al-Shura) and allowed the president to appoint the prime minister, head the Supreme Judicial Council, and decree laws when parliament was not in session.88 The YSP viewed this as part of President Saleh’s continued effort to marginalize Southern representation.89 The Presidential Council, which in the 1990 constitution was a five-member body that was elected by the parliament, was replaced by the president. However, even after the 1994 civil war, there were still signs of the government’s willingness to reform that provoked genuine optimism. The 1995 domestic reform program by the World Bank and IMF followed what Robert Burrowes termed a “best-case scenario.”90 In the early years of this program, the Yemeni government stuck quite closely to what it had agreed to with these two international bodies. By 2001, however, it appeared that the enthusiasm for reform had run dry, and the package that Yemen negotiated with the IMF and the World Bank in 2001 was largely ignored.91 On balance, the postwar period witnessed far more major retreats from reform than progress. The YSP boycotted the 1997 parliamentary elections and the GPC, lacking a unified opposition and endowed with a willingness to manipulate the process, won a landslide victory. Following these elections, Islah left the ruling coalition and joined what it termed the “loyal opposition.”92 The GPC’s increase in dominance can be traced from the 1993 parliamentary elections where it won 145 of 301 seats, to 187 seats in 1997, and a near total victory in 2003 with 229.93 Despite the GPC’s resounding majority, President Saleh still emphasized his need to at least appear to be sharing power: “We want all political powers under the parliament’s dome. We want all the parties to have a chance, and we don’t want a 99.9% majority.”94 The electoral violations in 2003 were widely reported in the local press, but they generally only referred to misdeeds of the “government,” leaving President Saleh untainted by knowledge of such events. In these elections, the security presence was overwhelming. Eighty-seven thousand members of the government’s security apparatus provided security for the polling booths, while also assisting with vote counting, often out of view of local and foreign elections monitors.95 The real power of the citizenry to change the government peacefully has been extremely limited. The power of the Yemeni people to affect governmental decision making has been retracted in fits and starts, and political reform in Yemen, as elsewhere in the Arab world, had not brought with it

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a clear path to democratization. Political reform remains overwhelmingly dependent on the leadership’s perception of its ability to retain dominance. Members of the opposition have been assassinated without due investigation. Elections continue to be marred by violence and allegations of severe violations. In the case of the 1999 presidential elections, President Saleh “won” with 96.3 percent of the vote after the only other candidate deemed eligible for election was from his own party.96 Lisa Wedeen argues that the overt manipulation of these elections was a deliberate show of power— the regime’s desire to demonstrate that it maintained the power to manipulate when and where it pleased.97 Also at the forefront of the president’s mind, however, must have been the desire to cover up his exceptionally poor showing in parts of the former South and Lower Yemen. Unofficial estimates show significant support for the other GPC candidate (Najeeb Qahtan alSha’abi—a Southerner) outside Upper Yemen, which the president would have been wise to disguise if he wanted to maintain the myth of a dissentfree national unity five years after a civil war. But it was not just the former PDRY that appeared to back what could only be described as the symbolic candidacy of al-Sha’abi. Several observers reported that the actual results for al-Sha’abi reached as high as 40 percent in some areas. Furthermore, the official voter turnout figure of 66 percent is highly suspect and is likely to be around half of this figure.98 Some observers of these elections discussed orders to add votes when it became clear that the turnout (of between 30 and 35 percent) was so low.99 If the unofficial estimates of the real figures for the voter turnout and the high results for al-Sha’abi (of up to 40 percent in some governorates) are roughly accurate, this indicates that there were some parts of the country where President Saleh attracted the votes of less than 15 percent of the population. Further illustrating his feelings about acceptable electoral victory margins, President Saleh responded angrily to a 2005 survey by Islah’s newspaper, al-Sahwa, which predicted the results of the coming 2006 presidential elections. About 47 percent of the respondents predicted that President Saleh would win, while 46 percent predicted that the (then) still unnamed opposition candidate would win. The official media, which is answerable to the president, went into a tailspin, deriding the survey as false and unscientific (admittedly, probably a fair accusation) and underlined the high levels of popular support held by the president. Despite the fact that such a small margin of victory is a sign of a well-developed democracy, Saleh clearly indicated his preference for an improbable, though overwhelming, victory.100 In 2001, further constitutional changes were passed by referendum. They relaxed the restrictions on the president and eased his ability to dissolve the House of Representatives. Whereas the 1994 constitution required

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a nationwide referendum to be held before such action could be taken, the 2001 amendments required only that voters “elect a new House of Representatives within sixty days from the date of issuance of the decree of dissolution.”101 The amendments also extended the presidential term from five to seven years. Since President Saleh was only elected as president in 1999, it meant that he may remain in power until the elections scheduled for September 2013. The local press was rife with speculation that this was to allow time for Saleh’s son Ahmed Ali Abdullah Saleh to reach the age of forty, the constitutional minimum at which one may hold the presidency. When Saleh was held to account by a press barrage against the issue of political inheritance in 2004, the president told the army that the press and the opposition groups were “hostile forces” that were mentally ill.102 Despite his attempt to hide his threats under a thin veil of democratic rhetoric, Saleh had seldom gone so far before in openly attacking those calling for greater adherence to democratic procedure. Despite the consolidation of the regime’s power, by early 2006 it was plagued by so many problems that the opposition began to act more openly than it had previously dared. In the months immediately prior to the 2006 presidential and local elections (which were held simultaneously), the willingness of the JMP members to cooperate increased enormously, much to the surprise of most Yemenis. There was considerable optimism domestically and internationally that a formidable opposition was rising to capitalize on the regime’s failures. These elections, and particularly the performance of Islah and the JMP, will be discussed further in chapters 5 and 6. Despite the description of the 2006 elections by some international observers as a “positive development in Yemen’s democratization process,”Yemen emerged from the process as a more consolidated, pluralized, and authoritarian state than one necessarily on the path to democracy.103 Yemen’s Political Economy: Two Steps Forward, Now Where To? One consequence of the consolidation of a one-party state since the civil war is the lack of checks and balances, which, while also largely absent prior to unification, has been a factor in the vast increase in corruption. Despair that the once-promising process of political and economic reform has not led to improvements in the standard of living, or real gains by the opposition, is clear throughout the country. The 2004 international Corruption Perceptions Index by Transparency International found that Yemen ranked 112th out of 146 countries surveyed, a big decline from the 88th position ranking that it received just one year previously. In the Arab world, where corruption is rampant, the only countries that were found by Transparency International to be more corrupt than Yemen were Sudan and postwar Iraq.104

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A World Bank report issued in May 2005 comparing six governance indicators in Yemen between 1998 and 2004 found that on all six measures, Yemen had declined markedly. Of the six governance indicators surveyed (voice and accountability, political stability, government effectiveness, regulatory quality, rule of law, and control of corruption), the 2004 scores were all lower (worse) than those from 1996. The biggest decline was seen in the final indicator—control of corruption.105 Corruption at the lower levels of the bureaucracy is usually not driven by greed but by an inability to otherwise meet basic needs. With average annual salaries estimated to be around $800 at a nonelite level, most people rely on supplements to their income just to cover basic necessities. According to two midlevel managers in two different government offices, it is rare for people in the civil service to take second jobs to cover the gap between their salaries and the cost of living because there are ample opportunities to make money through the corruption that exists in the ministries and through financial bonuses that are based on political loyalty.106 That corruption is encouraged by the president and his regime is a common charge among opposition groups; however, people close to the president also indicated the deliberate nature of Yemeni corruption during several interviews. One person close to the president said, for example, that Saleh was explicit in his distrust of people who “do not steal,” commenting that he likes to have a way of “putting a knee into their backs.”107 Poverty levels have nearly doubled since unification in 1990,108 and by 2005, GDP growth was predicted to be significantly lower than the rate of population growth. Yemen’s budget is based primarily on two forms of income: oil revenues, on which the government depends for the vast majority (some 75 percent) of its budget, and foreign aid.109 The time at which the country’s oil reserves will be exhausted has been advanced by nearly a decade to 2012 if current extraction rates continue and no new sources are found.110 Furthermore, while in 2000, oil made up two-thirds of Yemen’s total exports, by 2004, this had climbed to just over 90 percent.111 When oil revenues dwindle, the regime will find itself short of the money that it uses to incorporate people into patronage networks and in need of a more stable source of legitimacy as well as new sources of income. Yemen may be a rentier state, but it still ekes out a hand-to-mouth existence. While an appeal for foreign and domestic investment to spur other industries could help reduce Yemen’s dependence on oil money, investors have been scared away by the corruption that, time and time again, has lined the pockets of the military and tribal elite. In early 2006, the Yemen Times reported a study that was prepared by the Ministry of Planning and International Cooperation in conjunction with the World Bank, which showed just how significantly foreign investment in Yemen had declined in

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recent years. It showed that regional (Arab) investment in the country had dropped from 27.1 percent of total investments in 2002 to 8.1 percent in 2004, while other international investment had fallen nineteen-fold, from 11.4 percent of the total to 0.6 percent.112 The ministry acknowledged corruption, bribery, and a “lack of government” as being among the chief reasons for the flight of foreign investors. Furthermore, the World Bank’s 2006 Doing Business report, which assessed business regulations in 155 countries, found that in terms of minimum capital requirements, Yemen was the second-most expensive country in the world to start a business in after Syria.113 Similarly, the World Economic Forum rated Yemen’s economic climate as the least competitive in the Arab world (not including Iraq or the Palestinian Territories).114 The Economist Intelligence Unit concluded that the fact that so many of the obstacles to investment are imposed by the government and are therefore avoidable was “alarming.”115 By late 2005, the United States sensed the clear possibility of dangerous instability. When the G-8 gathered in Sea Island, USA, in June 2004, President Saleh had been invited to speak and he praised the new U.S. initiative to promote democratization in the Middle East.116 In January 2005, the U.S. House of Representatives issued a statement applauding the Yemeni government for its efforts to democratize and implement economic reforms, congratulating President Saleh for his commitment to the process and citing Yemen (along with several other countries) as a model for democratization in the Arab world.117 The irony of such an acclamation may have been more apparent than the House of Representatives intended. Similarly, to mark the fifteenth anniversary of Yemeni unification in May 2005, U.S. President George W. Bush reportedly praised the Yemeni government’s efforts to democratize. The Yemen Observer reported that Bush “described Yemen as the regional leader in political reforms.” In the same cable, Bush underlined the importance of Yemen’s role in fighting international terrorism.118 Even through the first half of 2005, relations between Yemen and the United States appeared solid, indeed improving.119 It seemed that as long as Saleh was willing to toe the lines set by the United States, it would turn a blind eye to Yemen’s constricting political arena. However, as Yemen’s commitment to the United States’ goals of stemming terrorism became more questionable, so too did U.S. political and economic support. By November 2005, as the facade of reformism began to crumble ever more visibly, President Saleh was told in Washington that his promises of reform were no longer sufficient. In a rather uncharacteristic message to a partner in the “war on terror,” top U.S. officials criticized the regime’s failure to deliver on promised reforms and recommended that the president quickly do more, lest he lose Washington’s support in the 2006

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presidential election.120 One U.S. diplomat commented privately in January 2006: “Our policy in Yemen has really shifted in the last six months.”121 Another was reported in US News & World Report to have said: “We’re not going to give [the Yemeni government] a pass anymore.”122 The increased U.S. pressure on Yemen to turn over al-Zindani for allegedly supplying arms and funds to al-Qa’ida was another indicator of its waning patience. Al-Zindani had been on the Treasury Department list as a “specially designated global terrorist” since February 2004, and his location in Yemen was well known from that time. The drive to have him extradited began in earnest, however, in February 2006, following the almost certain involvement of the domestic intelligence service (PSO) in a brazen escape by al-Qa’ida detainees from a Sana’a prison. It was coupled with a letter to Saleh from President Bush, who used the occasion to air his doubts about Yemen’s “commitment to the war on terrorism.”123 In late 2006, the Yemeni government had a visible, if only partial, change of heart. Its rhetoric and some of its policies shifted to underline the importance of reducing corruption and increasing protections for foreign investors. In April 2007, a large conference was held targeting foreign investors and making considerable promises to improve the economic climate for businesses. The United States praised the conduct of the 2006 elections and the subsequent promises of reform and again increased its aid commitment to Yemen, although this money was disproportionately earmarked for the military and security apparatus. In the face of Yemen’s overall political and economic deterioration, the country’s political system has retained elements of pluralism and has continued to have lively parliamentary and public political debates. The number of votes for the main opposition party, Islah, increased roughly fourfold between 1993 and 2003, even though its parliamentary representation simultaneously diminished. There is generally enthusiastic participation in the electoral process, a comparatively free media in which even governmentrun newspapers have been known to level criticism at aspects of government policy, and at continual declarations from the president about the importance of democratic values.124 Even if seen only fleetingly in practice, the idea of an unfolding transition to consolidated democracy has become an important legitimizing platform for the government, domestically and, particularly, internationally. In a move underlining the regime’s desire for international legitimacy, Yemen’s foreign minister declared in late 2004 that the country’s capital would be the new regional headquarters for the Democratic Dialogue Center, a group charged with the task of fostering democracy throughout the Middle East.125 President Saleh also continued to insist until late June 2006 that he would not seek reelection in the 2006 presidential elections because it was time to rotate power.

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President Saleh is keenly aware that with such a well-armed population, Syrian-, Saudi-, or Iraqi-style brute force is not the preferable option. The Yemeni regime is flexible, and its surprising resilience is a testament to its success in incorporating diverse members of society into its network and playing competitors off against one another. The president has proudly discussed his observation that people’s suffering should not be compounded by being muffled by their government; he accepts that people need an avenue through which to blow off steam. He has reportedly said in private that people may say whatever they like, but at the end of the day he will do as he likes.126 Safety valves such as the comparatively high levels of free expression that are usually tolerated and periodic progressive reforms assist the regime’s resilience. Despite the centralized control, the president does not have a completely free hand. Public opinion is relevant and is a factor in the informal decision-making process. The Yemeni system operates on the understanding that almost anything is acceptable except a challenge “to the chair.”127 The parliament, like Yemen’s regular elections, is a barometer of public opinion and a measure to widen the government’s support base without having to significantly decentralize decision-making power. Despite parliament’s toothlessness, it has been reasonably effective at bringing public opinion to the attention of the leaders. A level of free speech makes it easier for the government to respond to major popular concerns while not necessarily backing such freedoms with a more comprehensively reformed political environment. A potentially perpetual transition to democracy might be just the “life raft” that as President Saleh termed it in 2004 at an international conference on developing democracies.128 It might also have been just the tactic that he thought would restore Saddam Hussein’s international standing back in 1991, when he recommended that Iraq follow Yemen’s lead and democratize. The changes discussed in this chapter—from regular elections to legalized political opposition and relatively free expression—are often characterized in rather black-and-white terms. They are usually portrayed as being either a mask for an authoritarian regime clinging to power or the first tentative steps of a nascent democracy. However, they also represent more enduring patterns of political change in the Arab world of little carrots and big sticks, where limited openings, controlled pluralism, and regime prolongation are clearly related processes and where, after relaxation, repression tends to follow. As will be shown in the following chapters, the viability of the patronage system has been crucial to the sustainability of this pattern.

3

Government Institutions

ason Brownlee suggests that to analyze the potential for change within Arab political systems, one must look beyond the strength of those calling for change to “also weigh the regime’s ability to resist change and avert breakdown.”1 This chapter looks at the Yemeni government institutions used for this purpose. It shows how the Yemeni leadership has employed a combination of legitimacy-enhancing measures, co-optation, and coercion within state institutions to foster authoritarian rule amid the growth of seemingly democratic institutions. It examines the balance of financial co-optation, repression, and the veneer of democracy that operate within the regime’s cornerstone institutions: the security apparatus, including the military, the Ministry of Finance (MoF), and the parliament. These three are highly representative of how the regime has controlled state institutions according to short-term political considerations. The relationship of the president with the elites in each institution is largely top-down and regulated by financial co-optation. However, as in any authoritarian regime, this has not made President Saleh’s control absolute, and he realizes that he needs to maintain the cooperation of those he co-opts in order to stay in power. As the Yemeni government is extremely secretive about its military capacity and spending, this chapter focuses on the military’s role and popular perceptions of its strength within society because these perceptions reinforce a resistance to change. It also looks at the structure, centralization, manipulation, and control of the state’s economic resources through the MoF and the malleable imprecision of the national budget. The bulk of the chapter, however, examines the formal institutions of democracy, particularly the parliament, but also briefly discusses the functional similarities in the local councils. These seemingly democratic institutions are allowed to exist but are simultaneously undermined by the withholding of their ability to act with genuine economic or political independence. Both institutions are restricted from performing their constitutional duties and have mostly performed

J

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a rubber-stamp function for decisions made elsewhere and without public oversight. The Military and Security Apparatus While the common claim that Yemen has one of the largest military expenditures per capita is consistent with local perceptions of the government’s coercive ability, it is difficult to prove this absolutely from published figures.2 More tangible is the fact that Yemen’s security apparatus is under the control of a very narrow group of the president’s close family and tribal associates and that it is widely feared as an instrument of political and economic coercion. By maintaining benefits to this familial and tribal group, President Saleh has been able to use the military and security services as a baseline guarantee against a serious challenge to his power or against the growth of competing institutions. The officer corps are closely watched by military security and are not permitted to gather repeatedly in groups. There have been cases where officers have disappeared after being suspected of organizing politically. Their loyalty is also reinforced through access to benefits and possibilities for smuggling and, therefore, further wealth creation. The military is thus both the repressor and the repressed, the co-opter and the co-opted. Political Security Organization (PSO) The PSO is the domestic intelligence service (mukhabaraat) and is directly answerable to the president. Though not known for the level of brutality that is the trademark of some of its Arab counterparts, its name often appears in human rights reports on Yemen, such as those of Amnesty International, Freedom House and Human Rights Watch, where it has been accused of regularly detaining people without charge and sometimes subjecting them to physical abuse. Former detainees report a large number of PSO prisons around the country, at least some of which hold prisoners in solitary confinement in small windowless cells for periods of months at a time.3 In conjunction with their physically coercive capacity, the PSO is also the chief intelligence-gathering agency, and popular perceptions of its ability and reach seem to move in cycles roughly in accordance with cycles of political openness and repression in the general political environment. Many politically active Yemenis, or people in regular contact with foreigners, have reported concerns that they were being monitored,4 often adjusting their behavior accordingly. In this sense, the PSO takes on an aura that probably exceeds its actual capabilities. According to a source close to the

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president who quoted a top PSO official, there are around forty five thousand people employed in some capacity by the PSO in Sana’a alone. One of the main functions that this reservoir of people (whatever its actual size) fills is monitoring the many qat chews that take place across the country each afternoon and reporting on their mood and any likely threat to the government’s position.5 The monitors clearly do get the ear of the president on occasion. Following one particular qat chew of opposition activists and journalists in which the government came under heavy criticism, the GPCrun newspaper al-Mithaq ran an article labeling the host of the qat chew as an apostate (kaafir) and an American spy and the group of participants as “poisonous vipers.” Further illustrating the ambiguous limits of political possibility, this article was seized with some delight by several members of this group at their next gathering. According to this same source, some of the “45,000” are more than just passive observers, and they actively propagate the idea that without Saleh as president, Yemen would face dire instability or collapse.6 One outcome of this is the widely held belief that stability is best served by not overtly challenging the current political order. This is discussed at greater length in chapters 5 and 6.

Military and Security Spending and Capacity What the government actually spends on its internal and external security services is a point of great contention and secrecy shrouded in Yemen’s notoriously inaccurate self-reported statistics. Local perception, which is driven by the government’s willingness to sometimes use this capacity against its citizens, is that the military is extremely strong and well funded. Citing figures from the International Institute of Strategic Studies (IISS; 2000), the Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU) states that Yemen’s total military force (including reserves, paramilitary, and a tribal reserve) is 176,300 people. The tribal reserve, which the report estimates to be at least twenty thousand, is in fact extremely vague because the number of armed males with tribal allegiance is huge and so the distinction is quite arbitrary. The “20,000” is an unknown quantity and, depending on the situation, could be far greater or perhaps less than this. The EIU concludes that despite Yemen’s number of troops being the second highest in the Arabian Peninsula (which is not surprising considering it has the largest population), much of its equipment is poorly maintained, rendering it unlikely to defend itself effectively in the event of an attack from a neighboring country. Casting further doubt on the reliability of any figures presented, even when collated by an independent international organization, is the fact that many soldiers receive a salary without being required to report for duty,

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as was the case for many members of the former Southern armed forces that were compulsorily retired after the 1994 civil war.7 Tribal sheikhs that are favored by the regime (or in whom the regime has a desire to instill a stake in the state) are often granted the ability to draw an income for soldiers that they can claim to have sent to the army.8 Stories circulate of Yemenis signing on for military service in order to help a family member or of tribal leaders seeking to expand their personal income by beefing up their quota of soldiers allegedly reporting for duty in their name. The president himself has admitted that there are more than sixty thousand people being paid for more than one position in the military and security institutions,9 the implication of which is discussed shortly. According to the government’s official figures of 2003, the Ministry of Defense received 18 percent of the central government’s spending; a further 7.4 percent went on other forms of security and the presidential office—a total of 25.4 percent. Unofficial estimates by well-placed observers place the figure at more like 40 percent.10 The above figure of 25.4 percent should be taken as being the absolute minimum amount that is possible. Saif al-Asaly (Minister of Finance 2006–07), reports that the Final Accounts (on which the figure of 25.4 percent is based) are usually prepared by the Central Organization for Control and Auditing, which reports directly to the president—a further reason to question their validity.11 It is noteworthy, for example, that in the 1,073 pages of Final Accounts for 2002 issued by the MoF, there are only three pages to account for spending on the Ministry of Defense, despite the fact that it receives the lion’s share of the budget.12 The figures from 2002 show similar patterns, although spending on security was considerably higher than it was in 2003, accounting for 31.6 percent of the government’s official expenditure. In October 2005, the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) criticized the Yemeni government for spending $885.5 million—around 7 percent of GDP and around 20 percent of the stated national budget—on the military, while only 1.3 percent of GDP was spent on health care. This is the eighth-highest percentage of GDP spent on the military in the world.13 From these figures and from the narrow origins of the people who control these institutions, the high level of importance that the regime places on being able to physically coerce its population if necessary is clear. However, when compared with the amounts spent on security by some of the more dictatorial states in the region, such as Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, or Syria (circa 1999)—43.2 percent, nearly 40 percent, and 25.1 percent of official central government expenditure, respectively14— Yemen’s spending indicates that the government relies on more than simply coercive power to maintain itself. Gulf defense spending also goes more on equipment and technology than does Yemen’s, where numbers of personnel

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on the payroll (not necessarily real people) are a clear priority. President Saleh’s admission that there are sixty thousand people being paid for more than one position in the military, coupled with the UNDP’s 2005 figures, makes clear the significance of the military as a co-optive instrument rather than an efficient fighting force. The regime’s stance against the rebellion in the northern Sa’ada governorate that began in 2004 clearly illustrates the regime’s readiness to use the military against domestic disturbances. The rebellion’s initial leader Hussein al-Houthi (killed in September 2004), a former member of parliament, called President Saleh “a tyrant … who wants to please America and Israel, by sacrificing the blood of his own people,” and in so doing attracted a level of popular support that greatly unnerved the government. The issue of America and Israel was largely a smokescreen to cover the group’s very domestic goals. The regime’s response to the al-Houthi rebellion demonstrated just how forcefully it is prepared to counter direct threats to its dominance. However, it has also demonstrated the regime’s ultimate weakness in doing so, as well as the enormous toll on the military and weakening of its traditional support base of northern tribal and religious leaders—a weakness that was exacerbated as the patronage system began to unravel more visibly in 2007. “This is the biggest challenge in North Yemen since [President Saleh] came to power [in 1978],” commented a ranking official in early 2006.15 One of Saleh’s clearest talents since taking office has been his ability to stay above the fray in the local tribal conflicts that dot some parts of the country in the timeworn tradition of dividing and ruling. The al-Houthi rebellion, however, placed him squarely in between the tribes of Sa’ada that were fighting the government, the tribes he was paying to fight on the government’s behalf, and the (also largely tribal) military. The propensity of tribal fighters to swap loyalties to the highest bidder and the readiness of military leaders to exacerbate this for a personal profit pulled President Saleh deeper than he could have intended into a guerrilla-style conflict. The uprising has also demonstrated to the opposition, and probably to some of Yemen’s Salafi radicals, that the regime’s coercive power was not as insurmountable as was once imagined. While the military had initially expected to crush the rebellion quickly, it took three months to put down the initial fighting, which subsided when Hussein al-Houthi was killed in September 2004. But even this did not end the conflict, and fighting resumed in March 2005 for several months, again in January 2007, with many more lives lost and villages destroyed and then most viciously in early 2008.16 Despite the military’s extraordinary budget, they were unable to put down the uprising in Sa’ada of what was initially some three thousand people and prevent it from spiraling into pockets of conflict throughout the country. Accurate figures are still impossible to obtain, but the same official stated

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in early 2006 that there were at least twenty thousand government troops then deployed in the area and that during periods of open conflict they were losing an average of ten to fifteen soldiers per day. The number of fatalities on the other side was even less clear but was unlikely to be lower than those sustained by the government.17 In 2007, a military source estimated privately that there were some sixty thousand troops in Sa’ada during the peak of conflict that year.18 There were also indications that some of the support for the insurgents was coming from outside Sa’ada, from those who were ideologically opposed to the rebels’ religious motivations but who sympathized with their broader critique of the government.“The big thing is that the government does not know how they are supported and who is arming them. There are Yemenis supporting them from within Yemen … There are supporters throughout the country … [from a] wider opposition: the South, the poor, and the enemies of the system,” observed the official.19 As a ceasefire drew near in June 2007, large antigovernment demonstrations broke out in the former South, and disgruntled Southern military officers blockaded roads and clashed with the army. It is likely that these groups had drawn some confidence from the government’s apparent weakness against the al-Houthi insurgents. The intensity of anger that was directed against the president himself— as opposed to the usual faceless “government” or “prime minister”—in the July 2005 riots over reduced fuel subsidies further illustrated the constriction of the regime’s support base. Tens and possibly hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets of Sana’a, some shouting “laa Sanhan b’ad al-yawm” (no Sanhan after today) and that President Saleh was the enemy of God. This was certainly the most open display against the president’s personal position and marked the beginning of more strident criticism. Protesters burned President Saleh’s photograph on the street and, in another apparent first, some of the demonstrators tried to reach Saleh’s heavily guarded palace. The level of anger also pointed to the diminishing quality of political advice that President Saleh was receiving:20 despite the tension building for many months prior to the reduction of the fuel subsidies, the cabinet did not meet to discuss the likely effects of the reduction until three days after they were actually reduced and the streets of the capital had been torn apart by rioters. Such a lack of preparation, particularly considering the other explosive conditions in the country, was uncharacteristic of President Saleh’s previous political strategy. Yemen’s security apparatus has other areas of weakness and is not able to operate unchecked, something that is ensured by the armed power of Yemen’s many tribes. It operates more as a defense against overt challenges to the regime’s power than as an all-dominating presence. As Lisa Wedeen rightly suggests, “The government’s deployment of military and paramilitary units

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has usually been a response to an overt challenge to the regime’s authority rather than a prophylactic, protective form of pre-empting dissent.”21 The regime’s willingness to call upon it when it does feel threatened, however, has contributed to the belief that dissent beyond that which is sanctioned is also a last resort for challenging the regime’s authority. Financial enticements form the other element of the regime’s toolkit and are used to complement the regime’s coercive dominance and further dissuade potential challengers.

State Finance The Ministry of Finance After the security apparatus, command of the state’s financial institutions, particularly the MoF, has provided the most important instrument of the regime’s control. Through it the president has been able to exercise tremendous control over the national economy and forge economic ties between the state and key (predominantly tribal and military) elites. The MoF is the largest government ministry and has two divisions present in every other ministry and government agency (one to preside over financial matters and the other for administration and personnel). According to a Yemeni Civil Service Bulletin in 2005, there were 1,256 MoF employees working throughout the other ministries and agencies. However, the real figure is closer to 1,800, and is more than three thousand if other subordinate authorities such as taxation and customs are included.22 These MoF employees must approve every payment by the concerned ministry before it is made. The fact that the minister of finance is appointed by and is unofficially answerable directly to the president has heightened the level of executive control over all government transactions. As a result of the informal control exerted by the president until February 2006 over the MoF, the ministry and its minister, Alawi Saleh al-Salami, were widely considered to be the “tool and arms of the president”23 and were popularly referred to as “the president’s cashier.”24 While documented evidence of the flow of money was not obtainable, government employees consistently report that their ministry’s budget is determined by the minister’s relationship with the MoF, which is controlled by President Saleh, not by the figures that appear in the national budget.25 The MoF is, therefore, foremost in allowing the regime to maintain control over other government institutions, civil servants whose salaries are paid by the MoF,26 and the business community by stemming their access to government contracts or preventing them from conducting business unimpeded. Inclusion in

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the patronage system through access to treasury funds is a less oppressive control mechanism than the resort to the military and security services. The co-optation that it facilitates contains potential areas of activism or dissent that oppression alone probably could not prevent over an extended period of time. The importance placed on the MoF by the president as an instrument of control (as is also the case with the military and security services) is again attested to by the background of those that he has appointed to positions of power within the organization. While the long-serving Finance Minister, Alawi Saleh al-Salami, was a lifelong bureaucrat and not a member of the president’s family or tribe, he had proven his loyalty to the president over a period of many years and was not encumbered with a significant power base of his own. The position of minister has never been granted to a Southerner since unification and was of significant importance to the North’s ability to dominate the financial administration in the former South in the lead-up to the 1994 civil war. This level of control was one of the Southern leadership’s primary complaints.27 Floor Beuming states that “Southerners simply did not have access to the Treasury because the Minister of Finance was a Northerner.” Citing an interview with a former member of Parliament, she says: When Saleh wanted to get something done, for example when he had problems with tribesmen and wanted to pacify them, he would just send a little note to the minister of Finance signed by him saying “give this sheikh one million riyals.” The sheikh would receive it, and problems were solved. If al-Beidh [the Southern leader] would sign a note like that, he would get absolutely nothing.28

Under mounting criticism of the close connection between himself and the MoF and the level of financial corruption shortly after the civil war, President Saleh promised to replace both the minister of finance (al-Salami) and the governor of the Central Bank, whereupon he moved the minister of finance into the role of governor, and the governor into the role of finance minister.29 The swap did not last very long, however, and al-Salami was returned to head the MoF, where he remained until early 2006. He was replaced by Saif al-Asaly, who was subsequently replaced by No’man Saleh al-Shuhaibi in 2007. With the Northern domination of the unified state, the power of the MoF grew, facilitated in large part by Yemen’s vastly increased oil exports, which went from around 198,000 barrels per day in 199030 to around 400,000 per day later that decade.31 The amplified capacity to dole out treasury funds in exchange for political acquiescence helped the patronage system expand to the point that Yemen was considered by Transparency International in

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2004 to be the most corrupt state in the Arab Middle East after Sudan and Iraq.32 As a rentier state, the vast majority of the Yemeni government’s revenue is not production or tax based and comes instead from a combination of oil rents and international aid. The then head of the World Bank’s Yemen office, Robert Hindle, stated in 2004 that Yemen’s government depended on oil royalties for 85 percent of its entire budget.33 Official statistics from the MoF put this at around 72 percent,34 but the records of Yemen’s national spending and revenue that are held at the MoF are, unfortunately, incomplete for the period. Yemen also collects foreign aid from many countries, not all of it easy to trace. For indicative purposes however, in late 2002, a meeting of donors in Paris pledged to grant Yemen a total of $2.3 billion,35 and in November 2006 a subsequent meeting of donors pledged nearly $5 billion over five years. Yemen’s capacity to absorb this money is extremely low, however, and it is unlikely that all of this money will ultimately be granted. The Yemeni state is almost completely dependent on sources of income over which it exercises no direct control. In 2004, the Yemeni government was rather uncharacteristically chastised by the World Bank for its rising corruption and was warned that it could not rely on the bank’s continued support if genuine reforms were not implemented, with a report stating that “Yemen is clearly slipping into a worst case scenario” of economic performance.36 In 2005, the World Bank delivered on its threat and reduced its upcoming threeyear loan package by 34 percent (from $420 million over three years to $280 million), citing a lack of transparency and good governance.37 Yemen’s then minister of planning and international cooperation, Ahmed Mohammed Sofan, complained, in response to further evidence of Yemen’s lagging development in the 2005 United Nations Human Development Report, that donor support was inadequate at only $350 million per year (some 8 percent of the entire budget).38 Sofan also took this opportunity to caution the international community that development and security were indivisible,39 implying that Yemen would not be reducing its military spending and that to do so would be remiss in its commitment to fighting terrorism.

The National Budget The parliament’s capacity for budgetary oversight is very weak, and the proposed budgets that are consistently strongly objected to during parliamentary debates have always in the end been recommended for approval by the parliament without amendment. The MoF uses, and frequently overrides, the budget as one way of delivering money to clients of the regime, and the budget is treated as a malleable, rough guide to the financial affairs of the

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state. Even well-educated officials, MoF employees, and foreign donors reported being confused by, or dismissive of, its contents. One Western diplomat complained that the budget is all fake because when the IMF (or whoever) comes to look at the budget, they show them gross figures. They can roll over government payments into the next quarter, not pay salaries, or not pay government contractors until the next quarter.40

A common complaint made during interviews by members of parliament concerned the supplementary budget that they felt strong-armed into accepting each year, in violation of the constitution. For a number of years, the government requested an additional budgetary allocation each September, which has amounted to between one-quarter and one-third of the entire annual budget.41 The Yemen Times reported that by 2005 this had increased to a request for YR451 billion ($2.3 billion), 54 percent of the total budget that was previously approved and a huge 67 percent of the expected income for the whole year.42 Despite the fact that the constitution allows the parliament to ratify additional budgets only in national emergencies, the additional amount has been approved each time. Astonishingly, considering the level of public outcry over the reduction in fuel subsidies in July 2005, in December that year the government allocated a further YR237 billion ($1.2 billion) to the 2006 budget for fuel subsidies in addition to the YR44 billion that already existed in the 2005 budget.43 The consumer price of the subsidized fuel remained the same. The 2006 budget was approved despite the discontent of some opposition members, one of whom called attention in the media to the YR320 billion ($1.7 billion) designated for “unclassified expenses” that was open to embezzlement.44 A member of parliament on the Committee for Development and Oil, Sakhar al-Wajih, complained in early 2006 about still not being given the information to determine how much money the government was actually receiving from oil exports: “The institutions in our country don’t know anything because we are not a state of institutions. Our institutions are only decoration for the world.”45 Some of the most important institutions for this purpose are those associated with democracy: the local councils and the parliament. Elected Bodies: Local Councils and the Parliament The regime has, in part, consolidated its power through the establishment and manipulation of the institutions of democracy, which are complemented by the underlying threat of physical force.

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Local Councils Local councils are an institution that democratization enthusiasts have been keen to strengthen, but the changes required to grant them genuine power and independence from the central authorities have been continually obstructed. Decentralization of power to local authorities had been a central demand of the YSP since unification, and their formation was outlined in the 1991 constitution. The councils were not established, however, until 2001. It was commonly expressed during interviews with elected officials and political activists that the councils were deliberately set up as a way of extending and expanding central control to Yemen’s outlying areas: There are local councils but they are still controlled by the governor [who is appointed by the president] so they have no actual power. It is not representative of the people because the governor is the central power and so … they are meaningless. And this was the intended outcome, to maintain centralized power.46

As is discussed further in Chapter 5, centralized power is an extremely important counterweight to regional political actors and forces. As Stephen Day points out, the location of Yemen’s natural resources is highly decentralized. If local forces ever gained control of these resources, the resource-poor Sana’a-centered administration could be deprived of the majority of its income. The importance of centralized control over resource-rich areas was, at least in the eyes of many Hadhramis, demonstrated by the attempt to split the governorate of Hadhramaut into two smaller governorates in 1997. After strong local opposition, based on the feeling that the central government was trying to undermine the unity of the wealthy province, the attempt was shelved in 1998.47 The local council elections of 2001 were relatively free and fair, some of the usual violations notwithstanding, and unlike the 2003 parliamentary election results, the GPC won with a relatively narrow majority of, at best, 60 percent of the total.48 As the Supreme Commission for Elections and Referendums (SCER) never released the final official results, it is likely that the GPC did even worse than 60 percent and that its major rival, Islah, did considerably better than the number of seats actually allocated would suggest. In the 2006 local elections, however, Islah (and its partners in the JMP) performed relatively poorly, winning just 9 percent and 14.5 percent of seats at the governorate and district level, respectively. Other legal restrictions have also continued to prevent the councils from performing effectively. The president’s ability to appoint all governors and

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all council directors is seemingly permitted by the ambiguity of article 145 of the 2001 constitution,49 which states: “The [local administration] law shall also detail procedural matters in connection with the nomination, election and/or selection and appointment of heads of these administrative units.” The question of whether the local heads are to be elected or selected is unanswered, and the government has erred on the side of selection.50 In May 2008, the government capitulated to popular demands and allowed the existing local council members (the vast majority of which were GPC representatives) to elect their governors. The elections were hastily organized and, while reflecting some serious rifts within the GPC, did not significantly alter power structures in the counciles. Furthermore, council members are not paid government salaries, and all funding to the councils must be approved and granted by the MoF. The Local Authority Law (article 130, section 4) states: “The Governor submits the plan and budget to the Ministry [of Finance] to complete the measures necessary for approval thereof.” In practice this has meant that the councils have no control over their budgets or financial agenda, greatly undermining their potential for autonomy. A study produced by the UNDP in Yemen showed that the councils can cover only around 15 percent of their expenses with what they obtain from local taxes and are dependent on the central government for the remainder.51 Only 1–1.5 percent of the total budget is given by the central government to the local councils.52 Furthermore, there is a minimal commitment to covering any of their operational costs. The Local Administration Law states that the local councils can spend their money only on capital investments, so while they can build infrastructure, there is no recurrent budget for the operation and maintenance of these facilities. They are, therefore, unable to maintain the buildings that they are constructing: “It’s pretty much the Egyptian local law with a few local differences that have made it even worse.”53 Another example of the legal limitations to greater empowerment of local communities through the councils is the fact that the Local Administration Law does not permit open council meetings, meaning that the public is forbidden from attending. Despite these very real hindrances, the idea of effective and decentralized local councils in rural areas (where nearly three-quarters of Yemenis live) is very popular. As was mentioned in Chapter 2, one of the central points of the hugely popular Document of Pledge and Accord that preceded the 1994 civil war was its call for decentralization of power. Some councils have started to demand more rights and gain the respect of their local communities; this has been most notable in Ta’izz, but also in Aden, and on the island of Soqotra. There are also indicators that some tribespeople have started to see the local councils as a viable power base and as a way of reinforcing their traditional authority.

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There have also been instances of local councils being prepared to engage in more daring political strategies to counter the limitations placed on them. While they are not authorized to preside over those hired by and fired from the local government, a number of the councils began to “withdraw confidence” in other members of the council in an attempt to wrest some political influence back from the central government. In late 2005, Stephen Day considered this small gain to have been “the most significant democratic development after the 2001 elections,” noting that President Saleh was forced to take action and remove some of the local officials “who clearly lacked public confidence.”54 Owing to popular demand in 2005, President Saleh publicly announced that he intended to amend the law and allow the direct election of council leaders.55 His statement “the local authority achieved positive results and this encourages us to give it more powers in return”56 perhaps leaves way for the possibility that this power will be rescinded if the elected leaders fail to achieve what the regime considers “positive results.” Yemenis have been very effective at grassroots mobilization and selfhelp initiatives, as demonstrated by the LDA movement of the 1970s and early 1980s. However, the central government proved more capable of incorporation and promotion of divisions within these associations and by 1985 had established the Local Councils for Cooperative Development (LCCD) to channel local activism and funds back into the central government’s control.57 Yemen’s current local councils are inexperienced and lack the internal infrastructure and competence to fill the tasks the constitution sets for them. They also compete with serious obstacles from the regime. However, they still hold the possibility of expanding their role and effectiveness in the future, the popularity of which is indicated by the strength of demands for the ability to popularly elect all council members, to which the regime finally, though imperfectly, consented in early 2008.

The Consultative Council (Majlis al-Shura) The Majlis al-Shura is a body of 111 members all appointed by the president that, while technically a part of the executive branch, serves more as an advisory board to the executive, although it was granted several legislative powers in 2001.58 It is widely seen as being mired in inefficiency and lack of purpose or as a means of rewarding retired politicians or businessmen. The Yemeni Center for Strategic Studies (YCSS) commented: “It is apparent [that] it is unable to perform its private role even … at [the] lowest [level].”59 Further, concerns remain that the Consultative Council could be used to offset the elected House of Representatives. To date, however, it has been too ineffective to perform even an obstructionist role. Its membership also includes a

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significant number of genuinely progressive voices that may help to prevent it from being used purely as a tool for political obstruction. The House of Representatives (Majlis al-Nuwab) This is the elected lower house of parliament. It consists of 301 members, who are directly elected to a term of six years.60 The constitution gives parliament the responsibility to: propose and approve legislation (article 85); question the prime minister, his deputies, other ministers, or deputy ministers on any issue pertaining to their responsibilities and they are obligated to respond (article 96); approve the government’s program or withdraw confidence in the government (article 98); review and approve the budget (article 88); and impeach the president by a two-thirds majority if he is found to have violated the constitution or committed grand treason (article 128). Yemen’s executive does not have the constitutional right of veto. Despite the hope that democratic institutions might gain strength over time, the elected Yemeni parliament has been weak and reluctant or unable to supervise the power of the executive since it began in 1993. The regime has undermined its constitutional right of oversight and the parliament has not, as an institution, vigorously demanded that these rights be upheld, although there have been some notably strong and progressive individual voices within the parliament. While the constitution is relatively strong on the rights of parliament, the loyalty of GPC members (an increasing majority in each parliament to date) is demanded. Refusal to toe the party line on issues deemed critical to the executive (that is, the president) is punished, sometimes by humiliating the member, sometimes by withholding their economic benefits, and sometimes by refusing to support the member’s bid for reelection. Interviews conducted between 2004 and 2005 with around fifteen current and former members of parliament from all major parties (and some independents) confirmed that there was a feeling of powerlessness among the members. There was a sense that their primary purpose was to rubber stamp decisions made by the executive and provide an outward veneer of democracy to citizens and to foreign donors. They pointed to the decline in the effectiveness of the parliament since its inception, generally agreeing that the parliament elected in 2003 was the worst on record. In the words of one former GPC MP: “If [for an MP] to do something for the people would mean hurting the regime, it won’t happen.”61 And in the words of another current member from the YSP: The parliament is just a place for passing decisions that are made elsewhere … [It] is used as a means of propaganda in front of the international community

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to say that we have democracy and freedom of opinion, a constitution, multiparty pluralism, and this helps in obtaining loans and grants. Most donors don’t grant funds without some democracy and political freedoms.62

While the provision of democratic semblance is probably the most common function of parliament pointed to by MPs outside the loyal core of the GPC caucus, its relevance is deeper than this. Yemen’s rather toothless parliament serves as a way of extending patronage to prominent members of society and the opposition. Giving a larger section of local elites a stake in the political system by offering them a participatory role in government grants legitimacy to the system without ceding genuine control.63 The GPC in particular focused its 2003 campaign on luring well-established local personalities, such as tribal leaders, merchants, and military officers, into its fold.64 But the parliament does also, to a certain extent, represent citizens’ interests, albeit inconsistently and unevenly. Tribal leaders particularly have been quite effective at lobbying for benefits for their local constituents through their position as a member of parliament. Members of parliament receive immunity from prosecution (as do ministers and judges), the possibility of access to decision makers, enhanced standing in their local communities, and economic benefits. Members are reminded that benefits can be retracted and that loyalty to those that helped them gain their seat is part of the deal. In what was a rare display of united commitment to an issue, GPC MPs cleared the parliament floor in late 1998 when it was announced that ministers would be granted new cars but members of parliament would not,65 graphically illustrating the willingness of MPs to be co-opted. Emphasis on debate over the government’s programs or demand for genuine oversight is, for many members, secondary to concern for their material benefits. The significance of the parliament does not lie so much in its formal structure as it does in its ability to co-opt regional and traditional leaders (and the people whose interests these leaders serve) and to serve as a gauge of public opinion—as an early warning system for mounting tension in society. A source close to the president said privately that President Saleh views parliament as one way of delivering the message of the street to the government, using the word tanfees (“letting air out”) several times to stress the nature and importance of such safety valves as a deliberate part of the government’s political strategy.66 It is a relatively safe way of judging popular political sentiment and of addressing grievances on an ad hoc basis before they reach the stage where a more forceful response is required to guarantee the position of the government. Interviews indicated that some MPs were aware of this function, one emphasizing that “[Parliament] is used to absorb the tension of the people and popular anger on some issues.”67

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The parliament is, therefore, another tool to widen the net of political opinion and allow for a limited amount of upward communication from society within limits that the regime can still carefully control. Parliament has at times recognized public discontent, which it appeared that the government was either unaware of or at least unresponsive to, and successfully lobbied for change. In early 2001, there was growing public anger about compulsory military service. The law stated that male citizens between the ages of eighteen and thirty must complete two years of compulsory military service. There were around 250,000 people entering this category every year although the army had the capacity to take only between 10,000 and 15,000 of them. Without serving, a person could not get a passport or apply for a job in the government without either paying for an exemption, which cost YR80,000 ($460—around half of a soldier’s annual salary), or paying around YR30,000 ($170) to postpone their service for five years. It was widely seen as being a cash cow for the MoF, which was indeed the main objector to the cancellation of the law in May 2001. As the parliament was set to debate the issue, members of the government’s Supreme Board of National Defense went to the media to announce that the law had been suspended, despite the fact that they did not have the constitutional authority to amend the law. “They simply took the credit,” recalled a former member of parliament who had championed the initiative. “It was never publicized that this was a parliamentary initiative and people generally think that it was all because of Saleh.”68 There are also some members of parliament who have started to see their institution as a potential vehicle for change and as a place to voice dissent and raise public awareness of Yemen’s problems. In the last few years, parliamentarians have rallied against corrupt deals that were being passed by the regime without oversight. This was most notable in parliament’s outrage at the regime’s attempted sale of a sizeable concession for oil exploration in “Block 53” at well below its market value in 2004. In 2005, around one hundred members of the GPC broke ranks and signed a petition against the reduction of fuel subsidies. Even though the protest was ultimately ineffective, it remained noteworthy as a coordinated effort against a policy that was important to the regime. The parliamentarians were ultimately strongarmed into complying with a decision that was made behind closed doors, but this time they did not lend credibility to the process, instead making their own inability to act against a highly unpopular bill a matter of public record and debate. There have also been a number of high-profile resignations and defections from the GPC, each of which was a calculated protest against the status quo. In late 2005, a group of sixteen progressive parliamentarians established YemenPAC (Yemeni Parliamentarians against Corruption) in an effort to combat rising corruption. In the wake of the 2006

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elections, YemenPAC successfully drafted and lobbied for amendments to the anticorruption law to form a stronger and more independent anticorruption commission. They also managed to remove the president from the commission-selection process, despite the government’s initial objections. These may each seem like small steps, but they represent an attempt by those outside the regime to create further space for themselves in an unpromising situation. What impact the parliament does have on the regime is largely informal. Parliament has, for example, never taken advantage of its ability to initiate legislation, which can occur with the support of sixty members and has only occasionally altered or blocked legislation that was drawn up by the executive. However, some of its members report seeing parliament as an opportunity to review laws that would otherwise have been initiated without any process of consultation.69 In this sense, parliament functions as a sounding board that can alert the executive to broader discontent and provide it with (in practice, nonbinding) advice to buffer out some of the excesses of its policies. Likewise, parliament has been able to call ministers to answer questions, but no minister has ever been punished as the result of this questioning.70 Those called have routinely shown their contempt for the process, as was the case in 2004 when the parliament pursued Prime Minister Abd al-Qadir Ba Jammal and Oil Minister Rasheed Barabaa for questioning over corruption. Both were continually late, unresponsive, or at times absent during the proceedings. Despite high hopes that the parliament was finally demanding greater public accountability, it was only the reputation of the ministers in question that was tarnished, and they retained their political positions.71 The capacity of the parliament to carry out its constitutional function is another key point of concern. The parliament lacks physical infrastructure (phone lines, computers, and desks are limited), and support staff and assistants for members are also in short supply. Without staff, offices, or official budgets, most MPs find campaign promises difficult to deliver using the resources they are granted and so need to resort to informal methods to access funding or support. Parliamentary attendance is also poor. One report that was based on primary research stated that only between fifty and seventy-five (of 301) MPs typically attended parliamentary votes.72 An Islah MP disputed this, saying that most sessions are attended by about half of the members, but that this was often not out of commitment or diligence but because members are paid per session that they attend. He also reported that a significant number of these members left after they had signed their names on the attendance sheet to ensure that they would still receive payment.73 The level of education held by members of parliament raises other questions about their ability to perform their function adequately.74 A document

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prepared by the SCER shows that nearly one-quarter of the GPC caucus in the 2003–09 Parliament has, in all likelihood, had no formal education. In total, 28.4 percent of GPC MPs and 41.2 percent of Islah’s forty-six members can be said with certainty to hold university degrees. These figures show that the commonly cited estimates that over half of the parliament is illiterate are exaggerated.75 The frequency of this estimation is indicative, however, of the level of public distrust of MPs and the public’s doubts over the effectiveness of the parliament as an institution. Of the 301 Yemeni members of parliament that were elected in 2003, at least sixty-four members (21.2 percent) have had no formal education and may reasonably be assumed to be either illiterate or of low literacy. This contravenes Yemen’s constitution, which states that all members of parliament must be literate.76 The figure could be significantly higher than this as it is not clear whether the variety of “licenses” that are listed as educational qualifications required formal study or graduation from a school; certainly some—probably most—would have, but it is not possible to know the percentage. It can be seen from these figures that of the two parties with a significant number of parliamentary seats (Islah and the GPC), Islah’s parliamentarians are the better educated of the two. The degrees held by Islah’s members are also higher than those held by the GPC: 10.9 percent of Islah’s MPs hold doctorates, while only 1.8 percent of GPC members can claim the same. It could be argued that the above figures are irrelevant because a person can be a highly skilled politician without having had a formal education. Both President Saleh and Sheikh Abdullah are salient cases in point. However, a parliament, at least the one outlined in the Yemeni constitution, is a formal institution that requires of its members a reasonable level of literacy. Without this, it is not possible that they independently assess any proposed legislation or analyze the budget. A reasonable level of education is likely to increase the effectiveness of a member of parliament. The Yemeni parliament has also experienced a high turnover of members, meaning that a high percentage of each parliament has not had the benefit of previous experience in office. Ahmed Saif points out that only 21 percent of parliamentarians during the transitional period (1990–93) retained their positions after the 1993 elections, 42 percent of that parliament served again after the 1997 elections, and 49 percent of that parliament returned after 2003.77 The reasons for this underline three salient points about the Yemeni parliament and indicate that the role of the parliament is more complex than being simply a vehicle of co-optation.78 First, some members (particularly of the GPC) had not been fully co-opted and turned out to be rebellious. They were generally not supported as party candidates in the next elections. Not all members were, therefore, willing to accept their

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party’s demands, and some sought to take a stance contrary to the regime. Second, a significant number of the co-opted incumbent candidates were not successful in their electoral campaigns. Finally, the GPC’s need to counter Islah (particularly in 2003 and in areas of known dissent—see Chapter 6) meant that the GPC needed to review its candidates to ensure maximum popularity against its rising competitor. This indicates an increase in the need for political pragmatism when choosing candidates for each district, over the selection of pliable local elites. The SCER document does not make it clear which parliamentarians are tribal leaders as only a very small number are listed under the employment category as being a sheikh. This only means, however, that these members did not have any other type of employment. An unofficial estimate by a current GPC MP placed the number of tribal leaders within parliament into two categories: active sheikhs, which he assessed to be between forty and fifty members (of 301); and those from important tribal families (often the sons of sheikhs), which he thought to be around 60 percent of the whole parliament, or one hundred and eighty members.79 Estimates vary, however, with another calculating that roughly one-third of MPs are sheikhs, one-third are military officials, and one-third are civilians. This may also not be too far from the truth because of the often-unclear links between tribes and their position in the military, though one-third is probably too high for the number of military personnel.80 The YCSS (a research center unofficially affiliated with the Islah party) commented in its 2003 annual report that “over 65 percent of the MPs are sheikhs [and] merchants, so they rarely care about peoples’ interests.”81 The feeling of neglect in parliamentary representation is common in the discourse of urban Yemenis where antitribal sentiments are often used to highlight parliament’s lack of capacity. Historically, the YAR’s parliaments had always contributed to the perpetuation of existing power structures, and these were dominated by tribal figures.82 The Northern parliament was a historical base of power for Sheikh Abdullah and by 1973 the Consultative Council, according to Manfred Wenner, was “the symbol as well as the reality of tribal power in the system.”83 The co-optation of tribal leaders will be dealt with in detail in the following chapter, but it is important to highlight here that there is a triangular relationship between the president, the tribes, and parliament. The tribes need a representative to lobby for them in Sana’a and the president needs to co-opt these representatives. It is likely that for some, the suspicion of a strong tribal parliamentary presence indicates the continuity of the preunification (avowedly undemocratic) era, in which state consultative bodies were seen as obstructionist forces to modernization and were dominated by tribal leaders,84 and the postunification period that very consciously points to its democratic features. This is not always fair, however, as many tribal leaders have a strong

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reputation for demanding benefits for their local areas but many MPs—tribal and nontribal alike—lack a national focus.85 While the majority of tribal figures are from the GPC (Islah’s members diminished on this count in the 2003 parliament), the commonly held perception that this has unequivocally strengthened the GPC in rural areas is not always true. In some instances it seems to have weakened the ruling party, particularly against Islah. One local observer who works for a political NGO argued that the GPC caucus is in fact quite weak because between twenty and fifty of its members usually preferred to side with Sheikh Abdullah, the leader of Islah. Which members sided with him depended on the issue at hand and the importance that it held for the president, but he suggested that there were about twenty GPC members whose support Sheikh Abdullah could almost always claim.86 The GPC’s majority has not always been as absolute as it seems; the challenge to it has not come from the credibility of an opposing party, but from the traditional relationships that underlie so much of the Yemeni political web. The large number of tribal families and leaders represented in parliament indicates that the party allegiances that are typically seen to be a base of Western democracy are not deeply rooted in Yemen. Particularly outside the urban centers, political allegiances remain strongly regional, traditional, and personal. Ahmed Saif cites a survey that he conducted with Yemeni MPs, which found that “only 57.7 percent of the MPs said that they represented a political party.”87 He attributes this to the strength of kinship networks in Yemeni society and to the weakness of party affiliations.88 In the 2003–09 Parliament, only fourteen independent MPs were elected in the 301 districts (4.7 percent)89 meaning that even after removing the independents from this figure, over half of the parliament still considered itself independent despite being officially affiliated with a party. As the smaller parties in the parliament (the YSP, Nasserites, and Ba’athists) have tended to adhere to stronger party discipline and leave little question as to the fact that they represent their party line,90 this percentage must be drawn almost entirely from the GPC and Islah. Islah is, however, more of an ideologically based party than the GPC, and its party discipline is more rigorous than that of the GPC. A significant majority of this figure can be safely assumed to be drawn from GPC MPs. Saif’s figure also corresponds closely to unofficial estimates of the number of tribal leaders that serve in the 2003–09 Parliament. In each of the elections since unification, the candidates’ party affiliation has been less important than their tribal or regional origins as these identifications have a more significant bearing on their ability to secure benefits for their constituents. The parliament also suffers from the general lack of respect for its role that exudes from the government, including the president, and even its

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own Speaker, Sheikh Abdullah (until his death in 2007), and his deputy, Yahia al-Ra’i, who do not try to prevent executive interference in parliamentary affairs. Iris Glosemeyer cites an example from 1997 in which Sheikh Abdullah blatantly violated parliamentary statutes in his bid for reelection to the position of Speaker. While he had followed official procedure in the previous elections in 1993, in 1997 there were no alternative candidates nominated for either his post or that of the rest of the board, and voting was not conducted in secret. It was of course quite unlikely that a formal election would have changed the outcome, Sheikh Abdullah’s status being firmly rooted in the parliament, but his preference for election procedures styled more on a tribal majlis (conference) than a formal state legislature left many questioning the relevance of parliament as an institution.91 As the Speaker of parliament, it was Sheikh Abdullah’s duty to set the agenda for the parliament, giving him control over what may and may not be debated by the members, and he frequently overrode issues tabled for debate by members. When one member raised problems with several reports on an impending oil contract in parliament, Sheikh Abdullah’s son, Hameed al-Ahmar (who is widely known to have amassed a personal fortune from acting as a local agent for foreign oil companies) warned him “This does not concern you.” His father quickly declared the parliamentary session over before an argument could develop.92 A member of the GPC caucus between 1997 and 2003, Saad al-Deen Talib, wrote that the disrespectful behavior of Deputy Speaker Yahia al-Ra’i toward the parliament was also accepted by the regime. Along with his frequent violations of parliamentary rules and insults made to MPs, such as referring to one as a “donkey” (extremely offensive in Arabic), on one occasion he actually came down to the floor to “physically attack several members” without drawing rebuke from either the parliament or the GPC.93 In another famous incident involving al-Ra’i and the abuse of his parliamentary status going unpunished, he kidnapped a plane that was intended to carry visiting foreign ambassadors and diplomats from the city of Mukalla back to Sana’a after the long day of celebrations for the anniversary of unification on May 22, 2005. As they were preparing to board the Yemenia flight, al-Ra’i, along with members of his tribe and a number of other MPs, stormed ahead of them, pushing them out of the way and taking the still partly empty plane to Sana’a. This left the unamused diplomats stranded until the plane returned from Sana’a to pick them up again four hours later.94 There was no apology made to those who were left stranded, many of whom were the official representatives of donor countries who had just had their worst suspicions about the Yemeni parliament confirmed. Based partly on the above, the public’s expectations of the parliament are not high and MPs are primarily viewed as mediums for the distribution of the

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state’s largesse. Sitting in a crowded restaurant with a member of parliament quickly illustrates what a random sample of constituents expects from its elected representatives. The MP was widely recognized and swamped by strangers who wanted his help in pulling strings to get them jobs, increased salaries, or more comfortable working conditions. Contact details were offered at a frenzied pace as diners sought to extract what they could from this chance meeting.95 However, it is not just the public and the regime that do not view the parliament as an institution of formal political negotiation. Confusion over the proper role of an MP is prevalent among the MPs and senior civil servants as well. In a study by Khaled al-Akwa’a, eighty-eight senior civil servants were questioned about the role of client participation in the provision of government services and decision making. Just over 96 percent of respondents indicated that services would be improved by increased citizen input. When asked how this input should be obtained, however, respondents were on shakier ground: 67 percent recommended that suggestion boxes be placed in each ministry; nearly 15 percent suggested setting up public hearings to get better input; close to 14 percent thought that the media should provide the necessary arena for public opinion; while less than 5 percent (four respondents) thought that input could be given through (local or parliamentary) elected officials.96 This indicates that parliament is still a long way away from being widely perceived as a vehicle of effective political representation.97 A YSP MP summarized this feeling well: Many MPs do not know the power that they have. Just as an example, I was criticizing the government in parliament once and an MP asked me afterwards why I was not shy in criticizing the government since it was they who pay my salary … This is the problem, many MPs consider themselves as government employees.98

Yemen’s parliament is neither genuinely independent nor effective, but it forms part of the softer end of the regime’s drive to retain control and is an attempt to monitor and, in some cases, respond to citizens’ concerns. While sometimes only barely tolerated by the regime, the parliament has also been used to provide feedback from the community, and some changes in policy or stance have occurred as a result. As an institution through which legitimacy can be enhanced and co-optation achieved, the parliament reinforces the blunter power of the MoF and the security apparatus. To a limited extent it has also served as an intermediary between the regime, local elites, and the society. The next chapter looks at some of the other ways that the regime deals with these elites and with influential social forces—the tribes.

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Tribalism in a Weak State

here are two prevalent clichés about Yemen’s tribal system and political development: one is that tribalism facilitates the persistence of authoritarianism; and the other that it is already a well-established, culturally specific form of democracy. It is sometimes said, both in the literature and in local discourse, that democracy has a greater hope in Yemen than elsewhere in the Arab world because of its large tribal population and the traditions of egalitarianism, election and accountability of leaders, consultation and consensus building, on which tribalism supposedly rests: “Because Yemen is a tribal society it has an egalitarian spirit … This is a good basis for democracy.”1 The semi-independence of the tribes from the central government is also sometimes used to suggest the presence of a counterbalance to state power with the potential to force the state to compromise with the society: “The decentralised society and fiercely independent culture of tribalism are the Yemeni Republic’s surest guarantor against the imposition of any totalitarian form of government and the firmest check of any slide into absolute civil chaos.”2 In this analysis, being well armed and relatively independent from the central government, the tribes bear the potential to balance its power and protect the rights of the citizens or at the very least limit the extent of the government’s oppressiveness. The suggestion that tribalism is a system that provides a base for the Saleh regime’s longevity represents the other side of popular discourse and literature on the impact of tribalism on political reform. The term “backward” (mutakhalif) is often used pejoratively to refer to tribes and tribalism and was used by the YSP as a political platform both before and after unification.3 Stephen Day argues:

T

Positive aspects [to tribalism] exist only within the tribes’ local communities, not when [Northern] highland political elites seek to use tribal customs to assert a larger political agenda. As a basis for national government policy in

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the twenty-first century, Yemen’s dominant tribal political culture is properly defined as “backward.”4

Day’s view is similar to the position of the late YSP leader Jarallah Omar regarding the Northern legal system, who said in 1993 that “the tribe in Yemen is no longer a social and economic institution … Our party rejects the use of tribal concepts to impede development or oppose law and order.”5 However, what both Omar and Day seem to be particularly objecting to is the regime’s manipulation of traditional norms—the mahsubiyya (patronage), which the Saleh regime deliberately exacerbates in the tribal system—to undermine the presence of institutional or enforced rule of law in favor of tribal social norms. In this sense, there is a distinction between tribalism as a social and cultural practice and tribalism as it operates at elite levels in Yemeni politics. It is not just Southerners and nontribal Northerners who complain of this political style. According to Paul Dresch, Northern tribespeople feel that the regime’s political style actually represents “tribalism’s negation.”6 However, this puts the case too strongly: it is rather the promotion of some aspects of traditional tribal political culture at the expense of others. It may be a manipulated form of traditional practices that has become predominant, but this version is not so divorced from tradition that it is entirely unfamiliar. Both these positions tend to overlook the skewing effect of the regime’s co-optive relationship with the tribal sheikhs as mediators between state power and social forces, and the manipulation of tribal structures has been one of the salient features of postunification Yemeni politics. Whether or not tribalism poses inherent obstacles to political reform, one of the biggest issues that Yemen must deal with is the question of what the legitimate sources of political authority are. In some parts of the country, there is still ambiguity over who—the state or the local tribe—exercises rightful control over territory and natural resources, as well as over who has the “right” to use violence. The ambiguity is a result of tribes that are reluctant or unwilling to cede their autonomy to the state, and a state that manipulates the tribal system to exacerbate a corrupt and malleable legal order that does not hold it accountable for its criminal actions. In the gap between state and nonstate power, patron-client relationships grow between the regime and military and tribal leaders, allowing the regime to preside over a divided society while also widening the divisions. The relationship between the tribes and the state is, therefore, often contradictory with each at times increasing and at times diminishing the other’s power, but both reinforcing traits in the other that provide considerable obstacles to state building. The relationship was clearer in some ways under the Imamate when tribal autonomy was more absolute, but the tribes also exerted less direct

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influence on the state. Since the overthrow of the Imam, the state and certain tribal elites, structures, and loyalties have merged to create a state system that is neither traditionally tribal nor a formal bureaucracy. The Yemeni state is neotribal: its foundations are built on personal and kinship relations and the loyalties that these inform, but it is also built on the breakdown and reinterpretation of traditional tribal mechanisms, where economic benefits are traded by tribal elites, to varying degrees, for their autonomy. Broadly speaking, tribal sheikhs are much less the “first among equals” than they were prior to the Northern civil war (1962–70) but more particularly prior to President Saleh’s rule. Instead, the sheikhs exist in a circular relationship with the state, negotiating with it on behalf of their tribes, extracting benefits, and thereby representing the state in their local regions. There has been a marked trade-off between the wealth of the politically relevant sheikhs and the cohesion of their tribes. The Hashid and Bakil tribal confederations were commonly referred to as the “wings of the Imamate.” The Imam’s authority was not absolute, and he required tribal acceptance for his survival. Neither trusted the other, and the Imam perpetually fueled conflicts between the tribes. Tribes were rewarded for their support or played off against one another, or sometimes subjected to a creative combination of the two. The anonymously authored Hawliyyat Yemeniyya from the eighteenth century refers to an incident where the Imam rewarded one tribe for their support for him by sending them off to loot a village with impunity and then sent another tribe in after them to plunder their spoils.7 Elements of the Imam’s divide-and-rule strategy can still be seen in the way that the Saleh regime operates. Because of this fragile equilibrium, the Imam operated more as an arbitrator and a source of economic bounty than as a head of state in any modern sense of the term. He settled tribal disputes, distributed resources, and maintained his dominance by the careful fragmentation of the tribes around him. This delicate balance between coercion, co-optation, and fragmentation has remained a defining point of successful political leadership in Yemen; President Ibrahim al-Hamdi (1974–77) coerced the tribes too heavily, which cost him his life; President Saleh, who is widely believed to have been involved in al-Hamdi’s assassination, understands well the importance of balancing these three tactics. The Northern civil war (1962–70) between the Republicans and the Royalists that followed the overthrow of the Imam provided an opportunity for the tribes to extract benefits from the highest bidder, and they happily swapped sides at the suggestion of a better offer. The literature is full of anecdotes of tribes who were “republican by day, and royalist by night,” or some similar variation. With the rapid influx of money and weapons to the tribes, the tribes’ power increased dramatically, and the republic that

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was created at the end of the war was based firmly upon tribal power structures, with prominent sheikhs dominating key government and military posts. The newly formalized positions of the tribal elite and their access to resources from the center meant that they were in a better position to consolidate their own patron-clients networks, which furthered their personal power and the power of their clients. One of the most important outcomes of this was the tribalization of the armed forces that became, as Robert Burrowes writes, “the linch-pin of the system of tribal power.”8 The military of the new republic became, as it remains today, a base of tribal power at the elite level and a source of co-optation and wealth distribution at the lower levels. Southern tribes are considered to be very different from their Northern counterparts being smaller and less cohesive and having held far less influence on the ruler historically. Unlike in the North, tribes in the South were never dominated by one tribal confederation or regional group, such as the Hashid and Bakil.9 The British were quite successful in breaking down the tribal structure of the South, a task that was continued with greater zeal by the Marxist government that followed shortly after their departure in 1967. Despite emphatic claims by the PDRY government in the former South of being nontribal, tribal allegiances still played an important (though not sole) role in power distribution to lower-level party leaders10 and in the placement of loyalties during the Aden crisis of 1986.11 Since unification, tribal structures, identity, laws, leaders, tribal conferences, and revenge disputes have all been revitalized in the former South. This is partly a response to the removal of the YSP’s repression and partly the product of conscious maneuvering by the Saleh regime. As was the case during the rule of the Imam in Northern Yemen, neither the state nor the tribes possess absolute power in the Republic of Yemen. The government must build alliances with the tribes to ensure its survival, but it is also threatened by the power that it cedes to those alliances and so works to undermine tribal power where possible. Yemen’s central government is weak, particularly outside urban centers where it does not always exercise unambiguous sovereignty, and Yemen’s tribes affect considerably the regime’s calculations. While perhaps only 20 percent of the total population considers their tribe as their primary unit of identity, the tribes factor heavily in political decision making.12 They have been called upon to defend the government against external aggression, particularly against the former South Yemen and Saudi Arabia, against the breakdown of unification in 1994, and against domestic armed uprisings such as the al-Houthi uprising that began in 2004. The tribal leaders play a crucial role as mediators between the central government and the tribes and are, therefore, easily targeted points of

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co-optation, which allows the state to push its agenda in rural areas without the need to build formal state institutions. As a result of its dependence on tribal support, the state is always concerned about the power of the tribes and the possibility of tribal dissent.13 Politically significant traditional leaders have been largely absorbed into the state system, which greatly increases their access to wealth and power but weakens the cohesion and solidarity of their tribal support base.14 The president still needs to negotiate with tribal leaders on some issues, but the level of financial benefits available to pliant sheikhs serves to significantly strengthen the state at the expense of traditional social forces. While the Yemeni political system is centralized through President Saleh, he exerts a more indirect form of control outside Sana’a and particularly in Yemen’s rural areas, where the majority of the population still lives. The tribal leaders who are linked to the center through the patronage system form the main point of contact between the state and the population on a day-to-day basis. This reliance on local elites leaves President Saleh open to a constant threat from those elites who may want to control their regions with autonomy. In trying to neutralize that threat, Saleh is caught in what Patricia Crone calls a “power stand-off.”15 In this standoff, each political actor—here President Saleh and the influential sheikhs—reduces the effectiveness of the other in order to maintain his or her own power, to the detriment of the political stability and potency of the state. Relative stability then hinges on the ability of the center to pacify the periphery, which further entrenches the limitations to the state’s legitimacy. Legitimacy that is gained through the ability to distribute wealth is compromised when that capacity deteriorates. In order to maintain its rather precarious position over society, the state delegates just enough of its power to tribal leaders, but not enough to cede ultimate dominance. Hence, through a combination of crude rewards and punishments and by creating or exacerbating divisions, the state remains slightly stronger than the fractured society over which it presides. The regime is thus in the seemingly undesirable position of relying on the tribes and of needing to strengthen them while fearing the tribes and wanting to weaken them. Under President Saleh, this tenuous balance has been manipulated to enhance his personal power at the expense of the strength of both state and society. Some tribal traditions such as group solidarity and egalitarianism of a considerable degree have been undermined through the co-optation of tribal elites, while other aspects of the tribal system such as nepotism and the reliance on patronage as a source of wealth and power have been promoted. The regime also adopts highly contradictory policies regarding the tribes. At times they are portrayed as a pillar of support, the basis of Yemen’s

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culturally unique practice of democracy and a symbol of the state itself. President Saleh remarked in 1986: “The state is a part of the tribes, and our Yemeni people is a collection of tribes. Our towns and countryside are all tribes. All the official and popular apparatuses of the state are formed from the tribes (or tribesmen).”16 The state intentionally funnels legal disputes through the tribal system of arbitration rather than through its own courts. It has worked to revitalize tribal leaders and certain tribal structures in the former South where they had been deliberately dismantled by the Marxist government. On the other hand, the regime has claimed that the central government is continually threatened by the tribes and therefore needs to shore up its coercive power against the threat that they constitute.17 The threat the tribes pose is real, and the number of weapons they possess dwarfs that of the state.18 So is it tribal parochialism, the tribal system as a whole, a much narrower circle of co-opted and corrupt tribal elites, or simply the presence of a fierce state set against a fragmented society that best describes the impact of tribalism on governance in Yemen? First, Yemen’s political system rests on the co-optation of politically relevant elites (that is, those who pose a potential threat) who are often, but are not necessarily, of tribal origins. This group also includes Islamists, former YSP leaders, other political party leaders, heads of NGOs, and professional syndicates. The fundamental consideration is the protection of the regime’s interests through the fragmentation of those who potentially pose a threat. However, largely because of its own tribal origins, the Saleh regime is particularly comfortable with manipulating tribal structures to create a political space that it can dominate. The Yemeni system is first and foremost one of co-optation and patronage, but it feeds on existing tribal structures. It detaches the system’s elites from their usual support base and reconstructs itself as the patron in that supportive role. Paul Dresch writes that in tribal circles, this process of co-optive detachment has come to be known as “taba’’ud, the ‘distancing’ of major shaykhs [sheikhs] from their followers,19 the result of which is the artificial separation of elements within the tribal structure. Through the benefits that are extended to certain sheikhs, most average tribespeople are marginalized. By fragmenting traditional power structures, possible threats from potentially powerful social forces are divided into more manageable segments. Dresch emphasizes the richness of cultural and moral norms within the Yemeni tribal system and draws a clear distinction between tribalism and the prevailing state political system: What practical links there are [between the Saleh government and the tribal system] tend to be spoken of by tribespeople in terms not of qabaliyyah

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(tribalism) but of mahsubiyyah (patronage). The term qabaliyyah is used more by intellectuals who are not themselves part of the tribal system.20

For Dresch, tribalism is principally a code of manners and procedures,21 of providing protection and group solidarity (’asabiya), of seeking balance, and of settling disputes. His claim that cultural tribalism is entirely separate from the patronage system, however, obscures the complexity of the role of tribes and tribalism within the Yemeni state. Rigid lines between tribalism as a social or cultural identification and the political system with which it is intimately connected are artificial. Far from being purely a product of decaying tribal norms under the present corrupt (nontribal in Dresch’s analysis) order, patronage was used extensively by the Imams to suppress tribal challenges to their rule throughout prerevolutionary North Yemen and was a fundamental element of the power relationship between tribes and the ruler. As the central government expanded its reach, particularly under President Saleh, the ability of the government to incorporate tribal leaders into its networks also expanded accordingly. Dresch argues that the Yemeni state is “a family business … a military-commercial complex … High-ranking army officers and a few great merchant families all had their hands in each other’s pockets. Between them they had the state in their control.”22 He does not discuss the role of tribes, and particularly tribal leaders, within this “military-commercial complex,” instead, he abstracts them from this power structure.23 Dresch comments that the tribes have opposed the military-commercial system and emphasizes that there have been complaints made by the tribes against “a family-based system of rule in an attempt to de-emphasize the role of sheikhs in the perpetuation of Yemen’s patronage system.”24 However, tribesmen are per capita heavily overrepresented within Yemen’s military and civil service, and tribal leaders dominate the ranks of those that receive government contracts, licenses to control economic commons, and access to state-funded stipends. The head of a local NGO that works with Yemeni tribes estimated that between 70 and 80 percent of the military consisted of tribesmen, a huge majority considering that Yemen’s tribal population is a minority.25 While Dresch argues that one cannot “speak of Hashidi dominance when the benefits of power are confined to such a small circle” of Hashid’s total members,26 lower members still receive preferential treatment over nonHashidis through their overall access to military and civil service positions. These benefits are expanded when one considers the opportunities for corruption and smuggling that are increasingly tied to government employment. Tribal sheikhs also spend a considerable amount of time on Sana’a thrashing out local demands with the central authorities,27 not a small

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number of which are settled by granting the sheikh, and sometimes his tribe, economic benefits. The “military-commercial” complex from which Dresch abstracts the tribes is a system from which politically relevant sheikhs and some (though a minority of) tribes draw considerable benefit. Stephen Day cites an unofficial estimate made by international consultants working in Yemen’s Ministries of Finance and Planning who calculated that “as much of half of the government’s total outlays go into the highland region’s tribal networks. Most of these expenses are paid out to the highland tribes through the regime’s various military and security services.”28 While these figures may be inflated, there is no doubt that a considerable portion of state revenues have been funneled to the sheikhs and tribes to whom the regime turns for support and who, if discontented, could pose a serious threat to the central government. There is a difference between the traditional tribal codes of conduct and customary law as the defining points of Yemeni tribalism and the system of patronage that the ruling elite have built around the narrow circle of politically relevant tribal leaders to serve their political ends. This is sometimes referred to in local political discourse as the “sheikhly system,” that is, a system detached from many traditional norms but which is now the lynchpin in the relationship between state and tribe. Dresch is right to point out that the use of the term “tribalism” is sometimes unfairly a byword for corruption and the reliance on the use of personal connections to extract benefits and that consensus-based rule and egalitarianism are also a part of the Yemeni tribal tradition. However, to suggest that tribalism and patronage approach mutual exclusivity misrepresents one of Yemen’s most basic political realities in the postunification period. An anecdotal observation illustrates these dynamics well: During an interview, a prominent sheikh who held no official government position paused the conversation to take a phone call. When he returned he reported that he had just spoken with “someone very high up in the government who does not have tribal influence.”29 The sheikh had been requested to set up a meeting with another sheikh who was high up in the government so that the nontribal government leader could raise his issue. Without the intervention of this sheikh, the nontribal state official was not, despite his formal position, have been able to organize such a meeting. It should be noted of course that these channels are open only to a select few within the tribal system and that the majority of tribespeople feel as removed from the circles of power as anyone else. The presence of traditional norms need not necessarily inhibit political development, but when they are manipulated to prevent the application of law and order to those in power or as a means of distributing favors to a select few, the obstacle is significant, perhaps insurmountable. This applies

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particularly when the manipulation simultaneously undermines the traditional system and the state system that might replace it. The existence of a strong tribal system has helped the Saleh regime to create local proxy rulers through the sheikhs and make state institutions seem superfluous. By incorporating these local leaders into patronage networks and turning them into an extension of the state, President Saleh has undercut the prospects of independent political action by the tribes while also undermining the formation of tribal structures that are more adapted to modern state institutions. The rather artificial nature of this relationship between the state and the tribes has reinforced a desire for autonomy from the state by many within tribal society. Tribal Autonomy Yemen’s tribes are often referred to as, and indeed often consider themselves, a state within a state, exercising considerable autonomy within their own territories.30 For example, in a study prepared by Sana’a University, it was found that in the heavily tribal area of ’Amraan, north of Sana’a (the powerbase of the al-Ahmar family), respondents indicated that they felt more loyalty to their tribe than to the state (the study reported a 70–30 percent split in favor of the tribe). In Hadhramaut, however, a less strongly tribal area in the former PDRY, respondents indicated that they felt more loyalty to the state than to the tribe (a 70–30 percent split again, in favor of the state).31 An article in the Yemen Times by a tribal activist from the Marib area illustrates the clash between the tribes and the state on the issue of the legitimate use of violence. After describing the reasons that Yemen’s tribes feel marginalized by the state, the author argues in defense of the tribes: “The tribes … blame the government for trying to enforce laws to disarm the tribes while simultaneously allowing the military to do whatever they want.”32 In other words, the government should treat armed tribes and the military as equals and the tribes should not have to submit to the authority of the state because it may be unjust. While the distrust of the state continues to feed the insistence on tribal autonomy, the state will be limited in the ways that it can govern its citizens. Robert Burrowes cites an incident in late 2003 to illustrate the limits of state power vis-à-vis the tribes, in which government security personnel intervened in a fatal dispute between two tribes in the Marib area. The government forces shot and killed a suspect in the death of a man from the other tribe who was fleeing from their pursuit. Members of his tribe retaliated and killed three of the government troops. The leaders from both tribes were, however, outraged at the government’s involvement in what was, they claimed, a purely tribal

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matter: “‘The government should not have interfered,’ said a prominent shaykh [sheikh]. ‘We have ways to settle our disputes and this loss of life is merely a result of the government’s interference … We have our own rules … and our own ways to deal with things and we want the government to stay out of trouble.’” As Burrowes points out, this is not an isolated incident of tribes demanding freedom from state intervention in their territory, having occurred “dozens if not hundreds” of times.33 One of the most public examples of tribal resistance to state authority was the shootout between some of Sheikh Abdullah’s sons (and their supporters) and government forces outside the British Embassy in Sana’a in September 2002. During the wedding celebrations for one of Sheikh Abdullah’s daughters that were being held across the road from the embassy in the city’s main commercial district, the road leading directly to the embassy was being blocked by police for security reasons. One of Sheikh Abdullah’s sons, Qahtan, wanted to enter the street but was refused by the police. A fight broke out between the sheikh’s son and his guards and the police officers. There are conflicting reports about the exact events at this point, one story being that one of the sheikh’s bodyguards began shooting at the three policemen. The other story claims that the sheikh was offended by being blocked and left the scene, returning with more guards and only then opened fire on the police car. One witness reported that when Qahtan left, the three policemen were already in their cars, bloodied and motionless, and one was slumped over the steering wheel, where they remained for the two hours that the fighting continued, indicating that they had been killed before Qahtan left the first time. In an effort to downplay the incident, the government claimed that nobody was killed, but witnesses and local newspapers generally hold that the three policemen were killed.34 At that time the British Embassy was situated right next to the headquarters of the Central Security Agency, and so government forces were able to respond very quickly to the initial shooting. Within fifteen minutes, “hundreds of very well dressed men in expensive cars arrived at the scene.”35 These men, many of whom were sheikhs and the sons of sheikhs, were the guests of Sheikh Abdullah at the celebration for his daughter’s new husband that was being held at another location in Sana’a. The men who arrived were from different parts of the country, of different political affiliations, and many were members of the GPC.36 The conflict escalated quickly, with fighting spreading street by street for a distance of several square kilometers.37 Buildings along Hadda Street, including the British Embassy, were sprayed with machine-gun bullets as British diplomats took cover under their office furniture.38 The (then) offices of the National Democratic Institute across the road were taken over, and several people were held hostage for the duration of the fighting, but again,

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nobody was injured. Conventional local wisdom, at least among those disenfranchised by the tribal system, holds that these sorts of incidents are quite common because tribal leaders “assume that they are above the law.”39 In this incident the tribesmen banded together against the state in defense of one of their own, political party loyalty aside. That the center of the capital city was used as a shooting gallery for two hours without drawing serious public rebuke from the president and was dismissed publicly as a “normal, simple incident” by the Speaker of parliament (the father of the conflict’s instigator)40 indicates, at the very least, that the central government was willing to pander to tribal custom at its own expense. Stephen Day relays a story from 1992 in which Sheikh Abdullah and other top Hashid leaders had tens of thousands of their tribesmen encircle Sana’a as a show of support for the political status quo amid demonstrations and intense economic uncertainty. The men camped on the city’s outskirts for around a month but eventually broke camp, and the situation descended into armed conflict between the Bani Suraym tribe and government troops. For several hours there was a tense standoff in the streets of Sana’a, which peaked in the area surrounding the GPC’s political headquarters in central Sana’a, as the tribes refused to yield to the government’s troops. Sheikh Abdullah negotiated a surrender based on traditional tribal norms between the tribe and the government, and President Saleh did not pursue the matter further. Like the incident outside the British Embassy, the violent confrontation between state and nonstate forces in the middle of the capital city was not settled by the tribes submitting to the authority of the state but by invoking northern tribal customs.41 President Saleh’s acceptance of the settlement underlines the ambiguity between state and tribe in his own approach to governance. Perhaps the strongest indicator of the importance of autonomy to Yemen’s tribes is the enthusiasm with which payments have been accepted from neighboring Saudi Arabia—never an ally of the Yemeni state—by Yemeni (particularly Hashid) sheikhs,42 including many people who hold powerful government positions, most notably Sheikh Abdullah and his sons. Saudi Arabia has generously subsidized Yemeni tribes since the Northern civil war of 1962–70.43 The payments have been intended to facilitate the tribes’ autonomy from the Yemeni government and to give the Saudi government a mechanism with which to weigh in on Yemen’s political decision making.44 The external patronage received by the tribes allows them the freedom not to rely only on the largesse of the Yemeni government and underlines the ephemeral nature of their loyalty to the Yemeni state. It allows sheikhs to build up their own client networks without government oversight or leverage and undermines the ability of the Yemeni state to buy the political

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loyalty of its tribes. While it has not bought the Saudi Arabian government undivided loyalty from the tribes, it has bought a considerable thorn in the sovereignty of its Yemeni counterparts. For example, while Sheikh Abdullah’s loyalty to the Saudi Arabian government was not absolute, his ties were clear. In 1994, he refused Saudi Arabia’s requests to him to go against President Saleh in the lead up to the civil war, and his monthly subsidy of seven million Saudi riyals ($1.87 million) was consequently severed.45 It was not reinstated until the time of the border agreement negotiations in 1999–2000, at the lower rate of three million Saudi riyals ($800,000) a month.46 During the border negotiations, however, the Yemeni government reportedly used Sheikh Abdullah’s ties to its advantage deliberately feeding him misinformation to filter back to Saudi Arabia, which he did. This factor contributed significantly to the negotiations working out in Yemen’s favor and led the Saudi Government to decry the trickery of the Yemenis. Under the border agreement between the two states, finalized in 2000, Saudi funding was supposed to be channeled through the Yemeni government instead of being paid directly to the tribes.47 In reality, the independent payments continued, the Saudi government promising instead not to add new people to its list of recipients. Unofficial estimates in 2005 placed the number of people currently receiving subsidies from Saudi Arabia at between 17,000 and 18,000.48 While notional, this figure highlights the weight that Yemen’s largest neighbor places on keeping a stake in their territory and the willingness of the Yemeni sheikhs to facilitate it. The quest for tribal autonomy coupled with the rise of modern state institutions has raised serious questions over the reasonable limits of the state’s political, legal, and territorial sovereignty and the rightful recipient of the citizens’ political loyalties. The strength of Yemen’s tribes at times inhibits the government from carrying out the normal functions of a government, such as extracting natural resources, punishing criminals, constructing government buildings, or restricting the use of scarce water reserves. However, this is the result of more than a traditional preference for autonomy. Like other Yemenis, tribespeople perceive the corruption and inefficiency that is endemic in Yemen’s formal state institutions, and many believe that independence from them is the only way to defend their interests. Against a weak, inefficient, and sometimes fierce state, tribal structures and institutions provide a network of social security for its members. In the words of Sheikh Abdullah Mohammed Tua’iman, the head of Marib’s largest tribe (Gahm), speaking in 2000: I once again, stress that tribes have become more aware of consequences of conflicts. What they need is more security and stability. When they feel that

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they can travel to any place in Yemen with no fears about their safety, they will be the first to disarm themselves … Ex-governors … showed no enthusiasm about providing services for the city … Had money spent on those forces been spent on services projects in the governorate, there would have been no acts of sabotage.49

Tribal leaders do not always grant the government access to the territory that is under their control. The number of government soldiers killed for entering an area without permission is a good reason for the state to take these restrictions seriously. The propensity to refuse access, while becoming less common than it was prior to unification, goes all the way to the highest levels. Sheikh Abdullah, for example—in one sense thoroughly a man of the regime and in another, an autonomous sheikh—repeatedly forbade the state to build a police station in his local area in the ’Amraan governorate, apparently believing that the presence of state apparatus would undermine his personal authority.50 He also prevented schools from being built in his local area. Few state schools existed in the area, and when the Islah party, which Sheikh Abdullah headed, began building religious schools throughout the country, he refused to grant permission to do so in his territory. At the time of writing , there were still no religious schools in his immediate area and far fewer government schools than in other areas.51 Tribes have also demonstrated the ability to leverage the state on policy issues in a way that other sectors of Yemeni society have proven incapable of doing. In July 2005, following several days of fatal protests around the country against the reduction of fuel subsidies, a number of tribes surrounded Sana’a to cut off the city’s supplies, demanding that the subsidies be reinstated.52 As Sana’a is landlocked, dry, and mountainous, it depends on other areas for almost all of its consumables. The tribal leaders involved in the action were granted a meeting with President Saleh and the price was reduced from YR1300 ($6.77) to YR1200 for 20 liters of petrol. At the same time, tribes from the oil-rich Marib province in the north blockaded government convoys that were carrying fuel out to the rest of the country. Several tanker drivers and a government soldier protecting the convoy were killed. According to the Yemen Times, President Saleh compromised again, giving Marib’s tribes an even cheaper price on fuel.53 It was widely believed in Sana’a’s political circles at the time that there were certain tribes in the area that were given access to free fuel.54 President Saleh only compromised on the issue of subsidies when the tribes intervened, not as a result of repeated demands by the opposition or of the days of violent and disruptive demonstrations throughout large parts of the country. The government has sometimes been unable to restrict the tribes from using the groundwater found under their land. Yemen is one of the most

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water-scarce countries in the world and some studies have indicated that Sana’a could be uninhabitable within as little as a decade.55 It is vital to the long-term future of the country that its use of water is carefully regulated, but it has been difficult for the central government to oversee consumption in some of the water-rich areas where the desire for tribal autonomy and self-sufficiency is strong.56 The city of Ta’izz, the urban center of the country’s demographic core, for example, has roughly only 20 percent of the water that it needs to operate effectively. The outlying rural (tribal) areas of Ta’izz governorate, however, hold considerable water. When the Ministry of Water and Environment requested permission from the local tribes to build eight wells in the region to service the essential needs of the city, it was granted permission to build only six.57 Several tribesmen indicated in interviews, however, that such refusals are generally due to a feeling of marginalization from the central government and concerns that they must therefore rely on themselves for survival. When asked about tribal attitudes to the use of water in tribal areas, it was typically argued that if the state attempted to implement a clear water policy and educated the tribes about its importance, such an effort would in fact meet with little resistance.58 Yemen’s legal system is a flashpoint between formal codes and traditional norms, and tribal leaders have historically opposed the establishment of a centralized legal system. The respect that a sheikh commands for his ability to arbitrate legal disputes directly corresponds to his client base and, therefore, his potential for power.59 Larger sheikhs are also permitted to operate their own prisons to punish the criminals that they find guilty. A centralized judicial system would potentially undercut this considerable power. The World Bank estimated in 2000 that only about 30 percent of Yemen’s population relies on the formal judiciary, the rest calling upon sheikhs to settle disputes.60 People prefer the efficiency of the tribal system to the state system, where courts are less accessible, corruption is deeply rooted, and verdicts are poorly enforced. An unpublished study on tribal conflict by the National Democratic Institute in Yemen in 2007 articulated the cycle of distrust between the tribes and the formal state institutions. Sixty-nine percent of respondents (tribal sheikhs, public figures, and members of the local councils) said that they had never asked for assistance from the government in resolving tribal conflicts in their areas, and most (75 percent) believed that the government was ineffective at doing so. However, the study also revealed a “strong desire by the informants [sheikhs] to increase the role of the state in ensuring security and achieving justice,” suggesting that the state increase “general security” in tribal areas and establish more courts and special committees to resolve revenge disputes.61 However, when it came to submitting

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to the courts on the specific issue of settling revenge disputes,62 respondents were still divided, 52 percent stating that they would rather the state’s courts resolve revenge disputes and 47 percent preferring the tribal judicial system in these cases. Fifteen percent of respondents also noted that they would not accept a state court’s decision on a revenge issue and would “prefer to take revenge by their own hands instead of resorting to the official judicial system,” and a further 9 percent thought that their families might not accept the state punishing a perpetrator.63 Contrary to what one might expect of a state, the Yemeni regime has actually encouraged the move away from its own institutions, particularly in the former South where the formal court system was strong prior to unification.64 Since that time, the ROY government has advocated the use of tribal law over civil law and has directed criminal cases to the tribal system for resolution, increasing the power and prestige of the sheikhs.65 It is widely held that the government has replaced many traditional judges with poorly qualified sheikhs who hold records of subjective rulings.66 What is more concerning, as seen in the attempted assassination of former acting prime minister Hassan Makki (who was shot by a tribal ally of the president and made only to slaughter a bull in restitution), is that the central government has resorted to “tribal explanations and solutions to political crimes”67 where it was likely that a civil proceeding would have held it accountable. The regime’s use of such methods, which—as under the Imam—includes the occasional taking of hostages to gain political leverage, has undermined its legitimacy and worked to convince people, including the tribes, that neither the central government nor its institutions can be trusted. This has reinforced the desire for independent institutions that function outside the state’s control. The rule of law has been the main casualty of these shortsighted actions. With the simultaneous decay of other tribal codes and norms—particularly tribal solidarity, the sheikh as a first among equals, and consultative decision making68—and the continued weakness and inefficiency of state institutions, Yemeni society is undergoing an uncertain transformation. This feeling of being in transition is by no means lost on ordinary tribespeople who have lived “by their own estimation in a new era” of rapid change since the fall of the Imam.69 In this new era, some elements within tribal society have deliberately pulled away from the central government while others have willingly moved closer. Reinforcing the Power Status Quo: Co-optation, Coercion, and Fragmentation Despite the hurdle of well-armed and semiautonomous tribes throughout the country, the central government has proven adept at playing on aspects

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of the tribal system to perpetuate itself. The tribes have at times underpinned the regime’s power by acting as a paramilitary force. The regime further attempts to control tribal power through the fomentation of intertribal conflicts. President Saleh has a highly contradictory relationship with Yemen’s tribes, giving with one hand and taking with the other. As one tribal leader commented on the fraught nature of the relationship: “I am sorry that the government says that the tribe stands against the government because this is not true, the government stands against the tribes.”70 Not surprisingly, there is no homogenous tribal position in Yemeni politics: like other elements of the political environment, those with access to the circles of power wield disproportionate power and influence. Those without access are left out of the process of political consultation other than employing random, often illegal or violent, acts to try to compel the government to act. Tribal leaders are kept in line through access to resources, the level of which is determined by a combination of a sheikh’s loyalty to the regime and the importance of his tribe. Significant sheikhs (some 4,000–5,000 in total) receive a monthly salary from the Yemeni government through the Department of Tribal Affairs (DTA), which is officially attached to the Ministry of Local Administration. They are issued with a card indicating their position, which gives them access to benefits such as a monthly salary and the permission to act as a semiofficial legal officer. The main objective of the department is to co-opt and gain leverage over those whom the central government recognizes as being a sheikh and, therefore, a potential threat to its power. The DTA works on a simple carrot-and-stick principle: in the first instance the government pays the sheikh a monthly stipend. If there is a dispute between the government and the sheikh (or his tribe), his salary will be reduced or perhaps severed, depending on the nature of his offense. Where problems persist, the government has resorted to physical force: The more [the sheikhs] get from the government, the more support they provide the government in doing what is asked of them. In some cases there are rebels in some tribes and the government can’t intervene with the army, but they can ask the sheikh to suppress the rebellion … Now all the big sheikhs get all the funds they want from the government. If he challenges the government, he will lose these benefits.71

Payments are arbitrary, and attempts by parliamentarians to determine how and to whom the funds are dispersed have been unsuccessful: “They couldn’t reply to my questions about how the money is distributed … It is rather random and it depends on the influence of the tribe on the government, it is not distributed by merit, but by good relations with the

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government.”72 As usual, the government’s self-reported figures are implausible. According to the Ministry of Finance, YR775 million ($4.2 million) was spent on the DTA in 2003.73 One sheikh who received DTA payments estimated that most sheikhs receive between YR20,000 ($105) and YR100,000 ($525) per month, although some receive a great deal more than this.74 Divided among the 4,000–5,000 sheikhs receiving payments from the DTA, the figure given by the ministry already comes up short at between $87.50 and $70 per sheikh per month. Furthermore, patronage takes forms other than straight cash payments: vehicles, business deals, salaries for (sometimes fictional) guards, and houses are also given as gifts, though the government is often careful to withhold the ownership papers, allowing them to evict troublesome or disobedient sheikhs.75 Sometimes patronage simply involves turning a blind eye to corruption or banditry. Major sheikhs commonly support the claims of minor sheikhs for jobs and land (government-owned and private), and many minor sheikhs now operate as contractors to the state, often with the protection of major sheikhs if they underperform or cheat the government. Whereas twenty years ago, the majority of contractors were from the traditional commercial hub of North Yemen around Ta’izz (with a few from Ibb, al-Baydha, and Marib), now the majority of government contractors are sheikhs, and more than half of these, according to a Yemeni businessman, are from the Hashid confederation. There are now only two major contractors from Ta’izz.76 After returning from a twenty-year absence from Yemen in 2001, anthropologist Steven Caton observed: The charisma of these sheikhs was apparent in their faces, in their bearing, in the circumspect way their followers approached or disengaged from them, all of which I had noticed about them twenty years before; what was different was their newfound wealth, resulting from government subsidy and capital accumulations, evident in their big cars, expensive guns, and many retainers … A powerful figure like Hentish obviously relished the drama of public life and still possessed a common touch with his people, but he could get government-sponsored projects for them only if he had influence with key officials, and that would require a residence in Sana’a, no doubt, and hours of hob-nobbing with the capital’s political and business elite. A good sheikh has to perform a delicate balancing act between his obligations to his followers and the demands of the state, which put a strain on him that might always have been but never in so acute a form.77

The GPC consciously uses the power and legitimacy of the sheikhs in their local communities to enhance its position. During the 1993 elections, a Western diplomatic observer commented that throughout that campaign, “the real work of the government was to find the most popular sheikh and

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buy him into the party, which is why the PGC [GPC] … did so well in spite of being very unpopular before the election.”78 In reality, the GPC’s organizational superiority and resources would have been sufficient to secure a majority over the other parties, but it chose not to risk relying on this alone, co-opting strong tribal leaders. This had the knockon effect of elevating traditional dress, symbols, and names in the campaigns of urban candidates who saw the game for what it was and played along accordingly.79 It is commonly charged that the regime has deliberately revitalized tribal practices since unification, particularly in the former PDRY, where the YSP had attempted to eliminate tribalism and tribal law by outlawing it.80 There are two clear advantages for the regime in consciously channeling political and social organization through the tribal system. First, by encouraging revenge disputes and tribal forms of arbitration, tribal resources that could potentially be used in opposition to the state are depleted. This undercuts the ability of tribal alliances to form against the state. Second, by then offering assistance to warring or otherwise weakened tribes, the state makes the tribes and its sheikhs dependent on it for either resources or mediation. Working through leaders who have been co-opted by the state severs that sheikh from his tribe and transplants him instead into the state system where he serves as an extension of its power.81 Manipulation of tribal structures is not unique to Yemen. One former advisor to the Jordanian king remarked that Jordan’s tribalism “is in the hands of the king, he raises and lowers it according to his needs. Tribal structures were reinvigorated in the 1970s and are now stronger than they were before World War Two.”82 King Hussein used measures much like Saleh’s to buttress tribal structures and reinforce their dependence on the state. Southern sheikhs who had returned to Yemen from exile were registered with the DTA in Sana’a, and it is not uncommon to hear Yemenis argue that tribalism has become even stronger in the South than it is in the North. This is likely an exaggeration, however, its common acceptance underscores the heightened role of practices considered “tribal” in the former PDRY. In part, the growth of tribalism in the South since unification is a response to thirty years of often-violent repression under the YSP, but it has also been encouraged from high up in the Saleh regime, which has shown a marked preference for dealing with local sheikhs over formal institutions. Shortly after unification, Sheikh Abdullah spent three months in the South meeting with local sheikhs. Opinions vary as to whether this was to try to establish himself as paramount sheikh in the South, to gather support for his Islah party, or to underscore the importance of the tribes in political life.83 Whatever the intention of his visit was, quite likely a combination of each of these factors, he showed that an important leadership role awaited tribal sheikhs in the new republic.

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Reportedly, tribal law has begun to usurp the South’s institutional legal codes, and revenge disputes (that were outlawed in 1968) have reappeared in some areas since the end of the 1994 civil war, and moreover, tribal discourses, and even tribal poetic forms, have regained popularity.84 Southerners are quick to complain about Northern efforts to reorganize Aden along tribal lines following the 1994 civil war. Since that time, the Saleh regime has introduced the ’aqel al-hara, a local neighborhood chief who is appointed by the regime and acts as a legal officer in the first instance instead of the well-established Southern courts system, which many Adenis decry as medieval.85 The regime also appointed a widely disliked man to the position of Aden city’s official paramount sheikh (sheikh al-mashayikh) despite the fact that Aden has not been governed tribally for over one hundred years.86 The deliberate revitalization of tribalism in the South is a further indication of the relevance of the tribal system to the resilience of the Saleh regime. Other than having sheikhs serve as local proxies for the central government, the Northern tribal confederations (particularly Hashid) have also responded to the call to defend the Saleh regime in armed conflicts. The role of the tribes in this sense is a matter of debate in the literature. Dresch argues that “there was no tribal factor in the 1994 Yemeni crisis … None of the major tribes joined in the fighting as a tribe.”87 However, they did take part in the conflict in a less official capacity, and the Saleh regime called upon some (predominantly Hashid) tribal militias.88 Tribespeople themselves also emphasize the significance of their role in the fighting.89 The head of a local NGO that works on tribal issues recalled: “The government called [the tribes] to fight, definitely … How else could [it] capture 350,000 square kilometers in 70 days [but with] tribal support … I can remember all the women in the tribal areas making cakes to send to their men who were fighting.”90 The government newspaper, al-Thawra, commemorated the eleventh anniversary of the end of the civil war (July 7, 1994) in 2005 with a series of photographs, two of which show a line of hundreds of trucks and four-wheel drives full of nonuniformed armed men. None of the visible number plates in the convoy are registered to the army, indicating that these armed fighters were not part of the government’s regular forces.91 The chaos of civil war could have been an “ideal time” for the Northern tribes to openly challenge the state had they been so inclined, but they chose instead to follow its lead.92 The situation for the Northern regime became so dire at one point during the war that it had enough money in the state treasury to support itself for only a few more days. Under normal circumstances, one might expect a well-armed, discontented tribal group to rebel, but this did not occur.93 Stephen Day criticizes Paul Dresch for trying to create an inaccurate image of the Northern tribes and arguing that their only large-scale role in

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the civil war was after the Northern victory had been declared, when the tribes became involved in the extensive looting of Aden. In Dresch’s summation, the looting was “regrettable.”94 It may have been regrettable, but it was not unusual for a victorious tribe to loot or sack its opponent after a conflict. During the ten days that Aden was under siege, many Yemenis recalled memories of Imam Ahmed sending the tribes in to pillage Sana’a in 1948 after the assassination of his father Yahya.95 Day argues that rather than being an aberration of normally honorable tribal codes, the looting was indicative of the anarchy inherent in tribalism and of the way the Northern regime used anarchism and chaos to dominate the South.96 However, some Southern tribes played a facilitative role, accepting money from the North to stay out of the conflict or allow the Northern army to advance.97 It was not just the North that tried to use the tribes in some capacity to defend itself in the civil war, though it was far more effective at it. During the civil war, the Northern tribes acted in support of the establishment. Like other potential threats to Saleh’s rule, the tribes appear to have feared the vacuum that would likely result from his absence. More recently, the tribes have played an integral role in the conflict surrounding the al-Houthi-led rebellion in the governorate of Sa’ada that occurred in various stages from 2004 and was still ongoing at the time of publication of this book in mid-2008. Some tribes were drawn into battle as a result of their opposition to the strong military presence in what was traditionally a tribal stronghold with weak central-government penetration. Others supported the government security forces.98 During the conflict, tribesmen in Sana’a reported having serious concerns that the presence of tribal forces on either side of the battlefield would set the stage for protracted violence as tribes became drawn into a cycle of exacting revenge for deaths or injuries to their kinsmen. In qat chews around the city, the accusation the government’s purpose was indeed to fuel such tribal rivalries and expand their presence in the region was often made. Saleh himself has admitted his reliance on (and seemingly his preference for) tribal over nontribal society at one time reportedly saying impatiently to Giselle Khouri on Abu Dhabi Television: I have one and a half million tribesmen who, on my command will mobilize with their own guns and ammunition. What use do I have for men in pants [mubantaleen—a derogatory term for men who do not wear traditional tribal dress] who, in their underpants and pants are being stomped in the streets.99

A source close to Saleh suggested that this preference lies in the fact that the president has proven highly competent at manipulating tribal structures

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and norms to his political advantage, confirming that he encourages tribal revenge wars to weaken and divide the tribes: “He gives [violent conflict] the green light, he lets them know that he will not stand in the way.”100 The central government is commonly accused of deliberately funding or arming both sides in a tribal dispute in order to perpetuate conflict. Often sheikhs from both sides will be registered with the DTA and be encouraged to compete for the favor of the president or high military officials. One such conflict is the long-standing dispute in Marib between the Murad and the Abeeda tribes that began in 1981. The continuing problem between the two tribes has given the government previously unattainable control of Marib because each tribe now permits the government to maintain an army camp in the area as a means of ensuring continued government financial and logistical support.101 Similarly, prior to the 1994 civil war, a ranking local government official in another area reported that he had been unsuccessful in settling a violent tribal dispute in his area. He then received a letter from security personnel that one tribe was to be given a certain number of bullets. Later the official received another letter instructing him to give a different number of bullets to the other tribe. The sheikh of one of the tribes involved went to the security official and complained that he was given fewer bullets than the other party, and so the official was instructed to give that sheikh more bullets.102 A tribal activist reported that he once called the presidential office to try to arrange state intervention in an ongoing violent tribal conflict and was told by an official to “‘let the tribes kill each other.’ And this is what happened. A lot of people in high positions were informed, the local governor and security director, even though they knew what the outcome would be.”103 His is not an isolated complaint as the response to a revenge conflict in al-Jawf in 2004 illustrates plainly.104 Upon President Saleh’s request, several neutral but influential sheikhs from surrounding areas had mediated in the dispute to obtain a ceasefire. They managed to secure an agreement to end the conflict but nevertheless it continued to simmer. Both parties felt that they were losing face for not taking revenge for the members of their tribe who had been killed or injured. While both had agreed to accept compensation, none of it had been delivered. It appeared that serious violence was likely to flare up again. Several sheikhs from each tribe visited the president (note here his role as a mediator) and informed him that they wanted to formalize the truce in the courts and that both parties were prepared to accept the court’s verdict. A local analyst who met with several of the people present at the meeting shortly afterward said that President Saleh responded by insulting the sheikhs and telling them that their request for government institutions showed a lack of respect for their own tribal

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traditions.105 According to this observer, both parties to the conflict were receiving support from members of the government. Written documentation of the government’s desire to funnel disputes through the tribal system at the expense of its own institutions of course does not exist, but the consistency of reports from a wide variety of actors makes a strong circumstantial case.106 By pursuing such tactics, which have been successful in the short term, the Saleh regime runs serious longer-term risks. There are many indications of the lack of state interest in the tribes below the level of the sheikhs, of which tribespeople are keenly aware. Dresch argues this point strongly saying that President Saleh is no longer a part of the tribal system: “The president is constrained by a system of patronage that has grown steadily for a decade and has distanced him from his natural constituency—the tribes not least.”107 The system of patronage surrounding the major sheikhs has, however, also increasingly alienated them from their tribes. Resentment has been steadily building against the fortune that they have amassed— many feel at their expense. Dresch even argues that many Hashidis (by far the best represented group in the state’s largesse after the president’s small Sanhan tribe) “seem demoralized.” As a consequence, he suggests, even the strongly cohesive Hashid confederation is unlikely to stand behind a sheikh as forcefully as it would have done even twenty years ago.108 For instance, a tribal sheikh and GPC member of parliament, on the condition of anonymity, commented that “the interests of Sheikh Abdullah’s son are not the interests of his tribe … Now he is not keeping the interest of his tribe … He represents himself and other business people.”109 There is a vacuum in the Yemeni system: the government needs to build the power of the tribes in order, as President Saleh put it, to “mobilize” them at his command, but he must also sever their power to prevent them from uniting to destabilize his government. In strengthening only sections of the tribal population, the regime has weakened its own core. It has also contributed to the decay of other elements of the tribal system, for instance, the traditional norms that prohibit violence in certain areas, such as marketplaces, and against “vulnerable” people, such as women and children.110 In most cases there are real limits to the autonomy of the tribes, both through the co-optation of their leaders that helps to stave off potential rebellion before it occurs and then through the use of physical force. While the Saleh regime allows and even facilitates the continuation of violent intertribal disputes as a way of undercutting the sheikhs that it otherwise supports, the state is, at the same time, limited in options and capacity. Even if it did do more to mediate in tribal disputes, the regime would likely risk being dragged into an ongoing conflict with tribes that resist its authority in the short-medium term. Further, any truces ordered by the state

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would need to be enforced by the state, which, apart from having the potential for a cycle of violence, could open the floodgates to tribal demands for the traditional payment of blood money, legitimately and otherwise.111 If political reform is to progress significantly, the state and the tribe will need to reach a compromise. At present the state is, to most tribes, “a mere synonym of the political elite who holds power in Yemen to the detriment of the country.”112 Their acceptance of a sovereign state requires, as Elham Manea states, the creation of strong state institutions with a strong capacity but also the desire to enforce law and order.113 In so doing, the state must also deliver benefits and build trust between itself and the grassroots tribal communities, not just the sheikhs. The Yemeni state is not strong, and the methods of political survival that it has adopted have weakened the society to a greater degree and have also exacerbated the level of distrust between itself and the tribes. By undermining other potential avenues for political action, the state is reinforcing traditional linkages as a defensive mechanism against a predatory state. By simultaneously weakening cultural tribalism severing leaders from their traditional support bases, the Yemeni system is poorly equipped to deal with the rapid change it is undergoing. As the next chapter will show, other social organizations have had a comparable lack of success in challenging the dominance of the regime.

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5

Nonstate Actors and Political Reform: Civil Society, Activists, and Political Parties

he notion that civil society is a key base from which to propel a transition to democracy is a dominant theme in both the literature on political reform and in the democracy-promotion programs found throughout the region. This notion is underwritten by the hope that civil society organizations (CSOs), such as advocacy groups and service-oriented groups, will empower citizens to engage with, and extract concessions from, the state in a pluralist political environment. After Yemeni unification, many CSOs did emerge quickly to fill the political space that was deliberately vacated by the regime, but they were not sufficiently equipped to protect that space or fight for more once the regime began to retract it. The inability of Yemeni civil society and oppositionists to successfully counteract the regime has meant that they have not (yet) emerged as significant drivers of political reform. There are three key barriers to civil society groups forming an effective counterbalance to the regime in Yemen. The first is that civil society has tended to mirror the system of patronage that drives the ruling elite—the effectiveness of actors in the civil sphere is often derived largely from their proximity to the leadership. Without personal connections to regime figures, political activists, advocacy groups, newspapers, and professional syndicates are unlikely to stay solvent or have their interests heard. Second, the way that the concept of civil society has been applied to the Middle East by Western scholars and democracy promoters often presupposes an American lobby-group style of politics where organized groups are empowered to bargain with the state to achieve specific goals. This assumes the rule of law and respect for the sovereignty of the state by those bargaining with it, neither of which have been consistently apparent in Yemen. The law, or more

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often the lack of its enforcement, does not consistently protect civil groups, which makes it extremely difficult for activists to press beyond the regime’s red lines without risk of punishment. If civil society is to counteract the state, it must be clear where and what the state is, but Yemen’s tangled web of patron-client links makes this identification difficult. Finally, and most importantly, gains by civil society in Yemen, such as the growing number of organizations and the slightly more liberal regulatory laws, have not corresponded to losses in the regime’s power. In a pluralized authoritarian state, the presence of an active though stifled civil society can actually help protect the state’s key political elites. Civil society is a contested space in which nonstate actors compete for influence in the decision-making process—funding, status, the defense of their members’ interests, and control over public discourse. It can include nongovernmental organizations, political parties, advocacy groups, professional or trade unions, religious organizations, clubs, and nonstate media.1 As the Yemeni experience clearly highlights, even groups that do attempt to affect government decision making do not necessarily politically empower their members or counter the state. They are often mired in their own corruption, governmental interference, inexperience, incompetence, and resource seeking. The sphere of nonstate activism can be, but is not necessarily, counterhegemonic. Far from unambiguously acting as “instruments for the expression of interests … against the regime”2 as they are often portrayed in the literature, some Yemeni CSOs and opposition groups have actually functioned, intentionally or otherwise, in support of existing power structures.3 This chapter builds on the idea that while civil society may have provided the impetus for democratic transitions in the West, it may not necessarily perform the same function elsewhere, particularly where large amounts of rentier income reinforce the state’s co-optive and coercive power. In pluralized authoritarian states, opposition groups can unintentionally strengthen the regime they seek to weaken. The managed and curtailed political space that regimes grant opposition groups can mean that the opposition’s actions either serve to legitimize the regime, providing them with access to funding from donors advocating democracy, or act as a pressure valve for popular discontent. Formal, and therefore identifiable, opposition groups provide avenues for dissent that are more manageable for the regime than if discontent were simply left to bubble below the surface unchecked. Regimes in pluralized authoritarian states thus maintain their positions in part through the type of openings that might normally be expected to dislodge them.4 Like a co-opted parliament, legal though stifled opposition groups can help gauge the level of likely threats to the regime, and by incorporating dissenters into the legal political arena, radicals are also probably less likely to unify

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violently against the regime. As Holger Albrecht writes, “turning resistance into controlled opposition is the name of the game.”5 Finally, the weak and divided opposition groups typically found in pluralized authoritarian systems can make apparent the fact that there are no viable alternative leaders with a sufficient power base to control the country, leading to the conclusion that the current leader is the only realistic option in order to maintain stability. Opposition groups are not necessarily counterweights to government power, and in Yemen they have sometimes acted as an extension of it. On the other hand, Yemeni opposition groups have been more than simply co-opted players being used by the regime to obscure the reality of an all-dominant ruling party.6 In Yemen, the Islah party attracted close to one-quarter of the popular vote (22.5 percent—some 1.4 million votes) in the 2003 elections, despite the many electoral violations that favored the GPC and, probably, the public’s knowledge that regardless of the actual outcome an opposition party would not be permitted to claim an electoral majority. There is genuine grassroots support for Islah, in particular for its charitable organizations, for the decentralization of power, and for local development initiatives. Within these organizations there are varying degrees of political co-optation and regime manipulation but they are by no means completely creatures of the regime. Their presence has not, however, necessarily indicated society’s capacity to counter the state’s overarching dominance, particularly once political openings were repealed by the state. Citizens may be eager to participate in political life and the government may be aware of the legitimizing value of claiming to be in a democratic transition, but post–civil war Yemen has seen the consolidation of long-standing patrimonial power structures. In Yemen, existing power hierarchies are protected behind a mesh of unenforced laws and corruption. Opposition groups are faced with the difficult question of whether to perform as active players and attempt to affect changes from within the system or to apply pressure from the margins and risk either irrelevance or confrontation. However, even if Yemeni civil society was to become fully protected, it would still have to overcome inefficiencies such as infighting, corruption, lack of experience, and, sometimes even the view that its interests are better served by the current system, before it could provide a more rigid balance to state power. It is not only interference of the state that has prevented Yemen’s opposition groups from being an effective force for social or political progress. Strong financial and structural links exist between many Yemeni CSOs and the state and deepen the disincentive to challenge the existing political institutions and power structures.7 The mutually beneficial elements of such a relationship have reduced the need for the regime to adopt some of the more blunt control mechanisms that are at its disposal.

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Mechanisms of Control The Yemeni regime has been fairly flexible in the methods by which it attempts to control opposition groups and activists. Although the level of desired control has fluctuated since 1990, several overall patterns emerge. Generally, the state has sought to avoid outright oppression where possible. Instead, it prefers to allow political and civil organizations to exist and run out of steam through their own lack of capacity, stymie them through a series of legal or bureaucratic obstacles, co-opt their leaders, flood their body with GPC members, or suppress them from within if necessary. These methods have enabled the regime to undermine the ability of civil society and to effectively counterbalance its power, usually without the direct threat of violence, which has helped it turn many potential opposition or civil groups into tools of control. The soft repression exercised on opposition groups means that an increase in their numbers does not necessarily portend a widespread change in citizens’ ability to bargain with the state. Furthermore, by narrowing the possibilities available to opposition groups, marginal victories can seem more significant than they really are. One popular method of control employed by the leadership has been to create its own CSOs to fill civic spaces, allowing them to compete for resources and legitimacy, and thus market themselves as key providers of progress, charity, and development. The al-Saleh Association, established by the GPC to compete with the Islah Charitable Society and headed by the son of the president (Ahmed Ali Abdullah Saleh), is only one of the more notable examples. It essentially functions as a welfare organization, and though it is thoroughly wedded to the state, it mimics successful Islamist charitable groups by organizing mass weddings and other charitable activities, particularly during the holy month of Ramadhan. In so doing, it seeks to claim political space for the regime that is usually reserved for Islamists. The regime has also proven adept at allowing institutions associated with democracy to exist, while simultaneously preventing them from having a significant impact. For example, Yemen hosted several large international conferences on the development of democracy that were lauded by Western media as being indicative of nascent democratization in Yemen. At the Regional Inter-Governmental Conference on Democracy, Human Rights and the Role of the International Criminal Court of January 2004,8 the Yemeni government praised democracy as the only viable form of government, while it simultaneously limited the access of journalists and prevented several human rights organizations from attending. Yemenis often speak of leaders in opposition parties accepting money from the regime in exchange for semicompliance; that is, providing the appearance of an opposition but refusing to push beyond the red lines set by

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the GPC: “Speak, but don’t touch the system in any serious way, don’t touch the president.”9 Financial inducements for opposition figures are widespread and the amount a person or organization receives depends on their relationship with the regime. Publicly, the regime argues that it would like to be balanced by a more robust opposition but that the opposition’s lack of capacity and internal democracy prevents this (thus by association blaming the opposition for the lack of democracy in the country). People close to the president admitted tacitly during interviews, however, that co-optation and bribery of the opposition was a deliberate method of control: The government would love it if the opposition strengthened itself … We call for [a real] opposition but we have been disappointed. Why should they need government money, if you take money from the government, even if the government offers it, the opposition should not accept. The government are not angels, so why say yes to government money?10

In this presidential advisor’s analysis, opposition groups are responsible for their own shortcomings. In a similar disclosure, another source also closely connected to President Saleh commented: “In reality there is only one head of Islah, the president, and he directs them. [Islah members are] the most corrupt people in Yemen, they talk a lot but close their mouths when you put money in it.”11 Other activists have chosen to resist the push to legally declare their work on the grounds that government protection “often means having to trade favors, or to pay certain individuals for their protection … [which] usually divert[s] it from achieving its original aims.”12 Where a group deemed to be politically significant resists government involvement, the regime has been known to clone the organization, a process popularly referred to as istinsaakh, in which the regime duplicates an independent group and forms a mirror organization with the intention of creating confusion and marginalizing the original. The GPC has used this method to undercut a number of professional syndicates, and there are now at least two syndicates for some professions, the larger one dominated by the opposition but not officially recognized, and the other set up by and attached to the GPC and therefore better funded.13 In 1991, the GPC worked to split groups within the Nasserite party, creating what Paul Dresch calls a “counterfeit” Nasserite party.14 The GPC attempted to influence members of the party by offering them positions as deputy ministers or lucrative positions in companies and newspapers, and successfully played on existing internal divisions to force a rift and ultimately a split.15 The party was split into the independent Tanzim al-Wahdawi alSha’bi al-Nasiri (Nasserite Popular Unity Organization) and the GPC-aligned

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Hizb al-Nasiri al-Dimuqrati (Democratic Nasserite Party). There was a comparable diversionary organization artificially created from elements of the party Rabitat Abna’ al-Yemen (Sons of Yemen League) where the GPC influenced its members and created a new, similarly titled party, al-Rabita al-Yamaniyya al-Shar’iyya.16 The Union of Popular Forces received similar treatment with its party newspaper, al-Shura, being copied by a GPC paper called Munber al-Shura and later again by the staunchly proregime Sawt al-Shura, after the original al-Shura took what the regime saw as a controversial stance on the uprising in Sa’ada in 2004. The similarities between the names of the original and its clone show that the intention is to create confusion in the public as to which organization is legitimate and which is the artificial offshoot. Generally, the old party or organization continues and the new version is weaker in terms of popular support because most informed people know its origins. However, the artificial clone receives significant government funding, making it likely to survive in the longer term. A professor at Sana’a University described the methods by which the CSO that he had once belonged to came undone.17 The Sociological and Philosophical Society had about two hundred and thirty members, all of whom were sociology and philosophy academics and graduates. After the results of the 2002 elections for the board of the organization were announced, and the winners were predominantly from the opposition parties, the GPC formed two different organizations—one for philosophers and one for sociologists. Most of the members of these two new organizations were either from the GPC or were students who had not graduated yet and so were not technically eligible for membership. The Ministry of Social Affairs and Labor then cut the financial support that is legally granted to registered CSOs and diverted it to the new organization. They thought that these philosophers and sociologists were [too] influential … so they created new organizations that were attached to the GPC. The original one still exists but it has been weakened because the support from the ministry was cut, now we have to rely solely on contributions from our members … The government does this to attract more followers and weaken the legitimacy of the opposition.18

The creation of mirror organizations also works as a show of power to independent groups, since nobody working in the field has any trouble differentiating between the genuine organization and the fake. The artificial organization is essentially a symbol of the regime’s ability to interfere and undermine those who might seek to oppose it. Professional syndicates are also co-opted and bullied; even seemingly apolitical organizations such as those for dentists and doctors have not

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been free from interference. This points to the likelihood that the regime is not just trying to maintain dominance over groups that have the potential to directly threaten it politically (for example, lawyers, teachers, professors, students, and journalists). It also sends a message against collective bargaining, professional self-regulation, and genuinely independent political action. Interviews with members of six different syndicates revealed that treatment by the regime was quite consistent across the organizations.19 Complaints included board elections being declared invalid and requiring revotes in areas far away from the original polling area where few if any voters would be willing or able to travel; security being present overwhelmingly at the time of polling and power cuts during the vote count when ballot boxes were stolen; candidates being replaced with members of the Political Security Office; unfavorable consequences of placing a vote for the opposition or an opposition victory being discussed; checks being done that government employees turned out to vote and threatening the state pensions of those that did not; victories by opposition candidates being swapped to the GPC by virtue of the candidates’ names being similar; and the syndicate being flooded with nonpracticing professionals (regime members) to overwhelm the legitimate vote. One member of the Lawyers’ Syndicate remarked in 2004 for instance that “there are more members of the lawyers’ syndicate than there are lawyers” in the country.20 Preexisting Divisions within the Opposition However, it is not just this external influence that has hampered nonstate actors in Yemen. Like the regime and ruling party, Yemeni opposition groups are hampered by their lack of internal transparency21 and high levels of personalization. These problems are exacerbated by distrust between CSOs and the competition for status and donor funds between them. The successful reversal of many reforms after the civil war indicates the lack of capacity within opposition groups to effectively negotiate with the state. While they eagerly filled the gaps granted to them by the state, they were significantly less capable of consolidating, expanding, or even maintaining this space once the willingness of the government was rescinded. There are strong divisions between groups of politically active and aware individuals within Yemeni CSOs and other opposition groups. These divisions and the lack of coordination between groups opposed to the political status quo are a key impediment to building a system of competitive participatory politics. In the divided political environment of post–civil war Yemen, the regime is less threatened by genuine competing forces and is under less pressure to bargain with society for its legitimacy. In interview after interview, the mention of a competing organization (particularly the

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mention of its leader) brought stories about its corruption, its dependence on the regime (for reasons of political protection or financial support), or its primary function being to either advance the leader’s tribe, region, or view of religion, or to gain access to donor funds. The accusation that a particular person could “set up an NGO in several hours” was a common one.22 Regime officials agreed with this assessment in interviews and in its public discourse, arguing that the key inhibitor to Yemeni CSOs is the fact that so many of them are established for the financial benefit of its leaders. Deputy Minister of Social Affairs Ali Saleh Abdullah commented in 2003, for example: “There are many cases in which some individuals who have good communicative skills and relations with donors take donations for themselves not for their NGOs.”23 He also noted in an interview in 2005 that Yemen’s NGOs are inhibited by their own corruption and low level of internal democracy, saying that “they do not understand the law” to suggest that the government feels it is supportive of NGOs but is disappointed with their progress.24 Similarly, an employee of a prominent civil organization advocating democracy described the organization’s leader as a “shopkeeper, selling people what they want to hear at an inflated price.”25 These perceptions are also rife among donors who complain of the mercenary nature and lack of accountability in Yemeni NGOs,26 one Western political researcher observing that “if the word’s out that the Americans are funding women’s initiatives, suddenly every NGO in Yemen is a women’s group.”27 While some divisions in Yemeni opposition groups are manipulated, and some entirely created by the regime, not all are a product of their interference. As Abdel Rahman writes of Egypt: “The state is no longer the prime authoritarian force in repressing civil society organisation.”28 Civil society actors are quite capable of repressing each other too. Yemeni opposition groups exist within a complicated web of domestic regional acrimony, kinship loyalties, sectarianism, and tribal-nontribal and north-south splits, all of which are further convoluted by the receipt of funding from other authoritarian Arab states keen to use Yemeni groups to extend their own interests. Foreign funding has also pushed political parties to adopt imported ideologies such as Marxism, Nasserism, Ba’athism, and Wahhabism, none of which were developed in response to Yemen’s own political circumstances.29 This tends to increase their detachment from the day-to-day concerns of their potential constituents. The original Yemeni Nasserite party was, for example, set up by the Egyptian intelligence service in the 1960s when it was trying to empower the Shafe’i population of Lower Yemen to compete with the Northern highland region, much of which was aligned with Saudi Arabia. After the departure of Egypt from North Yemen, Libya attempted to promote Nasser’s legacy and also provided Yemeni Nasserites with financial support. There are

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two Yemeni Ba’ath parties, both of which adopted imported ideologies and rivalries. One receives its support from Syria and is known popularly as the Syrian Ba’ath Party. The other is the Ba’ath National Party (known popularly as the Iraqi Ba’ath Party) and, until the removal of Saddam Hussein’s regime, received its funding directly from the Iraqi government. After the overthrow of the Iraqi regime in 2003, many of the Iraq-affiliated Yemeni Ba’athists moved closer to Syria. When it became clear that Baghdad was going to fall in 2003, the General Secretary of the Yemeni Iraqi Ba’ath Party, Abd al-Wahab Mahmood (also a Deputy Speaker of the Yemeni Parliament) went to the Syrian embassy in Sana’a to swear allegiance to Syrian President al-Assad.30 The Muslim Brotherhood, the basis of what is now a large part of the Islah Party, was also supported by Saudi Arabia. While Islah no longer receives money directly from the Saudi Arabian government—though some members, most notably Sheikh Abdullah and his sons, continue to receive funds personally—it is widely believed that the party still receives money informally from ideological partners within Saudi Arabia. The regional divisions within Islah and the impact of these on the efficiency of the party are discussed in greater detail in the following chapter. Despite the rhetoric of unification, Yemen is still deeply divided politically, economically, and, some argue, culturally between Upper and Lower Yemen. The divisions are particularly pronounced between the former PDRY (particularly Aden and the Hadhramaut) and the highland region (Upper Yemen) anger in the former South, where complaints over the use of Southern economic resources are rife, and have continued to rise since the Northern victory in the 1994 civil war. In 2007, a large-scale antiregime protest movement broke out throughout the former South and spilled into other regions as anger built against the government and its economic mismanagement. Many Southerners believe that corruption, biased governmenthiring policies, and unlawful confiscation of land by the Northern-led regime are sapping what is rightfully theirs: “We like to be called Hadhramis, not Yemenis. Yemen is shamaal (the north),” commented one businessman in Hadhramaut in 2005.31 The resource poverty of the former North sharpens its dependency on a lasting unity and makes the possibility of a Southern or Hadhrami secession all the more dangerous for the regime. The centralization of political administration and control in the Northern highland region essentially hinges on this economic reality. Devolution of greater power to local Southern administration would risk ceding power over the resources that drive the northern part of the country.32 In this deeply fragmented environment, rumors and conspiracy theories surrounding which opposition members are corrupt or co-opted abound. Details vary widely and their accuracy is in some ways less significant than the pervasiveness of the stories.33 The dominant perception within postwar

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civil and political organizations is that local NGOs and political parties are either so internally corrupt, and their structures so undemocratic, that they are ineffective at promoting political change or function only as a tool of the regime. These perceptions indicate that the deep divisions between the middle class and the politically aware groups that most theories of democratization suggest bear significant responsibility for advancing a political transition. They are incapacitated by a lack of trust between them, which makes the establishment of larger groups with coherent mandates significantly more difficult in the near future. The Saleh regime has been able to capitalize on this, further dividing potential opposition groups by infiltrating organizations with members of the GPC and the PSO and by incorporating opposition leaders into the patronage system with the lure of economic benefits and political favors. The regime’s historically established talent for dividing and ruling those who are potentially capable of challenging it is facilitated by Yemen’s already fractured political environment. The constraints inherent to pluralized authoritarian systems also amplify the tendency toward secrecy and suspicion in the opposition. Yemen’s opposition groups usually try not to reveal their electoral policies, partners, or candidates until the last moment for fear that the ruling party will either commandeer their ideas or people, or aggressively squeeze the party for being too assertive. This plays into the hands of the incumbents by further increasing the distance between opposition parties and their potential constituencies, who then appear to be out of touch with the needs of the people. Political activists face a minefield of possibilities when deciding whom to align themselves with in order to successfully advance their objectives, and they readily perceive the potential barriers to forming a coherent movement. The expansions to free expression and political association that coexist with the repression of political action have reinforced debate as the most viable, or at least most accessible, form of action, which contributes to the malaise of the formal opposition. Its members are sufficiently free to disagree with one another and define the problems that they face, but are generally too restricted—or perceive themselves for be too restricted— to act on possible solutions. This has significantly limited the creation of a coherent opposition mandate to press on the government. A conversation with a political activist interested in advancing a progressive Islamic alternative to the doctrine preached by powerful Salafi clerics illustrated the perceptions of the prevailing obstacles clearly. In his analysis, Yemen was “not ready yet” for the type of changes that he hoped to usher. A first consideration was his desire to build his personal profile in order to bolster himself with popular support. He said he could not go to the government for support because he would lose credibility with the opposition, which he hoped would ultimately form part of his support base. But

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at the same time he felt that he needed a good working relationship with the government because otherwise it could seriously impede him and also because his ideas were likely to create enemies within the religious establishment from which he might need the GPC’s protection. He believed that siding solely with the opposition was not appropriate because he felt that it focused too heavily on thoughtless criticism, was still ineffective, and would only put him at odds with the government at too early a stage. As ideas on the need for religious reform may challenge several of the top leaders within Islah, he felt that they would also be threatened by his views and would therefore be unlikely to support him. The midlevel leadership of Islah, many of whom are well-known to be disenchanted with the corruption of some members in the upper echelons of the party, was also an inappropriate base of support, he said, because they are still too afraid to take such an obvious risk against powerful members of the party. Academics at the universities would be hard to muster because he felt they had been co-opted by the government. He argued that the establishment of an NGO to pursue his goals was inappropriate because he would need to be aligned with an existing group, and those that he knew had links (or popularly perceived links) that had the potential to discredit him. He realized that he could not approach any American government element for backing because he would lose credibility in front of other Islamic groups, and U.S. support would also cause him to be branded. He concluded that it was best to continue as he was, writing for nongovernment newspapers (despite their low readership levels) and wait what he estimated would be between two and ten years for his ideas to take hold.34 The reticence to seek out and join like-minded individuals permeates the formal opposition and CSOs. Even the most significant opposition coalition, the JMP, has had little concrete success as a coalition and has been mired in distrust between its members, although as its split with the government grew so did the strength of its alliance. The JMP was formed in 2002 and is a coalition between Islah, the YSP, and four minor opposition parties: the Nasserite Unionists, the Union of Yemeni Popular Forces, Hizb al-Haqq, and the Ba’ath National Party (the Iraqi Ba’ath Party). The latter has since left the coalition. The JMP is essentially an undertaking between each of the member parties not to “compete against other JMP members— either directly or indirectly—if the outcome would serve to favor another party’s candidate winning the seat.”35 Seeing the GPC as the biggest obstacle that each member faced in the 2003 elections, the YSP agreed not to challenge Islah in one hundred and thirty districts where it recognized that Islah had a better chance of victory, and Islah agreed not to challenge the YSP in thirty districts. While these negotiations did not carry over to significant electoral victories for either party, the negotiations between Islah

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and the YSP were both persistent and intense.36 Cooperation, particularly between Islah and the YSP, was still in its very early stages in 2003, and despite their stated efforts not to disrupt the other’s chances, they often did, generally to the advantage of the GPC. A senior YSP official commented in late 2004 that while there were some points of agreement between his party and Islah under the JMP in 2003, “maybe we succeeded on one issue and failed on ten.”37 A former official from Islah commented that the coalition between the two parties was seen by many within Islah as more of a tactic “to scare the government and get international support” than as being indicative of a deep commitment to organized cooperation. “There is no solid ground for cooperation … We hope it might teach people that you need to accept others, but the YSP is dead, so are the Nasserites and so are the Ba’athis.”38 However, as is discussed in the following chapter, this has since changed somewhat, and after the relationship between President Saleh and Sheikh Abdullah soured publicly from 2005, the JMP found more room for dissent and worked toward greater internal cooperation. The JMP was built in defense against the GPC, but it also mirrors one of the GPC’s main characteristics—an ideologically bereft umbrella group for elites that exists to protect their group interests. The only real requirement for JMP membership is that one should not be a member of the GPC. Its members’ historical backgrounds thus range from the extreme left to the extreme right. Because there is scant ideological glue to bind the parties together, it remains possible that any member could still be theoretically assimilated under the GPC umbrella in pursuit of tangible benefits. Its members have therefore had to settle on a lowest-common-denominator basis of agreement in order to stay together. In avoiding some of the more loaded political arenas, the basis of agreement has been set around calls for political and economic reform. These short-term goals represent the JMP’s endeavor to create a new inclusive ideological banner for itself in the absence of other value positions.39 Ultimately, the JMP did not do as well as it might have in either the 2006 presidential or local elections. The parties were hindered by lingering patronage ties between their leaders (particularly Islah’s) and the regime, by campaign blunders and inexperience, and also critically by enmity between the grassroots supporters of Islah and the YSP in some key areas. Many people from the Ta’izz governorate, an area that forms one of Islah’s key support bases, were killed or maimed during sporadic conflicts in the 1970–80s between the YSP-backed National Liberation Force (NLF) and the local Islamist resistance, the Islamic Front, the consequences of which remain in living memory. Similarly, parts of the former South clearly remember the damage done by the Islah party and its supporters in the South during the 1994 civil war. The JMP failed to communicate its policies and joint

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mission effectively to these areas that still felt the scars of violent conflict, and the coalition actually served to weaken them in the face of the GPC in some key regions. Areas sympathetic to Islah in and around Ta’izz were unwilling to support the YSP, and parts of the former South sympathetic to the YSP did not want to support Islah. Partly as a result of these kinds of very local divisions, the JMP failed to capitalize on popular sentiment against the GPC. In reality, the JMP achieved in 2006 what had been the opposition’s unspoken mandate for the past several years—to provoke debate and apply pressure on the president to reform himself, without realistically endangering his job. Electoral violations notwithstanding, Yemeni voters also preferred the idea of a strong and familiar leader who had been pressured to improve over the prospect of unpredictable change with a new untested leader. President Saleh was officially awarded 77 percent of the vote, and the JMP’s presidential candidate, Faisal bin Shamlan, received 22 percent. In the local elections, the JMP won only 9 percent and 14.5 percent of seats at the governorate and district level, respectively. In 2006 the JMP alliance proved to be weaker than the sum of its parts, but it is possible that its members will learn from this experience and regroup for the parliamentary elections in April 2009. For the JMP’s performance to become more significant in these elections, it will have to see its function as being less of a political lobby group and more of an alternative power center. It will also have to work hard to promote the idea of the coalition if it is to overcome the strong distrust between its diverse grassroots membership. In Yemen, CSOs are also grounds for competition between elites, and some large organizations have disintegrated over power conflicts between their leaders. The Yemeni Institute for Democratic Development (YIDD) is one of the more prominent examples of an NGO (in reality an organization supported by the government) that was undermined to the point of virtual irrelevance by internal disputes and co-optation.40 YIDD was established shortly after the end of the civil war by a group of intellectuals and was backed by both the GPC and the YSP, with the latter initially playing the larger role. The group’s key objectives were to strengthen political pluralism, participation, and civil institutions, for which their main tool was the organization of seminars.41 YIDD termed itself an NGO despite the fact that both the secretary general of the GPC (Dr. Abd al-Kareem al-Iryani) and the deputy general secretary of the YSP (Jarallah Omar) sat on the board of trustees and that it also attracted government funding. It secured considerable Western donor support in the early stages, but the foreign donors soon became unhappy with YIDD’s financial management42 and began to give more money to YIDD’s competitor, the Arab Democratic Institute (ADI), which was even less ambiguously financially supported by the government.43 According to a former employee of YIDD, the aim of

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both the GPC and the YSP was to undermine the establishment of a genuinely independent civil society by channeling it into an arena that they could still control. “The members just divided off into groups … and fought amongst themselves over the control of the institute, because with control of the institute comes control of its budget.”44 The disputing parties ended up in court over the refusal of its leader to allow elections for a new board, despite the legal requirement that such elections be held every two years. The organization eventually split off into two groups—those who still supported the original leader and those who opposed him.45 By 2003, YIDD’s secretary general had all but abandoned his independent stance, officially joined the GPC, and taken a position working in the government. Despite the regime’s proud, and often-made, assertion that thousands of CSOs exist in Yemen, the sheer number of organizations and their overlapping mandates reflect their lack of cohesion, which makes them easier to control. As Daniel Brumberg argues in the cases of Egypt and Morocco, the leaders have encouraged the growth of thousands of semidependent civil groups because “it is better to have 5,000 small civil society organizations than five big ones, since competing NGOs impede social activists’ cooperation.”46 Perhaps most significantly, it vastly increases the competition for rare donor or government funding. This has been true for Yemen, where many different and divided human rights organizations, democracy promotion groups, and women’s organizations are marginalized and without the ability (and sometimes will) to form a united front against the regime. Another feature of this divided political terrain is the failure of political parties to forge links with local development or service NGOs to build stronger connections to local communities. Political party discourse and activities tend to be pitched instead to an elite, nationally focused audience, leaving service-based NGOs to address grassroots community needs. Yemeni political parties, though particularly the JMP, currently engage in two political spheres: elite dialogue (usually regarding institutional reforms, particularly of the electoral system), and oppositional activities (such as organizing protests against price rise, unemployment, corruption, and land rights, etc). The third sphere of engagement is missing, however—offering constituents an alternative to that which they oppose. The JMP has not yet created policies that offer the people something, and still concentrates on extracting concessions directly from the regime or providing an outlet for some (albeit rather limited) political frustrations. By documenting popular enthusiasm for (broadly defined) civic action by Yemeni citizens, Sheila Carapico tries to show the possibilities for gradual democratic development in Yemen and for the whole Arab world, judging by the subtitle of her book—A Political Economy of Activism in Modern Arabia. Unfortunately, enthusiasm for loosely defined popular

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associations is probably insufficient to alter basic power hierarchies, particularly when the vast majority of CSOs are not politically oriented and the links between service and political NGOs are weak. The 2000–2001 United Nations Development Programme’s National Human Development Report on Yemen lists 2,786 CSOs operating in Yemen, and of them, only about two hundred (professional societies, trade unions, human rights organizations, and political parties) have an apparent political advocacy mandate. The vast majority are concerned with welfare, community development, culture, and sports.47 The report characterizes CSOs in Yemen as numerous but ineffective and their effect on the regime as minimal at best.48 Further, of the opposition political parties, it is only Islah that, from 1997, was capable of having a bearing on the regime individually. The other parties hold a total of only twelve of the three hundred and one seats in the 2003–09 parliament. As is shown in the following chapter, the co-optation of its top leaders has also historically limited Islah’s potential to promote political changes. Much is made in the literature, by the regime and by donors of the relatively high levels of freedom given to the media in Yemen, despite the fact that broadcast media remains completely under government control and over 50 percent of Yemeni adults are illiterate. While opposition parties are legally granted a small amount of airtime during electoral campaigns, they are prevented at other times from using either the television or the radio. Foreign donors have thus focused on training print journalists, undoubtedly a requirement of Yemen’s undertrained and underpaid journalists. However, when only a tiny percentage of people read the newspapers that they produce and broadcast media ownership is protected, these programs can essentially just chip away at the very outer edges of centralized control. Statistics from 2003 show that only ninety thousand copies of daily newspapers were published each day, of which the independent al-Ayyam (thirtyfive thousand) was the only nongovernment paper. Part of the reason why there were so many copies of al-Thawra (the main daily government paper— 25,000 papers per day)49 and 26 September (a weekly government paper affiliated with the armed forces—25,000 papers per week) published was that they are mandatory in government offices. There were a further 258,000 copies of newspapers, magazines, and bulletins published on a weekly basis.50 Accurate figures on the percentage of people that read newspapers are not available and are impossible to ascertain with certainty from the figures that appear in the statistical yearbooks, particularly when one takes into account the fact that the largest number of government newspapers are delivered to all government offices. For indicative purposes, however, even if one wildly overestimates to suggest that every paper in these statistics represents one reader (that is, that nobody reads more than one paper in

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this period and that every paper produced is actually read), the number of people that read one newspaper each week in Yemen in 2003 was still only 4.4 percent of the population. If, more realistically, one assumes that those who read the papers generally did so more regularly (say, two papers per week) and that those who read the daily papers also accounted for most of the readership of the smaller weekly papers, that figure is reduced to just 1.6 percent of the population.51 This is still likely to be an exaggeration because it assumes that the piles of papers that accumulate in government offices each day were actually read.52 These figures indicate one of the weaknesses of the feedback mechanism between the state and society. Where the level of information going to the population is manipulated, stifled, or of poor quality, it is more difficult for them to reach an informed opinion. The feedback provided on this basis to the government is thus also more likely to be based on inaccuracy, rumor, and fear than on fact and is, therefore, potentially much less informative. Narrow readership is perhaps not even the most troubling problem faced by Yemen’s print media. As with other civil society groups, they have been mired in infighting, limited capacity, and sensationalism, often crossing into outright slander and intimidation. Stacey Philbrick Yadav argues that it is one of Yemen’s ironies that the print media actually contributes to the narrowing scope of free expression as people become afraid of speaking out for fear of being attacked or labeled as apostates by an unchecked press.53 Yemen’s media law also prevents nonstate groups from participating in the broadcast sector. While Yemen’s then human rights minister, Amat al-Aleem al-Souswa, said in 2003 that the law does not prevent individuals from applying for a license and establishing broadcast media outlets, the Committee to Protect Journalists reports that the Ministry of Information has failed to respond to inquiries regarding the procedures required to undertake this.54 In 2005, Sheikh Abdullah’s son Hameed al-Ahmar was denied permission to establish his own satellite television channel. Beyond the opposition’s internal divisions and the overt manipulation by the regime, there is also a subtler dynamic operating—a level of mutual benefit to the relationship between the state and the opposition. Complementarity of the State and Opposition Groups Under the Yemeni system both the regime and the opposition (albeit the latter to a much lesser extent) have gained something, and Yemen’s opposition has been driven by the conviction that the alternative to the current system could be even worse. The regime gains legitimacy from appearing to encourage pluralism while simultaneously undermining potential sources of opposition by incorporating those capable of challenging it into its patronage

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networks. The opposition, on the other hand, gains the possibility of access to the country’s decision makers, the freedom to organize politically, access to business opportunities or economic benefits, and the hope of occasionally moderating the behavior of the ruling party or the president. Allowing a degree of free speech and semi-independent political organization has also assisted the regime in monitoring popular political sentiments, particularly those that may be willing to violently challenge the regime. Between the Yemeni state and the opposition, there is, to some extent, a mutually beneficial relationship (or, as William Zartman termed it, complementarity),55 although there is the expectation that the opposition will remain subservient. Daniel Brumberg suggests that this can occur because there is the perception among the non-Islamist opposition that a transition to genuine democracy might unleash forces that would marginalize them: Lacking the capacity for mobilization that Islamists command via the mosque, such non-Islamist groups have sometimes tacitly backed autocracies rather than press for open elections … For secularists, sometimes autocracy is preferable than full openness due to the Islamist threat.56

This concern was evident during interviews with some Yemeni human rights activists, who stressed that the opposition who call for democracy are afraid of pushing the regime too far because they risk unleashing violence that could allow radical Islamists to mobilize people.57 Moderate Islamists, however, have shared some similar fears about openly challenging for power, believing that this might result in a situation similar to Algeria’s, where the ruling party went to war against a democratically elected Islamist party. The impact of this fear is discussed at greater length in the following chapter. The regime places a high level of pressure on NGOs to accept a semiofficial role by receiving funding from the state in exchange for a degree of political acquiescence, thereby becoming a “governmental non-governmental organization,” or GO-NGO. The leader of one (initially independent) NGO said that it had become clear to him that he must join the regime despite his longstanding disapproval of them. This feeling, he said, was driven less by fear of what would happen to him were he to remain outside the regime and more by his difficulties in paying the rent and electricity bills for his offices—expenses which the regime had repeatedly offered to cover for him—and the desire to increase his personal status, which he felt alignment with the GPC would achieve. He felt that his work at the NGO would not be affected to the point that he could no longer be critical of the regime, but that he would have to assess more carefully the wording that he used publicly and perhaps some of the subjects that he raised. In his opinion, the most effective way to do this was to use vague and imprecise

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language and hope that people would read between the lines correctly.58 The deliberate resort to vague language, which was heard on a number of occasions as a preferred method of voicing opposition and contributes to the rumors surrounding, and the overall ineffectiveness of opposition groups in pushing directly for political alternatives. One man commented at a qat chew in 2004 that as an active member of the opposition, a person has to play mind games with oneself and essentially pretend that there remains the chance that what he or she does can make a difference. Otherwise, he lamented, all hope is gone.59 The red lines are perpetuated by a civil society fully aware of the consequences and probable futility of aggressive dissent and—perhaps more importantly—also aware of the rewards of at least partial (formal) compliance. Yemen’s economic downturn compounds this situation, because while there remains the background threat of political violence, the lack of resources is an ever-present problem for civil and political groups, and government “offers” of financial assistance can thus be hard to turn down. Many organizations are faced with the difficult choice of either having a very minimal political impact or having no impact at all through being forced to close down. While the patron-client relationships that underlie the Yemeni regime are a factor throughout the Arab world, they have proven particularly pervasive in Yemen because the bleak—and worsening—economic situation further limits people’s options for political independence. One of the more commonly repeated stories during interviews was by members of the opposition (or potential opposition) who found that they could not afford to refuse offers made by the ruling party just to pay their basic essentials such as office rent or electricity in exchange for dampening their antigovernment stance. Some justified taking the money by saying that if they refused it, they would no longer be able to operate politically in any capacity and so at least this way they could continue their work safely and they retained the potential to at least make some difference. One leader in a minor political party commented that “people are clever enough to realize” that rejecting the offer to cooperate with the regime usually means being marginalized.60 These payments have extremely important consequences for a state that is almost completely dependent on income from rapidly depleting oil reserves. A board member of a longstanding but recently registered political NGO commented that all opposition activists in Yemen (with a few minor exceptions, who are unsuccessful because of their idealism) make a deal with the government. He was certain that the NGO’s leader had made a deal with the government to keep the organization’s activities relatively neutral, telling the government that it would not be proregime but neither would he allow it to call for a regime change.61 Among even genuinely committed reformers,

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preference has been given to maintaining a seat at the negotiating table with the regime rather than being completely isolated by outright dissent. By leaning so heavily on the regime financially, most opposition groups and parties have not yet been forced to penetrate deeply into society and develop grassroots support networks through their own fundraising campaigns. State funding of political party activities and conferences has muted the need for opposition groups to learn ways to independently fundraise, determine community needs, canvas door to door for support, create relevant policy alternatives, develop their message, and project it into the public arena. Mushtaq Khan argues that to suggest that civil society is like a pressure group calling for enhanced openness and accountability from the government draws too heavily on the “liberal tradition of political analysis,” a paradigm of dubious relevance to developing countries.62 To assume that the ways in which civil society successfully countered the state in advanced capitalist countries provide an insight into the opportunities available to civil society actors in developing countries glosses over vast differences in political and economic contexts.63 In developing countries, the scarcity of economic resources diverts key interactions between state and society to patron-client networks. While this may be an inefficient method of achieving relative political stability, it has proven reasonably effective. Khan suggests that political scientists examining civil society in developing states have tended to marginalize the constraints that deep economic instability can place on interactions between state and society: In the worst performing developing countries, the dominant organisations of civil society are deeply implicated in the political impasse and in the redistributive pressures which have prevented accumulation and growth. Presenting the problem as one of bad states which have to be disciplined by good civil societies fundamentally misrepresents this historical reality.64

Whether by deliberate design or otherwise, the limited economic resources available to most members of opposition groups in Yemen have made the patronage system difficult to escape as they are co-opted and absorbed into the system, becoming tools of the regime’s top-down communication. There are two competing sources of political support for the Yemeni regime where its potential counterweights are concerned and, correspondingly, two key methods of co-optation—consumable support and complementary support. The former involves mainly financial incentives and fills people’s immediate needs. Where the patron cannot afford to pay, they lose the loyalty of their client. Complementary support has deeper roots than the consumable form, but it does not necessarily mean that clients see the

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system as legitimate, although they do see more than their financial wellbeing as being attached to the regime. In Yemen the two forms of co-optation have usually been used in conjunction with one another. Complementarity involves the attempt to absorb people into the apparatus of the state to give them a deeper stake in not pushing for radical change and is often used in addition to financial incentives. People may still oppose the regime to a point, which eases many political activists into the necessity of defending some policies that they otherwise would not—“politics in Yemen is a game”— and there are rules that you have to abide by if you want to play.65 However, playing by rules that activists cannot set themselves isolates them from their potential support base and undermines their part in the governmental process. The head of YIDD and later the director of the Department of Civil Society and Human Rights, a new department within the office of the prime minister, explained the benefits of working with the ruling party: I worked for ten years without any connection to the government, and the result was that I had no success; I only made very small steps. I have now had a good connection with the government for only one year and I have [many more opportunities], I can talk on the radio and to the government. The question is not whether you are for or against the government, the question is whether you believe in democracy in your heart … If you work with the government, and have good beliefs, you can have success in a short time. Give the government a bit of help and you can use the many powers of the government … Now I have the chance to contact all schools in Yemen [for an education project being developed by YIDD]. The power of the government can give you a chance. If you cooperate with the government and opposition, you have a big chance to make changes.66

The obvious problem with this of course is that heads of government departments, who have been appointed on the understanding that they will toe the lines of acceptable political action, are considerably less free to work for change in the policies that constrain them and are fundamental to protecting existing power structures. The leader of YIDD commented that the biggest impediment to civil society effectiveness in Yemen was the government’s deliberate efforts to hinder nonregime political actors. However, he also said that he felt that it was not his place to criticize the government.67 He thus saw the government both as the biggest problem that he faced and as his only realistic avenue for action. Much of the literature that is optimistic about the spread of democracy in the post–Cold War era tries to escape the notion that there is a significant economic prerequisite to democratization, insisting that democracy can develop in poverty as it can in prosperity.68 The level of poverty in Yemen

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has meant, though, that there was not a very large group that could afford to be financially independent from the government. Nonregime actors are sometimes quite easily turned into being an extension of state power. The empowerment of society or organized political groups to affect political decision making is unlikely to be realized until there is either an independent middle class that is willing and able to refuse the temptation to be linked to the government in significant numbers or the regime’s patronage system completely unravels. Without at least a degree of financial mobility that is independent from the regime, it is very difficult to reduce the temptation of co-optation. The government corruption that has increased along with oil revenues also heightened the regime’s reliance on consumable support by way of financial incentives to achieve a level of political acquiescence from its potential detractors. However, as people become more fearful of the unsustainable nature of this behavior, the regime has simultaneously undercut the complementarity that it had worked so hard to cultivate. The government’s heavy reliance on financial largesse becomes more dangerous in conjunction with Yemen’s level of economic trouble. This danger has been offset somewhat because the fear that a push for radical change would invite instability is well embedded into Yemeni opposition groups, but there is no guarantee that this will remain if serious instability seems unavoidable. Indeed, as the unravelling of the patronage system became ever more apparent throughout 2007, more Yemenis were willing to consider resorting to violence against the state. In a country already teetering on the brink of economic crisis, however, the perceived risk of adding to instability by agitating for reforms is not easy to ignore. This caution helped undermine the creation of an opposition that would be able to hold power if a crisis forced the regime from power. Most activists have seen gradual change as preferable because to push for too much too soon could mean losing everything. There is also the reassurance for non-Islamist members of the opposition that at least Islamists would be kept out of power if the current regime maintains power. The strength of this fear was illustrated anecdotally by a pervasive rumor among urban liberals in the lead-up to the 2006 elections. It is well known that Yemen’s military controls the smuggling of alcohol into the country,69 and as the elections drew closer, black market prices almost tripled. It was quite commonly suggested that this was a deliberate plan by the government to point out what life would be like if Islah came to power. As unlikely as this theory may have been, it illustrated the level of fear in non-Islamist circles about the realistic options for an alternative to the regime. Many Yemenis feel, therefore, that they hold an indirect stake in the perpetuation of the political status quo. However, there is also an element

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of expediency involved—gradual change that is carried out in a manner acceptable to the regime safeguards the material and security interests of those attached, however indirectly, to the regime. One of Yemen’s regular political discussion groups was registered as a formal CSO with the Ministry of Social Affairs in 2004, which meant that it became capable of receiving government funding. It also made it subject to the laws that govern official political organizations, including government monitoring from time to time.70 Responding to a question about how he, as an active member of the opposition, knew if what he was doing was acceptable to the government or had pushed too far on any particular issue, a member of the group commented that “it is like driving a car [he mimed swerving out of the way of government roadblocks] … As long as they know where your limits are, you are okay. The government cannot stand not knowing your limits.”71 By registering the regular discussions as a formal civil organization, the group was assuring the government that they were willing to observe the government’s limits, thus allowing them to continue to operate in relative safety. The member suggested that action was not the point of the group, saying “I want room to make people feel like they are doing something until real political parties appear … I want to increase the level of debate without pushing too far, because if you push too far, you will be broken.”72 While this pragmatic and patient philosophy may be appropriate in a restricted and authoritarian political environment, it is indicative of the widespread belief that the president is the only person capable of bringing change quickly and without chaos, and that Yemen’s best hope for stability lies in convincing him that chaos could bring him down with it. Despite Yemen’s lack of historical success with a top-down model of democratization, most opposition figures still see negotiating with the president as the most viable way of reforming the country without a collapse into instability and violence. Among moderate reformers, persuading the regime and the president that it is in their interest that power be decentralized was a far more common goal than regime change. In the 2006 elections campaign, an invigorated opposition asked some serious questions and called for widespread change, but, as mentioned above, it ultimately accepted that its role was more to prepare for the possibility of change in the future than to compel it in the present. Post–civil war Yemeni opposition groups are constrained by legal limitations, the need for financial support from the regime, and the ongoing threat of physical force. While coercive power is less common than in some other Arab states, it does occur and the possibility of it weighs on activists’ minds. The opposition needs the regime’s acceptance to continue their existence, and to act in aggressive opposition is perceived by many as counterproductive. Many interviewees commented that there is no other group

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yet capable of forming an alternative government, and until one emerges they hope to guide the government without actually trying to seize power from it—to negotiate with the government to make it more representative without forcing it to compete for its power. In a sense, they need the regime to fill the gap until they have the confidence to challenge for power: “The next rulers of Yemen will come from the GPC. Saleh has convinced all effective leaders to be under his umbrella … The GPC is only mechanism to change power.”73 The high number of independent candidates who competed in each of Yemen’s elections perhaps also indicates the lack of capacity to challenge far beyond the peripheries of power. People registered the existence of alternative voices to the regime’s, but there was negligible possibility that they, as independents, could become the government. As is demonstrated further in the following chapter, the government is yet to be forced to reform itself by the threat that another group is ready, willing, and able to seize power from it.

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Political Islamists and the Islah Party

ften portrayed as either an opportunity for democratization or the surest guarantee against it, political Islam has gained wide popularity in Yemen since unification. Despite the persistence of authoritarianism in postunification Yemen, the activities of political Islamists have increased, and their most organized voice, Islah, has gained considerable popularity. This chapter looks at the internal structure and practices of the Islah party, its strategies, ideologies, successes, and failures at affecting political decision making, its relationship with the regime, and the internal debate over whether to become a full member of the opposition or not. It will also expand on the themes of coerced, co-opted, and internally divided opposition groups to show how even a group with an extensive independent grassroots support network has been largely contained by the Yemeni system. It will conclude, however, by suggesting that while Islah did not build a power base that was sufficient to allow it to seize significant formal power, the party moved into a position where it would be a likely beneficiary of sudden political shifts against the regime. By the 2006 presidential and local elections, Islah had moved into a position where it was standing under a tree in case fruit might fall in the wind, but had made contradictory moves when it came to actually shaking the branches. As will be shown, this was largely because of the party’s internal divisions and historical position in the president’s patronage network. The Islah party was created in 1990 largely from members of the GPC in an effort to marginalize the YSP and give a distinct political voice to some of the GPC’s more religiously inclined members. As the new party of Sheikh Abdullah bin Hussein al-Ahmar, it also provided a political base for some of Yemen’s politically relevant tribal sheikhs. Along with Sheikh Abdullah, Sanhan military strongman Ali Muhsin played a leading role in the party’s creation.

O

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Islah’s origins are in the Islamic Front, a Muslim Brotherhood–affiliated group populated by conservative tribal leaders, businessmen, and Islamists. The Front was created by the YAR government in 1979 to combat the Marxist PDRY-supported National Democratic Front (NDF) forces that were sporadically launching armed attacks against the Saleh regime.1 It regrouped as a formal political party shortly after unification in 1990 when political parties were legalized, with the help of considerable financial backing from Wahhabi elements within Saudi Arabia. It incorporates different and sometimes rival tribal confederations (though the majority are Hashid) and maintains strong connections with the international Muslim Brotherhood. It is a moderate Islamist party and participates in formal, multiparty political activities. It does not support violent political struggle and does not have a military wing, although informally there is a hard-line conservative group historically (though again informally) led by Sheikh Abd al-Majeed alZindani, and this group has some ambiguous links to militant groups. The U.S. government claims that al-Zindani has funded terrorist networks affiliated with Osama bin Laden, with whom he fought in Afghanistan. His name appears on the U.S. Treasury Department List as a “specially designated global terrorist,” though at the time of writing he remains openly in Yemen. While the personal position of al-Zindani has decreased considerably within the party in recent years, the party still includes a small minority of hard-line conservatives with militant sympathies and who are not completely under the control of the moderates. The existence of this group helped reintegrate returnees from the war against the Soviets in Afghanistan into public life in the early-mid 1990s.2 It did so at the expense of party coherence, and Islah was forced to undergo a long and still partially incomplete process of integration. In the lead-up to the 2006 elections, this group and al-Zindani moved closer to the regime and ever more publicly distanced themselves from their party. Radical Islamists form a small and increasing minority of Islah’s membership. They do not have any official status in the party and have an often-awkward relationship with the majority of the party members. Despite this, the fact that Islah is an explicitly Islamist party has meant that the actions of all militants in the country, affiliates and otherwise, have had a significant bearing on the political dynamics between Islah, the central government, and Yemeni society. The attacks of September 11, 2001 put Yemen under the U.S. spotlight. It was made clear that Yemen’s cooperation with the United States was expected, an opportunity that the regime used to brand Islah as a group of dangerous fundamentalists. Most of the religious schools that Islah had been using quite successfully to recruit new members were closed down under the (sometimes accurate) guise that they were breeding grounds for intolerance and extremism.

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Party Origins and Ties to the GPC While it is often noted that Islah is a sometimes-awkward blend of tribal leaders and Islamist ideology, the real balance of power within the party is determined more by political pragmatism and patronage ties to the regime than by religious ideology. Sheikh Abdullah (a tribal leader, usually not considered “Islamist” per se)3 and al-Zindani (a hard-line conservative religious ideologue), the two most publicly powerful individual members of the party throughout the period 1990–2006, held divergent political views, but their personal interests were well served by their ties to the party.4 The strong ties of Islah’s leaders to Saleh’s patronage network have made them ultimately more answerable to that network than to the party’s grassroots supporters5—something that contributed to the shift in the party’s political stance as that network unraveled. Despite some of the centralizing effects of patronage links and the public denials of most leaders, Islah is a party (or “gathering”—tajamma’)6 with considerable internal divisions. Owing in part to its diverse origins, Islah essentially is an umbrella organization for various schools of political Islamist thought, ranging from hard-line conservative Salafi groups to tribal leaders, religious businessmen, and religious moderates. The party also contains a seemingly unlikely regional and sectarian alliance of Sunni (Shafi’i) former anti-NDF radicals from Lower Yemen (Ta’izz, Ibb, al-Baydah, and Hodeidah) and Zaydi (Shi’ite) tribal leaders from Upper Yemen. Such diversity of background and motivation represents one of the most general dilemmas of Yemeni opposition groups: a lack of coherence, personal (often mercenary) interests as a ground for bridging ideological inconsistencies, and a partial reliance on the regime for its survival. The high level of co-optation among the party’s elite may also have had a moderating effect, as the leaders have tended to see their personal interests as being ultimately attached to the current political order—at least while that order was still relatively stable. The strength of its patron-client links to the regime and the coalition of diverse interests within the party also partly explain why Islah has not taken a more radical opposing stance to the regime like some other Islamist parties in the region have. Despite its alliance with the YSP in the Joint Meeting Parties, parts of Islah remained as a product of the party’s “Cold War origins.”7 Islah was formed to protect the conservative Northern tribal political system from its Southern socialist neighbors, in other words to defend the status quo rather than challenge it. One of Islah’s leaders commented on the contemporary impact of these Cold War imperatives: Political figures in Yemen are the result of the Cold War … One of the main objectives of Islah’s formation was to stop communism in the north, but

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today’s realities in Yemen have produced different outcomes. What should happen now in Yemen, is the [focus on] reforms and anti-corruption … We need a new political map based on today’s demands. As Islahis we need to get rid of some of our inheritances as well … [These are] conceptual inheritances and certain individuals who joined the party for social reasons, like the fight against foreign ideas such as socialism.8

One of Islah’s first major policy campaigns was an unsuccessful attempt to convince people to boycott the 1991 referendum on the new constitution. Many Yemenis were convinced from early on that the country’s new religious party was not interested in advocating the democracy that the new state was so self-consciously claiming to be founded on. In 1993, Islah adopted the liberal party program laid out by its moderate technocrats but at the same time promoted hard-liners such as Abd al-Wahab al-Daylami and Abdu-Ali al-Qubati to more powerful positions within the party, in apparent contradiction to its consciously moderate stance. Daylami was particularly notable for his preoccupation with efforts to define the limits of political dissent that are acceptable under Islam.9 In a likely reassurance to the GPC that Islah was not going to push sensitive issues too seriously, Mohammed alYadumi, a former director of highly sensitive political security operations in the North, was made general secretary of the party. In the 1993 elections, Islah surprised many, not least of all the YSP, with its strong performance and subsequently formed a coalition government with the GPC that lasted until the next elections in 1997. As the relationship between the leadership of the GPC and leadership of the YSP deteriorated and civil war drew closer, ties between the GPC and Islah were further strengthened in the face of a common enemy. Prominent religious scholars within Islah used religious rhetoric to provide legitimacy to President Saleh and the GPC’s propaganda against the former South. Throughout the lead-up to the civil war, members of Islah issued fatawas (religious edicts) that called socialism (and therefore, the YSP) un-Islamic and a form of apostasy worthy of jihad, a very serious charge in such a conservative country as Yemen. Islah’s time in power with the GPC was marked more by vehement antisecularism and polemic Islamist rhetoric than by the appeal to the idea of democratization that later moved to the foreground of the party’s public discourse.10 During this period, Islah’s education minister, Abdu-Ali al-Qubati, worked to have the number of hours spent teaching the Qur’an in Yemen’s schools increased at the expense of the time spent teaching science. A number of teachers thought to have socialist or secular sympathies were dismissed and were replaced with teachers from Egypt and Sudan with more solid Islamist credentials, and coeducational classes, which were still common in the South, were phased out. The party’s justice minister, Abd al-Wahab al-Daylami,

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fired the female judges of the former PDRY, citing their supposed incompetence in shari’ah law. In the 1994 constitutional amendments that were implemented shortly after the civil war, Islah successfully pushed to have the shari’ah cited as the “sole” rather than “primary” source of legislation as it had been in the original version. The party also opposed the establishment of the Aden Free Trade Zone on the grounds that it would undermine Yemen’s Islamic identity by attracting a large number of foreigners to the country.11 It appears that while Islah was still in a position of relative power, its leaders assessed that Islam would hold more moral currency with its constituents than would an appeal to democracy. While in this position, reforming Yemeni society was more of a goal for Islah than was the idea of political reform or democracy that took prominence later.12 The political demise of the YSP that followed, first, its poor results in the 1993 elections and, second, its defeat in the civil war, contributed to Islah’s own decline in significance as a coalition partner with the GPC. After the 1997 elections, when the GPC won a large enough majority to govern on its own, Islah lost its nine ministerial posts and officially joined the ranks of the opposition, although its leaders disagreed about what form this opposition should take. In a further snub to its former partners, the GPC gave the most significant religious ministry, that of Religious Endowments (Awqaaf) to Islah’s religious political competitor, the parliamentarily insignificant Zaydi Islamist party Hizb al-Haqq. The new Awqaaf Minister, Ahmed al-Shami, promptly removed many of Islah’s preachers from government mosques.13 Islah’s mandate has changed since it began as a GPC offshoot, however, and after 1997, Islah began to frame its platform explicitly around democracy and the GPC’s attempts to undermine democratic development. After being cast out by the GPC, Islah began to seek alliances with other opposition groups, even those to which it was ideologically opposed, most notably the YSP. After the 1997 elections, the two parties began to pursue tentatively an alliance that would ultimately become the JMP in 2002.14 The alliances Islah made increased further the party’s emphasis on democracy, in part as a means of achieving common ground.15 It also became willing to be more critical of the government on issues such as the 2001 constitutional amendments,16 the possibility of Saleh’s son inheriting the presidency, and the perceived increase in government corruption. Despite some fierce criticism of the GPC, between 1997 and 2005 Islah remained consciously more concerned with reforming the current government than challenging it for power. Even in the 2006 elections when Islah did oppose relatively strongly under the JMP umbrella, the party was still careful to observe several red lines, and, as in the past, key party leaders (most notably Sheikh Abdullah and al-Zindani) gave in to pressure and publicly

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supported the GPC over Islah. While the various schools of thought within Islah and its diverse political alliances make generalizations difficult, the party has, by and large, sought to open and reform the political spectrum without radically altering it. As is discussed later, ruptures in the patronage system have largely underwritten the party’s reevaluation of its position vis-à-vis the regime, but prior to the 2006 elections, Islah’s claim to being a member of the opposition was sometimes questionable. Some of the most significant examples of its strong relationship with the GPC occurred during election time, particularly during the 1999 presidential and the 2003 parliamentary elections. To say that the 1999 presidential elections were uncompetitive does not put the case strongly enough. Yemeni law allows each party to nominate a candidate in a presidential election, but in a move that blemished its credibility as an alternative power center until the next elections in 2006, Islah nominated President Saleh as its own candidate. As one former GPC member of parliament who was present at the time tells it, Saleh was furious with Islah for being so blatant in its support of him as to announce its decision publicly before the GPC even had the chance to do so, thus undermining the president’s claims to holding (and winning) a competitive democratic election.17 The then U.S. ambassador, Barbara Bodine, also rebuked Islah for complaining so bitterly about the GPC on the one hand and failing to attempt to oppose it on the other.18 Several of Islah’s leaders argued in interviews that their decision was based on the understanding that while some opposing stances were permissible, it was not acceptable to genuinely challenge the regime on matters where the control of the country was at stake: “We tried to explain to [Ambassador Bodine] the problems and challenges faced, and that democracy could be in danger if [Islah] challenged Saleh.”19 The idea that free political competition can be dangerous to democracy highlights the dilemma of a historically loyal opposition party in a pluralized authoritarian system: it is hamstrung (or at least can claim to be) by its belief that pushing too far could mean losing the small gains that have been made. In the lead-up to the 2006 presidential elections, Islah kept publicly tight-lipped to the ubiquitous question about its candidacy intentions. When asked directly whether the party would field a candidate, the official line was that Islah was undecided on the matter, which was inevitably followed quickly by a shift of focus to the argument that Yemen’s real problems were deeper than just the office of the presidency. The JMP, and therefore Islah, did not announce its 2006 candidate until the eleventh hour—just two months before the elections were scheduled.20 Despite competing with each other in the 2001 local elections, Islah and the GPC still maintained a partial tactical alliance. Jillian Schwedler refers to some comments that President Saleh made in the lead-up to these elections,

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in which he underlined the strong relationship between the two parties. The inclusion of all competing parties under the GPC umbrella remained a strong part of Saleh’s rhetoric on multiparty pluralism: We were all together under the umbrella of the PGC [GPC] before 1990. Since then, political pluralism was adopted as a system for the country according to the constitution and the law. But this does not mean separation between the GPC and other parties, including Islah.21

President Saleh also commented on the apparent falling out between the GPC and Islah after the 2001 elections (which coincided with the referendum on the constitutional amendments that Islah had publicly opposed): “This had only occurred because of election fever, we will be back together and our coalition with Islah will continue.”22 Islah performed quite well in these elections, winning at least 22 percent of the seats in the preliminary count—because the Supreme Commission for Elections and Referenda never released the official results, it is safe to assume that the opposition, particularly Islah, probably did better than this. Sheikh Abdullah, however, once again allied with the president to limit the effectiveness of the local councils that his party had been relatively successful in contesting, by supporting the law that all governors and local council heads be appointed by the executive. Most of the lower-level members of the party were in favor of further decentralization, but Sheikh Abdullah’s fear of potentially ceding control to local sheikhs or perhaps to more radical elements within Islah may have also contributed to his decision to ensure the continued centralization of power.23 The complementary relationship between the GPC and Islah was illustrated again in the 2003 parliamentary elections, when both parties claimed Islah’s leader Sheikh Abdullah as their own candidate in their respective election literature. In the official final results of the elections published by the Supreme Commission for Elections and Referendum, Sheikh Abdullah’s party affiliation is not stated. While party membership is listed in a special column for each of the other 300 candidates, for District 283 this column simply reads “Sheikh Abdullah.”24 The party affiliation of two of his sons in these elections was similarly opaque. The Yemeni constitution states that a citizen must be registered in an electoral district to be nominated as a candidate there. Sadiq bin Abdullah al-Ahmar (Sheikh Abdullah’s oldest son) was nominated to run again as an Islah candidate in District 281 (in ’Amraan) where he currently held office, but he ran into problems with both the local governor and the electoral committee. A week before the elections, some of Sadiq’s guards (some claim it was Sadiq himself) shot at the governor’s car, a misdemeanor for which

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President Saleh canceled Sadiq’s candidature. Meanwhile, in District 284 (also in ’Amraan), another of Sheikh Abdullah’s sons, Hussein, was registered and nominated as a candidate for the GPC, but the independent candidate there, Hamood ’Ataf (who later ran for the GPC), refused to give up his place to Hussein. In a blatant violation of Yemeni electoral law, Sheikh Abdullah simply transplanted Hussein (a GPC candidate) to Sadiq’s previously Islahheld district just days before the elections were held. Electoral law aside, the party affiliation of Sheikh Abdullah’s sons clearly played no role in either their candidature or their electoral victories. Like a number of Islah’s success, the sons’ attachment to the circles of power was the deciding factor. By 2006, several things had changed, and Islah pushed further against the regime than it had previously, this time from within the JMP coalition. Islah contested these elections as a more committed member of the opposition, although members of its top party leadership (particularly Sheikh Abdullah and al-Zindani) very publicly defected again to the president’s side during the campaign, which illustrated the increasing detachment between these two leaders and the party’s mainstream. For the first time in an election, there were moments when the GPC and President Saleh were clearly concerned about the potential formal strength of their former ally.

Increasing Popular Support Despite its links to the GPC establishment, Islah’s base of support is wide. The party is better funded and more effective than any other opposition group at mobilizing grassroots support, particularly from the poor, the young, and from women (although women have, to date, been targeted as voters, not as leaders). Islah was initially opposed to the right of women to act in politics, but has made considerable efforts to sign up female voters in elections.25 With state services that are usually either poor or nonexistent, charitable organizations affiliated with Islah (and other nonaffiliated Islamist NGOs) are sometimes able to fill the gaps with their own social welfare and charitable programs. These programs are very popular, and some of the support generated by its religious and charitable work flows back to the party, arguably whether the original program is officially affiliated with Islah or not. It is sometimes an implicit link (leaders of the Islah Charitable Society strongly deny official ties to the Islah party),26 but is widely considered to be a powerful weapon in Islah’s cache. The GPC also fears its lack of control over what is preached in the mosques by the many Imams aligned with Islah and made a very conscious move to counter this in 2006 by courting key Salafis. Islah has been very successful at organizing and recruiting new members through its sponsored religious

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schools,27 which reportedly boasted an independent budget of around 5 billion Yemeni Riyals (over $30 million).28 After the September 11, 2001, attacks, the Yemeni government gladly responded to U.S. pressure to crack down on these schools under the guise of preventing extremism. One member of Islah commented on the political power of the mosque within Yemen: The GPC and YSP can duplicate parties, anyone can get 99.9 percent in an election, but the mosque is the only independent voice of the people, it is the only institution independent of the state. This is why during the last elections, the GPC said that no one can use the mosques for political purposes, but no one gave a damn.29

In a deeply religiously conservative country like Yemen, with its low levels of illiteracy, mosques have a very important influence on popular discourse. A powerful indicator of this is the fact that between 1970 and 2000, there were 12,000 schools built and more than 72,000 mosques.30 The government is right to feel its supervisory limitations in these mosques. A survey from 2004 showed that the Ministry of Religious Endowment (Awqaaf) supervised only 6,000 of them,31 which indicates the relative independence of most from the state. Imams do not need licenses to preach, and prior to September 11, 2001, Islah often appointed Imams with the compliance of the GPC. Since that time, the government has installed a number of moderate Imams, but the majority are still not controlled. There have been instances of shootouts within mosques when the government has forcefully replaced Imams of whom it disapproved.32 The government affiliated newspaper Yemen Observer reported that the government was making an effort to depoliticize mosques and tackle the dissemination of extremist views through the provision of training courses, but it acknowledged that a total of only 5,200 Imams had been involved in the programs.33 Socialists and secularists have long decried schools that are affiliated with Islah as being vehicles of extremist indoctrination for Islah’s members. The government has taken these allegations more seriously when school closures could be turned to its political advantage, particularly after Islah left the coalition government in 1997 and again in 2001 following the attacks in the United States. Closing schools suspected of preaching extremism or antigovernment sentiment can be difficult, however, because some of the schools have delicate international or tribal affiliations, which can make government maneuvering against them politically sensitive.34 Further complicating matters, the government has been prepared to play at two tables, funding al-Zindani’s al-Iman University of 4,000–5,000 students, which is known for its intolerant teachings, at the expense of Sana’a University and its 100,000 students.

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Yemeni law prohibits the politicization of mosques, and Islah’s political work in mosques is cautious, but there are hundreds of Imams who work to recruit new members, muster public support, and bolster the party’s electoral campaigns by emphasizing the importance of religious conviction in a candidate.35 Despite the need for caution, the mosque remains important for Islah’s electoral campaigns, and in 2003, affiliated Imams preached at Friday sermons that voting against Islah was voting against God:“The mosque is very important for them, some of those who won in the last elections won because of their roles in the mosques…They implicitly push Islah.”36 In 2006, the GPC showed that it was also capable of playing this game, however, and used Salafi Imams to preach that voting against the incumbent leader was seditious and therefore religiously forbidden. While the position of the Islah party has deteriorated in terms of its parliamentary presence and its overall marginalization by the GPC, many Yemenis stated in interviews—at least before the blunders the party made in the 2006 elections—that if Yemen were a genuine democracy, the Islah party would be in power. Its popularity has steadily increased since 1993; that year, the party gained 380,000 votes, which increased to 650,000 in 1997 and again to 980,000 in the 2001 local elections37 and reached nearly 1.4 million in the 2003 elections. Especially when one considers the high number of electoral violations and manipulations, the majority of which favored the GPC,38 Islah’s potential as a popular alternative to the GPC is clear. The results of the 2006 elections were more ambiguous for Islah because it competed under the JMP banner with which it often worked at cross-purposes. Islah has the fastest-growing membership of any party in the country, outstripping even the GPC despite the benefits that membership in the ruling party brings.39 The National Democratic Institute (NDI) report on the 2003 parliamentary elections states that the GPC received only 58 percent of the popular vote but that it won 76 percent of the seats in parliament and that the YSP received 5 percent of the popular vote but won only 2 percent of the seats, while Islah received 22.5 percent of the popular vote and won only 15 percent of the seats. The report concludes that “had Yemen had a list or proportional representation system rather than a ‘first past the post’ system the opposition would hold close to [one-third] of the seats in parliament.”40 To many in Yemen, this indicates the growing importance of an Islah vote as a form of protest against the GPC and President Saleh. Closer analysis of the 2003 election results adds weight to this popular hunch. Of the 173 (of 301) districts where Islah directly competed with the GPC in 2003, Islah received nearly 72 percent of the votes that the GPC did.41 While these results are only indicative, a picture of a party with popular appeal extending beyond its 15 percent share of parliamentary seats emerges.

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In 2006, Islah’s elite ties to the regime again hampered the party, and its internal splits and inconsistencies were also amplified by even larger splits and inconsistencies within the JMP, but the party still caused the regime some genuine concern. A number of senior regime figures noted privately in the days leading up to the elections that they expected that the JMP would win “half or more than half ” of the seats in the local councils.42 It is a testament not only to the JMP’s internal fragmentation but also to the changes made by the GPC to incorporate people that this assumption turned out to be so wildly off the mark. The GPC also sees Islah’s power as a protest vote as a particular threat in dissenting regions (Lower Yemen and the former PDRY, particularly Aden and the Hadhramaut) and has worked to counter it there, often by force, with considerable success: “Islah does very well in Hodeidah, Ibb and Ta’izz … where a vote for Islah is a protest vote.”43 Shabwa, al-Jawf, and Marib were added to this list in 2006. Stephen Day notes that in the 1997 elections, the GPC put particular effort into defeating Islah’s candidates in Ibb and Ta’izz44—both areas in which Islah had performed well in the previous (1993) elections. Islah went from holding sixteen seats in Ta’izz in 1997 to just five in 2003.45 A similar pattern occurred in Hadhramaut in 2003 after the strength of Islah was demonstrated there in the 1997 elections. Day argues that Islah’s strong showing in the Shafe’i areas of Lower Yemen in 1997 overstated its actual level of grassroots support, because “only eight of Islah’s 63 winning candidates won with a majority of the vote. Eleven of its victories came with less than 33 percent of the vote, while another thirty candidates won with less than 40 percent of the vote.”46 But the 2003 election results suggest otherwise. In these elections, only fourteen of Islah’s forty-six winning candidates received less than 50 percent of the vote, and of them, only two candidates (Islah’s two and only members from Lahj, in the former PDRY) received less than 40 percent of the vote. Islah’s individual results from 2006 are less clear because of the skewing effect of its alliance with the JMP, the diversity of which weakened its individual members, particularly Islah, at the polls. The electoral support for Islah, therefore, increased considerably in its first decade of participation, but underwent a period of uncertainty as the party identified more strongly with the JMP. As the following section will demonstrate, there is still a strong popular suspicion that Islah is a political chameleon, uncertain of its own intentions— a suspicion that its alignment with the JMP reinforced for some in 2006. Power Centers, Schools of Thought, and Consistency Islah strongly rejects the often-made suggestion that there are clear branches or factions with competing political goals within the party, though most

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are willing to concede that there are several prevalent, nonmutually exclusive tendencies or schools of thought.47 These tendencies are not, however, necessarily philosophically consistent with one another. The diverse tendencies that combine to form Islah have created a political force that has been inhibited by disagreement over some of the most basic of issues, such as whether to oppose or assist the government and whether or not democracy is an illegitimate foreign import, although on the latter the affirmative view appears to be the opinion of only a vocal minority. Even figures like al-Zindani have navigated away from publicly expressing this view in recent years. Islah has been uncertain as to how, or sometimes even whether, to present itself as a viable alternative to President Saleh and the GPC. James Piscatori refers to some Islamist parties as having schizophrenic tendencies because they attempt to broaden their support base by being different things to different people.48 This is true of Islah. In its efforts to appease its ideologically conservative supporters, Islah created tensions that undermined its effectiveness as a participant in electoral competition. The pragmatic requirements of electoral competition can serve to alienate a religious party’s core constituency that responds to ideological slogans such as “the Qur’an is our constitution” and “Islam is the solution.”49 The GPC tried to pull on this thread in 2006 and managed to sway some of the more conservative voters away from Islah. It remains unclear to what extent Islah will continue to capitalize on its ambiguity and try to reclaim this supporter base, although by the 2006 elections it was positioned more in the pragmatic participatory camp. Islah’s ambiguity—and sometimes inconsistency—provides some support for two competing suggestions: that were it to gain power, it would advocate a theocracy or, at the other extreme, that it would adopt a liberal democratic model of governance.50 It is reasonable to suppose that ambiguity, even if unintentional, works to Islah’s advantage because it grants access to multiple, even competing, constituencies. This ambiguity may be less problematic for an opposition party, but it would pose a significant problem were Islah to come to power and assume the responsibilities of government. Schwedler identifies the lack of cohesion between the often-fluid groups within Islah and suggests that to determine how power is exercised within the party, it is more useful to identify the position of the leaders of each group within Yemen’s “various hierarchies of power.”51 The three key figures that she outlines are Sheikh Abdullah (a “key to Islah’s power as a political party”),52 whose primary legitimacy was drawn from his role as the leader of the Hashid tribal confederation and close personal relationship with President Saleh; al-Zindani, the leading hard-line conservative voice within the party who draws significant funding from Saudi Arabia and has a considerable base of personal popular support; and Abd al-Wahhab al-Ansi, who has strong relations with ranking GPC figures and also draws legitimacy

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from a combination of his tribal position and from Islamist support.53 Sheikh Abdullah best illustrated the often-fine line between the ruling party and the opposition, and one Islah MP referred to him as an “umbrella” who protected the party from the regime54 by preventing its members from opposing too vigorously. Beyond the patronage networks of its key leaders, there are, broadly speaking, three major, and not always consistent, tendencies or schools of thought within the party: the tribal group (for whom ideological politics takes a clear second place to patronage networks), the Muslim Brotherhood, and the conservative hard-liners (a small and declining minority, still not completely under the control of the moderates). The tribal group has also been declining in importance since 1997, although the relationship between the party and President Saleh—encapsulated in the figure of Sheikh Abdullah al-Ahmar—was shown to still be of primary importance in Islah’s internal elections during February 2007, when the Sheikh was reelected to lead the party despite having already served his maximum term. The tribal leaders have historically been the least enthusiastic about the possibility of Islah taking an aggressive opposition stance to President Saleh. The Muslim Brotherhood in Yemen is a moderate organization, with minor but notable exceptions, most famously al-Zindani (who is categorized as a hard-line conservative in this study). The presence of al-Zindani in this group is an example of the fact that few lines are strictly drawn within the party. While Islah does not advertise its affiliations with the Muslim Brotherhood, the majority of its top leadership are members.55 Its internal administrative structure also closely resembles that of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt and Jordan.56 Members of the Muslim Brotherhood hold the key administrative and decision-making posts and are responsible for developing party ideology. The Brotherhood is well represented in the party’s newspaper, al-Sahwa (The Awakening), which further extends its control over party policy and public discourse. It has its roots in Ta’izz, the city where the Yemeni Brotherhood was first established and which is still the “party’s intellectual backbone.”57 The two main groups within the party, therefore, have an Islamist ideological bent, but are in competition over some basic issues of governance. This discord is exacerbated by disparities in resources between the two groups. The conservative hard-liners have a much smaller support base but have considerable financial means at their disposal, which will probably help ensure their existence in the party in the future. Islah’s 2007 internal elections were useful for illustrating the ongoing struggle for influence between these two groups. Al-Zindani was not returned to his position as the leader of the party’s Majlis al-Shura and was relegated to a symbolic position. In a preelection deal, it was decided that two of the

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Muslim Brotherhood’s prominent figures in the executive of the Majlis al-Shura would also vacate their posts in exchange for a quiet departure by al-Zindani. The move against him and the constituency that he represents were a significant indication of the rising power of the moderates within the party and would have been impossible even a few years ago. It is true that al-Zindani had already served his maximum term under the party’s guidelines but so had Sheikh Abdullah. Sheikh Abdullah was returned to his leadership position in deference to the party’s need to maintain its standing, however diminished, in President Saleh’s patronage network. These elections were a victory for the more moderate figures associated with the Muslim Brotherhood over the hard-line conservatives, but they were also indicative of fairly low levels of internal transparency. The elections were not the victory for democratic process that some leaders had insisted they would be.58 The reticence to make crucial decisions on the basis of a majority vote is consistent with Schwedler’s observation in 2006 that: Islah leaders did not practice the sort of internal democratic procedures that characterized the Jordanian Muslim Brotherhood, form open forums to express and reconcile diverse opinions, to a democratic rotation of leadership … Islah sees virtually the same party leaders elected year after year…[Islah’s] decision making is fragmented in practice and party leadership is highly hierarchical and unchanging.59

Even the JMP coalition, which is dominated by Islah, has written its preference for negotiation and consensus building, over a majority vote, into its bylaws. The JMP’s bylaws state: “Everything mentioned in these by-laws shall be decided by consensus. Other decisions, that are not included herein, shall be decided by the majority with the preference for achieving unanimity” (italics added).60 The bylaws, therefore, insist that the key issues— that is, those important enough to be mentioned in the bylaws—should be negotiated until a unanimous position (however diluted from the original proposal) can be found, not determined through a majority vote. However, there were other elements to the party’s 2007 internal elections that signaled that other significant changes to the fabric of the party were under way. The leader of Islah’s women’s section, Ammat al-Salaam Raja, received the fourth-highest number of votes of any candidate to the Majlis al-Shura in the party. Al-Zindani and other Salafis have held outspoken positions about the inappropriate nature of women in political leadership positions, and Raja’s success was, therefore, a further move against this faction by the lower levels of the party. In total there were 13 women elected to the party’s 130 (previously all male) member Majlis. In keeping with the party’s ambiguity, however, some other hard-line conservative members,

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such as Abdullah Sa’atr, retained leadership positions in the Majlis,61 and other Salafis within the party, such as Mohammed al-Sadiq railed against the outcome of the 2007 party elections for promoting democracy at the expense of religion.62 The internal makeup of Islah thus continues to elude black-and-white definitions, and it is a party of ongoing negotiations between competing ideological tendencies. Those adhering to a less tolerant view of Islam within the party received another defeat during the parliamentary by-elections (held owing to the death of the sitting MP) in a rural constituency in Ibb in September 2007. The JMP ran an Islah candidate, who used to teach at al-Zindani’s al-Iman University and had previously publicly stated that democracy is contrary to the tenets of Islam and that women have no place in public life. In a close race against the GPC, Islah’s candidate was defeated. In some of the polling centers, Islah’s candidate received around the same number of votes as the GPC candidate in the men’s ballot boxes but only a very small number of votes in the women’s.63 Informal conversations with some of Islah’s campaigners at the time revealed that they felt they had miscalculated by running a candidate with such strong Salafi credentials and that they were aware that this had probably cost the party a parliamentary seat.64 The Brotherhood is the group within Islah most concerned with presenting a moderate image of the party under which democracy and Islam are compatible. As Schwedler argues: The Brotherhood forms a key segment of the Islah party and is committed to working through democratic, legal channels to realize its goal of achieving political, social, and economic reform in line with the teachings of the Koran. For this group, democracy is a form of government completely in line with Islamic teachings.65

The definitiveness of this statement is not always shared, however, by local observers, particularly urban intellectuals, who fear that for some in the Brotherhood, democracy is a means to an end and is likely to be abandoned if Islah came to power. Opponents use this argument to undermine Islamists across the region, but in Yemen their concerns are not unfounded based on the inconsistency of Islah’s message and its opaque internal structure and decision-making mechanisms. Elsewhere in the Arab Middle East, the Muslim Brotherhood holds a sometimes-ambiguous position toward democracy, and this is still an undercurrent within Islah’s Brotherhood, despite its moderation. Several leaders hinted in interviews that the communication dynamics between the party’s Muslim Brotherhood elite and the lower levels of the party are heavily centralized and reliant on obedience rather than on exchange and debate. This

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has fueled concerns that if the party is not internally democratic, it is likely to have authoritarian leanings in government too. Islah’s record in the coalition government with the GPC (1994–97) is sometimes marshaled as evidence of this claim. Islah’s former assistant deputy minister of finance, Saif al-Asaly, commented that promotion within the party is based on loyalty and personal connections: “If you are obedient and loyal, these are the criteria, and if your leader likes you. There are no elections, ever … They exist but they are phony, as a leader it was up to me to choose the people that I thought were suitable.”66 Al-Asaly left the party in protest and later became the minister of finance for the GPC, but others within the party corroborated his comments. A current leader and member of the Majlis al-Shura, not himself a member of the Brotherhood though speaking in admiration of its strength and solidarity, emphasized for example: “The most important thing in the Muslim Brotherhood [within Islah] is obedience, do what he [the leader] asks you to do even if you are busy or feeling lazy.”67 Despite his diminishing power, al-Zindani’s position within the party still underlines Islah’s problem with party coherence. Al-Zindani draws some of his legitimacy from the highly respected position that he holds in Yemen and throughout the Arab world as an Islamic scholar.68 While it is a stretch to believe, as some of Islah’s leaders claim, that al-Zindani’s more radical opinions have been tolerated by the party purely because of his esteemed position within Islamic scholarship, he has bolstered the religious legitimacy of the party considerably. He has also been useful for attracting support of the Salafis, many of whom reject party politics but may still vote for Islah or support its social programs for lack of a better option.69 The moderates within the party have historically had a tense though broadly accommodating relationship with this group. Al-Zindani had publicly contradicted the moderates’ message of democracy’s compatibility with Islam70 and established a university that is popularly perceived as a breeding ground of intolerance and radicalism, which has sharpened international concerns over the intentions of the party.71 He had also decried his political opponents as apostates, issued death threats to members of his own party,72 and appeared on television brandishing an AK-47 and condemning President Bush as an infidel governor of Muslim lands.73 Despite this, Islah as a whole has taken cautious steps to distance the party from him. Even when he was not returned to head the Majlis al-Shura in 2007, he maintained a symbolic presence. A senior party official commented in 2004 that by incorporating radicals and hard-liners including al-Zindani into the political mainstream, Islah’s moderates feel that they may be able to neutralize and control them: This is one of our strategies to not allow any extreme side to kidnap Islam for their own political purposes … The truth is that if Islah is trying to get all of

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these people [as supporters] especially the young, who tend to have strong religious beliefs and the tendency to become extremists, having Zindani in Islah lets us re-educate them … It undermines extremism … Our strategy is containment through education … Zindani has a reputation of being a religious scholar, were he to be outside the party, he could use leaving [the party] as an excuse, saying that Islah is no different to any other secular party in the country.74

Maintaining ideological hard-liners in leadership positions achieves two things for Islah: first, it widens its support base to include members who would otherwise be unwilling to support a party with a purely moderate platform (or perhaps even party politics at all), and second, it provides an obvious contrast between Islamist hard-liners and Islah’s mainstream moderates. However, by creating what is essentially an Islamist umbrella, a loose coalition that provides a home to a sweeping variety of competing ideological strains, Islah has contributed to public (and also international) uncertainty about its genuine intentions. This narrows the base of agreement, and its lack of coherence strengthens the public’s concerns that it could be a fundamentalist party operating under a thin veneer of centrism. Floor Beuming discusses an incident in which a tribal sheikh in Lahj was sent by the GPC during the 2003 election campaign to drum up support for its unpopular candidate by dissuading people from voting for the much more popular Islah candidate. The sheikh achieved this by telling voters that it was better for them to vote for the corrupt and ineffective GPC than it was to vote for the fundamentalist Islah. His message resonated with voters and the GPC won the seat.75 Anthropologist Steven Caton describes a meeting that he attended in 2001 in Khawlan, a northern tribal area, where an Islah candidate for upcoming elections fielded questions from disapproving constituents who were concerned that the party was intolerant and overly influenced by Wahhabism: They proceeded to grill him on all kinds of issues. Why did Islah do only things for people who subscribed to its religious beliefs? If it was a national party, as it was supposed to be, why didn’t it work for the good of everyone? Building new schools was great, but what was being taught in them besides religious subjects? What about clinics? What about electricity and water?76

While attracting some support for Islah, al-Zindani has sometimes also been a thorn in its side, with the government able to exploit his love of spectacle and deliberately put him in positions where he can be inflammatory. Schwedler argues that al-Zindani’s and al-Daylami’s comments have been emphasized because it suits the regime to portray Islah in an extremist light.77 While this is undoubtedly so, Islah has also called on al-Zindani when it wants

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to mobilize conservative religious opinion to its own advantage. It has, at various times, suited both the ruling party and Islah to use al-Zindani’s hardline conservatism to invigorate public opinion in their favor. Al-Zindani’s religious edicts against the YSP in 1993, in which he condemned the party members as infidels, helped Islah portray itself (and its coalition with the GPC) as engaging in a religious struggle against secular communist infidels.78 He is also a significant factor in recruiting other hard-liners to the party, particularly through his al-Iman University. The tribal group is mostly from the Hashid confederation and aims to hold onto the power and influence that its leaders acquired during the Northern civil war that followed the revolution in 1962.79 These leaders play less of a role in policy creation than they do in facilitation, drawing on their close personal, tribal, and familial links with the president and other GPC leaders to smooth the passage for Islah. Their influence has declined in recent years but has remained sufficient to water down Islah’s stance on some of the issues close to the regime’s central concerns. It is important to keep in mind that it is not just this group that has been co-opted and that the top leadership representing each of the key tendencies within the party has been shown willing to toe the regime’s red lines. The main power struggle within Islah has been between the two ideologically driven groups: the supporters of the Muslim brotherhood and the hard-line conservatives. However, as is discussed below, there is an intimate connection between this power struggle and the relationship between Islah and the GPC, one of the major foundations of which was the relationship between Sheikh Abdullah and President Saleh and the patronage networks that were built around this relationship. In dozens of interviews with Islah party leaders, members, former members, and outside observers, there were as many variations on the precise nature of each of these groups, or their political intentions, as there were interviewees, which further points to the inconsistency of the message that Islah conveys. An often-repeated charge is that Islah’s genuine moderates have little credibility with the bulk of the party and are mainly used to communicate with Westerners and foreign government officials, while the hard-liners are used to communicate with its grassroots base and propagate the idea that democracy is an imported ideology. This is impossible to comprehensively prove or disprove, but its frequency warrants its mention and impacts on the party’s supporter base.80 According to Islah’s former assistant deputy minister of finance Saif al-Asaly Islah’s leaders deliberately use the party’s fragmentation to galvanize support from groups with competing ideologies,81 with scant attention to consistency or implications at a policy-making level. A current member of the party’s Majlis al-Shura pointed to the fact that Islah’s leaders are very conscious of underlining the party’s democratic credentials when talking to foreigners, but that in reality, the idea that

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“the [ruling] elite might be bad but they must be strong and smart” is more representative of the party’s actual philosophy of political power.82 Particularly prior to the 2006 elections, Islah was widely believed to increase the call for democracy only when it benefited the party politically, and to either stimulate religious opinion or support from the regime on the same basis: “Most of their democracy programs are a reaction to something,” as opposed to a consistent basis of strategy.83 This was also suggested by Saif al-Asaly in 2004, who said that Islah had no programs “at all” to teach supporters about democracy and counter the polemic rhetoric of some of its own hard-liners and that it had not been looking to create them when he left in 2003.84 Another current member of the Majlis al-Shura agreed, stating that the biggest problem within Islah was that its leaders talk about but “do not trust democracy.”85 By avoiding a broader debate about democracy in the party and by sending out mixed messages, the party has failed to completely allay popular concerns that it may be using the vocabulary of democracy only when it suits the party. At the time of Islah’s first electoral appearance in 1993, the party’s principal slogans were “Islam is the solution,”86 “The Qur’an and the Sunna supersede the constitution and the law,”87 and “Conditions we’ll reform them, the Shari’ah we’ll implement it, secularism, we reject it.”88 In political terms, the manifesto that it took to these elections did mention the peaceful transfer of power through elections and focused on the centrality of the Islamic concept of shura (consultation).89 Islah still states as aims the establishment of an Islamic state in Yemen, adherence to shari’ah law, and the use of shura as the method of reaching political decisions, but it has become more concerned in recent years with an attempt to elaborate these goals more thoroughly (particularly in the 1997 political program discussed below). Islah’s political philosophy is further complicated by the fact that many of its leaders, and some of its literature, oversimplify the term “shura ” and, wittingly or not, incorrectly use it interchangeably with “democracy.” Islah’s official political program, for example, emphasizes its enthusiasm for democracy and political diversity, but the terms democracy and shura are almost always placed together, and without adequate explanation. At one point, the program refers to the ideal political system as “democratic (shuratic)” as though they are entirely the same thing.90 Consistent with comments made by party leaders during interviews, the program says that “democracy is a procedure to bring shura in the end.”91 The introduction to the program states: For the best embodiment of the concept of shura in our current times, it is incumbent on us to take the best of what civil society has achieved from its

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practice of democracy. This relates to form, basis and practical and technical process for organization of consensus and improving the practice of authority and ensuring the peaceful change of government and widening the scope of popular participation in it, as well as ensuring active accountability.92

This is confusingly followed by the admission that the party is not quite sure how to put this into practice, which seems to contradict its claims that democracy provides an ideal technical basis for shura: “The real barriers [to the implementation of shura] are the lack of framework and institutions that can give expression to these concepts.”93 Despite statements to the contrary that democratic institutions bring shura, the program suggests that regular competitive elections within a multiparty system are not a suitable framework. If this is the case, shura and democracy have a more ambiguous relationship and are certainly not synonyms. The program says elsewhere that shura is “not a static mold which we try to force on our current situations. It means participation in government and the people’s right to decide on their affairs, and choose their rulers, monitoring them and making them accountable and ensuring their adherence.”94 There are references elsewhere to the peaceful rotation of power. However this is contradicted not only by the earlier statements but also by others such as: “Shura is … the practical mean[s] to reform government”95 (italics added), where it appears that Islah is deliberately avoiding a discussion of changing the government or ensuring its adherence to the popular will. This confusion over what political institutions and frameworks Islah considers to be religiously acceptable and what the goal of the process of shura is has, fairly or otherwise, reinforced questions about the party’s real intentions. While the program called for democratic expansion in terms of free and fair elections, party pluralism, empowerment of the parliament and local councils, and an end to political inheritance, it maintained that this must be consistent with the teachings and laws of Islam. Details on how to achieve this remain predicated on the vague rejection of any idea or practice opposed to Islam.96 The differences between the schools of thought within the party further complicate understandings of exactly what Islah’s moderate centrists mean by their calls for democracy. Again, fairly or not, the actions and statements of the Muslim Brotherhood elsewhere in the Muslim world also impact upon local perceptions of Islah. Particularly after the attacks of September 11, 2001, Islah has had additional reason to fear being perceived as a party with an undercurrent of radicalism. Ensuring that it communicates its moderate stance to Western representatives may be more a case of prudence than necessarily indicative of there being “two Islahs.” Even before international attention focused so visibly on militancy within Islamist parties, Islah’s concern for allaying fears

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about an ulterior radical agenda was apparent. All but one of the nine cabinet positions that Islah held between 1993 and 1997 were given to relative moderates.97 On the other hand, hard-liners are allowed to remain in the party and have been permitted to make inflammatory remarks quite freely. Islah’s highly diverse membership, mixed with the right of members to freely express their opinion without censure (which leaders tend to frame in interviews as an example of the party’s robust internal democracy), has contributed to the mixed messages that have made some Yemenis skeptical about the party’s real intentions. In Yemen, secularists still tend to be wary of embracing Islah. A professor at Sana’a University commented that he and other academics “suspect Islah would have the same ideas as [the Muslim Brotherhood] in Sudan if it were in power,”98 and in 2004, YSP officials still publicly characterized their party’s relationship with Islah as cautious. Despite increased cooperation between the two parties on various programs and within the JMP, the YSP maintained concerns about Islah’s underlying motives and power structures: There is variation within Islah, it does not represent a unified force. There are three forces, one is very close to the government, they are in alliance with the government…The third group has accepted democracy and accepts living and working with other forces. This is the only group that can be a part of a force for reform.99

In response to a question about whether the YSP feared that the more radical members within Islah, like al-Zindani, would hold more power than this third group if Islah were to gain power, the same YSP official replied: Yes, in the current circumstances … The situation within Islah is that there are some open-minded people, but they are not in decision-making positions. Sheikhs and radicals are still the decision makers … We know this radical group does not want this joint work [between Islah and the YSP in the JMP] and it tries to disturb the relations between the two parties.100

In late 2005, the JMP released its “Document on National and Political Reform,” that it took to the 2006 elections, which discussed some of the problems confronting the Yemeni state: “There are no more fantasies in the minds of Yemenis about the catastrophe that is waiting for them … Total reform is the only choice.”101 The document called for the peaceful rotation of power, respect for the law and the constitution, an end to corruption, the clear separation of powers, stronger limitations on the role of the military and security apparatus, civil service reforms, greater popular empowerment, and a functioning parliamentary system. It identified Yemen’s “one-person

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rule” and “facade of democracy” as key impediments to development and in so doing gave the platform an explicitly democratic frame of reference. The role of shari’ah law in the JMP’s vision was conspicuous in its absence, however, and there was not a single mention of the role that religious law might play in the reformed state imagined by the JMP, which stood in obvious contrast to Islah’s 1997 program. The role of women in politics was also dealt with in an ambiguous manner, and while the platform stated the need to empower “the Yemeni woman to practice her constitutional and legal rights and … play [a] positive role in public life,” the only other mention of women referred to the need to “protect” them. There was no discussion of the nature of the “positive role” the JMP proposed that women play.102 The omission of these two key issues raised questions about whether the JMP’s members (particularly Islah and the YSP) would be able to overcome their ideological schisms and discuss the obvious elephants in the room. In politically focused qat chews in Sana’a at the time, GPC members and supporters took obvious enjoyment from taunting the JMP on these two points. Public distrust of the sincerity of Islah’s ties to the JMP remains, and although it decreased after the 2006 elections, some of Islah’s leaders are still perceived as placing their personal agendas above the requirements of genuine coalition building. This lingering distrust complicates the popular perception of Islah’s position in national politics. With some of its leading figures still closely attached to the regime, in what sense is it an opposition party?

Islah as Opposition The confusion that has existed within the Islah party over the appropriate level of challenge to pose to the president is more than a question of financial or tribal patronage. It is, in part, a question of what it means to be a part of the opposition in a state struggling to cope with considerable political and economic pressures and with little experience of formal institutional democratic standards. Throughout 2004–5, Islah’s leaders were candid in interviews about the fact that they did not yet have the capacity to form an alternative government and that the party was, therefore, reluctant to oppose in a way that might topple the current one. In interviews, leaders stressed the importance of building coalitions and pressing for reforms from outside the government in the meantime, coupled with the hope that Yemen’s political opening would expand to grant them room in the future. They were clear that under such a centralized system, they would rather observe the red lines than risk isolation or perhaps destruction. Many saw their own function as more like a political lobby group than as an alternative ruler power. One Islah MP

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responded thus to a question in 2004 about the party’s readiness to form a government: We are not keen to form the government by ourselves, we want to spread the power, no one party can solve all the problems that Yemen has, and cooperation is needed. We believe that a better approach is to cooperate with everyone, with the GPC and the YSP … We are asking the ruling party to improve itself or we will compete with them…We are not ready yet, it might be twenty years or even more, we are not in a hurry, we are improving our skills … We want to work with the ruling party and help them … Islah is working to improve them.103

The belief among the leadership that Islah was “not ready” to form a government coupled with the idea that it is a partner to the government, despite being in opposition to it, exemplified the dependence of the Yemeni opposition on the regime. Islah perceived the need for a reasonably stable environment in which to improve its own capacity for action: “We will have our own position when the time is right…In political work, you don’t challenge a strong flood force if you don’t have a vision of the whole horizon.”104 The cracks that became apparent in the political, economic, and particularly in the elite patronage system in the lead-up to the 2006 elections gave Islah its first clear glimpse of that horizon. As discussed at the end of this chapter, Islah appears to have been biding its time until it felt that the regime could be challenged from a position of relative safety. Between 1997 and 2006, Islah often saw itself as either an extension of the regime or, at the very least, as a group that had many shared interests with it. With one of these shared interests being to avert social chaos, its preference was to work within the system for change. One mid-ranking members commented in 2004: “There are many members and many interests with the government, which it does not want to lose, [nor does it want to] bring harm to its members. It wants to be an opposition to [bring] reforms, not changes.”105 Sheikh Abdullah summarized the position of the leaders who are closely aligned with the president in an interview with al-Jazeera television in 2005: Party pluralism must always include opposition to government. This opposition employs pressure on the government to reform the situation. The parties are duty bound to do this. They are described as the shadow government. They have the right to express their opinion. Opinion and the opposite opinion are supposed to be freely expressed. Political pluralism was established only to practice this right.106

In Sheikh Abdullah’s analysis then, allowing space for a political opposition was only intended to provide advice to the ruler, not to demand changes

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(note also his choice of the term “party pluralism” instead of the “democracy” around which the constitution is explicitly framed). The leadership is not to be compelled through competition to heed the advice that they receive as expressed by the opposition. In answer to a question about when Islah would consider it appropriate to openly challenge for power, a party official stated: We believe in gradual change, democracy needs to take time, so if you target the number one position, they will target you … We are in a position that we cannot challenge from all fronts but only from some … Right now we are pushing for progress but we avoid the more sensitive issues.107

Similarly, former deputy prime minister Abd al-Wahhab al-Ansi commented that “we must have pressure but without causing an explosion, to have more flexibility but with guarantees that it will not make things worse. The situation is sensitive.”108 Mohammed al-Sa’adi, head of Islah’s planning department agreed that “sometimes the government doesn’t want to meet with the opposition so we try to discuss this [as individuals] with people from the GPC. Sometimes we push hard, sometimes we have to manage by just [pointing out] the bad things.”109 This reticence to openly challenge the regime is a common feature of legal Islamist parties in pluralist authoritarian environments. Members of the Muslim Brotherhood in Jordan were also in conflict over whether to act as full participants in the government, which potentially undermined the goals of the Islamist movement, or whether to act as part of the opposition, and potentially undermine their favored position with the regime.110 The Secretary-General of the Islamic Action Party (generally accepted as the political wing of the Jordanian Muslim Brotherhood),111 Dr. Ishaq Farhan, said of this period that “the Islamists themselves were not all that interested in elections. Opposition seemed easier.” He believed that while winning a parliamentary majority would have been possible to achieve, it would have exceeded the Islamists’ political capabilities, “the dose would have been too heavy … We ourselves didn’t really have a clear program or agenda.”112 Other Islamists argued that Jordan’s Muslim Brotherhood was, and remains, far too incorporated into the regime to affect any genuinely Islamist changes.113 Just prior to its electoral victory in Palestine in 2006, Hamas’ leaders also went on the record saying that they would prefer to be in the opposition than in government. One councilman in Bethlehem noted five days before the elections that “anything more than 55 [of 132] seats would be an achievement— and probably a headache … After all, we don’t want to inherit an estate rife with debts.”114 Islah’s willingness to observe red lines was also highlighted in its 1997 political program, which drew on the Qur’an to advocate a conservative,

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consultative, consensus-driven program in the pursuit of social justice. For example, even Islah’s party logo implies its careful observation of the ruler’s red lines. Around the symbol of a sun that is rising behind an open book is a section of a sura (11:88), which states “I only desire reform so far as I am able, to the best of my power. And my guidance cannot come except from Allah, in Him and unto Him I repent.”115 This passage appears to reaffirm the party’s willingness to avoid the issues on which reform is not welcome. The program itself emphasized the importance of reforming the leader by a process of consultation with all social forces; reforming the leader by providing the incentive of a ready and able opposition party was far less apparent. The program stipulated on the second page the importance of working to reform a bad leader by “taking the hand of the oppressor,”116 that is, to take their hand to help them refrain from injustice but not removing or replacing them. Islah’s program set out the basis for strengthening shura without promoting systemic change or challenging for power. Taken together with statements made by the party’s leadership and many of its actions between 1997 and 2005, its emphasis was on reform, guidance, and respect for the status quo. Dresch and Haykel cite a 1993 paper that was issued by Islah that explicitly rejects the Zaydi principle of khuruj (rising up against an unjust or ungodly ruler): Every group must declare to the Book and Sunnah as well as their obedience to the ruler (wali al-amr) in that which he orders in conformity to God’s law. There is no obedience due to any man in that which involves disobedience to God. However, these groups must adhere to the principle of not rising [against an unjust ruler, khuruj] … rather these groups must seek justice, adhere to it and support it.117

They conclude that for Islah, the implications of this typically Sunni political philosophy are “far from radical.”118 Islah’s reluctance to compete aggressively with the regime was less an outcome of a religious or cultural preference for consultation over competition than a product of political will, an enduring relationship with the regime, combined with the fear that to act too quickly could mean losing all gains made since 1990. This was covered at times with religious justifications for its cautious approach to power. In 1994, Sheikh Abdullah commented that even if Islah swept the next elections, it would still not try to claim the presidency.119 In 1997, when Islah joined the opposition, it did so under a self-applied label of “loyal opposition.”120 Even in 2005 and with major elections scheduled for the following year, Islah’s leaders would not be pressed on a projected timeline: “Islah has no intention to control [the] parliament [nor] cabinet, nor presidency. Islah needs not less than fifty years to think of that. Islah needs more contact

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and better relation[s] with the interior and dialogue and good relations with the exterior.”121 Questions about the party’s intention to field a candidate in the 2006 presidential elections were, throughout 2005 and the first half of 2006, given vague responses, Sheikh Abdullah even claiming in April 2005 that that “issue has still not been discussed”122 even though this was probably the most common question posed by journalists, embassy officials, and researchers. Until 2006, challenging for power was an option surrounded by so much ambiguity and caution that it was difficult to ascertain whether it was even a midterm goal. However, by early 2006, the regime’s problems were such that Islah smelled blood and began to frame its desires more clearly. Even then, Islah’s actions were more a product of its perception that the regime might be unable to maintain its patronage networks than a perception of its own strength. It remained cautious about contesting the elections as a member of the opposition until April of that year and did not name a presidential candidate until close to the last minute. The 2006 elections must be seen against the backdrop of a perceived looming economic crisis. While the JMP members surprised everyone by their willingness to mount a campaign and align with their ideological opponents, they were again hampered by the regime astutely buying off key members of the alliance, particularly from Islah.123 When it came to the crunch, the JMP did not launch an official challenge to the results of the elections despite its initial—and clearly exaggerated— claims that its candidate Faisal bin Shamlan received two million more votes than he was officially awarded. Instead, the coalition released a statement that it wanted “to avoid a clash or confrontation with the authorities which [might] derail the process of change that has begun.” Islah and the JMP accepted that it did not yet have the capacity to challenge for the presidency and so accepted that its role was mainly educational. Bin Shamlan even stated several weeks after the elections that he would continue his political life as an independent, not as a member of the JMP, which he said he had joined only to “extend the desire [for] change among Yemeni people.”124 Some supporters of Islah argue that the party’s reticence to clearly court power while the status quo was still relatively stable was politically astute, because had the party presented an overt threat to the president, he would have disbanded it and with it any remaining semblances of democratic development and multiparty pluralism.125 The Yemeni opposition, for which Islah represents the strongest hope, tried therefore (or at least purported) to pave the way for change by slowly convincing the president to agree to its necessity. The other possibility is of course that rather than convincing the president of anything, Islah was simply waiting in anticipation that his regime might crack under its own weight.

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There is also reason to believe that Islah has been wary about coming to power because it is uncertain of the United States’ acceptance of the party, as alluded to in the above statement that taking power was not an objective for Islah until there are “good relations with the exterior.” The Algerian example was also clearly in the thoughts of Islah’s leaders between 2004 and 2005 when it came to openly competing with the ruling party for power: “Our major policy is to avoid armed clashes with the regime … Saleh could call a state of emergency and dissolve Islah, other political parties and the parliament, and arrest thousands of Islahis … We in Islah think that Algeria under Bin Jadeed [Algeria’s President who resigned under pressure from the army when the Islamists were successful in the elections] is better than it is today.”126 Islah may have been, therefore, willing to accept less than ideal circumstances for itself in exchange for the reassurance that the party would not descend into a military conflict with the GPC and the army.127 It worked more for reforms than systemic change and, at least through its actions, largely accepted the regime’s political dominance. For its part, the regime was quite successful at keeping the leaders in a comfortable position until at least 2005, thus removing a personal immediacy to toppling the current system while the Algerian example reinforced the party’s aversion to risk taking. In Yemen, where political reform has been contingent on the will of the president, stability is also generally understood to exist only where the president does not feel directly threatened. In this atmosphere, opposition understandably shows itself more cautiously as a coalition of social forces that consults with the government in an attempt to improve it than by presenting itself as an alternative to the government. It was only when that perceived stability faltered between late 2005 and early 2006 that opposing forces from both within and outside Islah began to define their objectives in stronger terms.128

Standing Under the Tree and Waiting for the Fruit to Fall Despite its increased efforts and success at grassroots mobilization, Islah’s best hope to gain ground is by the regime losing it. The party’s ability to cope with the political and economic debt that it would inherit from this eventuation is another matter entirely. The changes that occurred throughout 2005 and 2006 illustrated the importance of the patronage system to the relationship between Islah and the GPC. The problems that had been building between Sheikh Abdullah and President Saleh worsened. The two men had disagreed over relatively trivial matters, such as local agents for foreign oil companies, and on much more serious governance issues. At Islah’s party conference in early 2005, Sheikh Abdullah stated that the

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inability of Yemen to reform was driving the country into a “dark tunnel,” which brought accusations over the nature of his relationship with Saudi Arabia. Two weeks later there was a reluctant apology from the president and a reluctant acceptance from Sheikh Abdullah.129 Despite Sheikh Abdullah’s public assertions on al-Jazeera in April 2005 that the relationship remained in good shape, serious problems persisted.130 There were further disagreements between the two men over the reduction of the fuel subsidies, which came into effect in July 2005, despite the disapproval of the Sheikh.131 Shortly after the subsidies were reduced, a very significant shift occurred within the Islah party. A group of Islah’s top leaders met with President Saleh, whereupon the party’s general secretary, Mohammed al-Yadumi, told the president that the possibility of another alliance between the two parties was now over. He reportedly warned President Saleh that while he might be able to remove some of Islah’s leaders, the party would endure.132 As late as March 2006, however, the GPC and the JMP were still discussing the possibility of an electoral agreement for September, which provided the GPC with an opportunity to lambaste the JMP’s opposition credentials in the official media. By April, the GPC had announced publicly that there would be no deal, and Islah announced that it would side with the JMP in the elections,133 but it was not until July that the JMP announced a credible candidate for the elections, former oil minister Faisal bin Shamlan. In December 2005, Sheikh Abdullah sent President Saleh a clear message of his unhappiness through his son Hussein, a member of parliament for the GPC. Hussein warned in an interview that if the GPC did not change its policies, he would consider breaking away and forming a new party.134 In response to this, Hussein lost his position on the GPC’s Central Committee.135 That same month, there were also signals of rifts within Islah, as members associated with the Muslim Brotherhood moved to distance themselves from the Salafis within the party. Islah announced that it intended to train women as candidates for the upcoming 2006 local elections, despite the public objection to this idea by figures like al-Zindani.136 Furthermore, as pressure on al-Zindani and his alleged links to terrorist groups stepped up, he found more support from the president than he did from within his own party.137 The release of the JMP’s platform for the 2006 elections in late 2005, “Document on National and Political Reform,” further illustrated the shift in Islah’s relationship with the regime. The document’s power was not in the ability of the JMP to deliver the outcomes that it called for but in the fact that it publicly articulated the split between the opposition, particularly Islah, and the GPC. Later that month, Sheikh Abdullah pointedly departed Yemen. His announcement at Sana’a Airport that he was “leaving [Yemen] to President

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Saleh and his sons” had an air of strategic abdication to it and brightened the green light for his party to play more daring politics. Sheikh Abdullah’s words signaled that the alliance between himself and the president, the cornerstone of the political status quo for nearly three decades, was seriously unraveling.138 The new breathing space granted to Islah as a result of the falling out between its leader and the president was reflected in the confidence that it publicly drew from Hamas’ electoral victory in Palestine. In January 2006, Islah began to flag the possibility of a similar outcome in Yemen’s upcoming elections. In one widely reported incident, a member of the GPC shot and killed a member of Islah at a qat chew in al-Dhala’e (a governorate in Lower Yemen) for insisting this was a possibility.139 Like Hamas in Palestine, Islah and the JMP ran in the 2006 elections largely on a “no corruption” platform. While the crumbling of elite relationships formed the background to these shifts, as opposed to consistent or necessarily effective political lobbying, Islah had still moved into a position where it was standing under the tree and waiting for the fruit to fall. Islah has increased its use of at least the vocabulary of democracy in framing its political intentions and appears to see that it is the most likely beneficiary of freely competitive elections. Its stated goals have changed markedly from being centered on religious ideology to highlighting instead the importance of consultation and reform. This move from polemic Islamist and antisecular rhetoric to a platform of anticorruption and reform, and its membership in the JMP, indicates a growing political pragmatism within the party. That there are now more pronounced divisions between hard-liners and moderates further underlines this point. Schwedler’s 2006 book found that Islah did not “become ideologically more moderate—in the sense of being relatively more open and tolerant of alternative perspectives”140 despite the common suggestion “that inclusion in pluralist political processes may lead political actors to gradually adopt a more open and tolerant worldview than the one they held prior to such participation.”141 However, when, in around 2005, the regime increased its exclusion of the party (and particularly the al-Ahmar family) from the patronage system, Islah did deepen its cooperation with other actors, including former ideological rivals. The party’s growing exclusion from the informal system, coupled with its continued inclusion in the formal political system, contributed to the need to reach out to other excluded actors as a means of protection. This increased the prominence of the moderate group, which was open to these wider alliances, and added to the party’s retreat from ideologically based and exclusionary politics. Browers notes: “it is often exclusion more than inclusion in formal politics that puts various actors into contact and conversation with alternative views.”142 This has been the case for Islah, but it has not yet been the case that contact with “alternative

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views” has caused a marked shift in the way that it approaches decisionmaking processes or democratic power rotation within the party. Islah maintains a lingering reticence to resolve key issues, particularly changes to its leadership, on a competitive basis, preferring elite negotiations as a method of resolving disputes and determining power hierarchies. Islah’s actions have been guided more by elite relationships than by consideration of its grassroots constituents. The fraying of Sheikh Abdullah’s relationship with President Saleh and its impact on Islah’s political style demonstrate the constraints that surround political participation in Yemen. While it was perceived that calling for change under the protection of powerful elites was preferable to working completely outside the system, without the protection of these elites the rules of engagement can change rapidly. Sheikh Abdullah’s death on December 29, 2007 signals a possible era of greater independence for Islah and the JMP.

Conclusion: Coercion, Managed Pluralism, and Legitimacy

s it presides over a country with considerable regional differences, wellarmed tribes, and a somewhat tenuous unity that has already taken the country to civil war once, the Yemeni regime can ill afford the brutality of some of its regional counterparts. The regime must complement its coercive power by working to balance—or rather keep off-balance—alternative political and social forces that might seek to counter its strength. It has demonstrated its preference for the style of combat used by a judo fighter, where the aim is less to deliver a knockout blow to opponents than to harness their strength and redirect it against them.1 In addition to their ability to physically coerce, threaten, and manipulate political actors, pluralized authoritarian regimes rely also on their soft power capacity. The regimes present themselves as the guarantors of stability and highlight the lack of realistic alternatives to their rule. They also allow a degree of free expression, parliaments that are sufficiently representative of the population to take its pulse on key issues, some welfare benefits, and opportunities for further benefits for the opposition (and potential opposition) if it submits to the regime’s dominance. Members of the opposition and other politically relevant actors are thereby persuaded and usually lured financially into dampening their resistance to the leaders. The political status quo and the endurance of the regime are enabled by a flexible system of patronage and the ability to reinforce this with the threat of physical force. As Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter noted in their study of political transitions in Eastern Europe and Latin America: “If there is one characteristic common to all our cases it is the omnipresent fear, during the transition and long after political democracy has been installed, that a coup will be attempted and will succeed.”2 In the contemporary Arab Middle East, however, the fear of civil chaos takes the place of the fear of military coups that Schmitter and O’Donnell identified. The fear that

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genuine reform might unleash forces that would undermine, destabilize, marginalize, destroy, or kill the politically relevant actors is an ever-present consideration. As both the regime and the opposition stand to lose something from the destabilization of the system, a cautious approach to change is validated. The opposition’s reticence to make stringent demands against an entrenched regime is partly driven by the assessment that the conditions that led to the Lebanese, Algerian, and Yemeni civil wars are still present. Fear of the alternatives is a primary factor in the resilience of pluralized authoritarianism in the Middle East. The divisions between political actors that this fear reinforces, along with the myths of stability that it creates, can make the status quo seem like the only easy option to actors both inside and outside the regime. Fear of the Alternatives While members of the opposition still draw at least some benefit from the arrangement of pluralized authoritarianism, they remain wary of provoking too harsh a response from the regime. They realize that opting out of the system by demanding greater reforms risks marginalization. Nonregime actors may see the system as flawed, but many also believe that its likely alternative is chaos. Political demands that threaten the regime, and thus the system itself, too dramatically are often seen as counterproductive. In Yemen, the perceived power vacuum that would result from the regime’s removal reinforced the view that negotiating with it is more prudent than aggressively working to topple it. These beliefs and values, which further concentrate the possibilities for change into the president’s hands, are not irrational or unchangeable but have had a considerable impact on how Yemen’s actors perceive their environment. As one activist commented: “I want room to make people feel like they are doing something until real political parties appear…I want to increase the level of debate without pushing too far, because if you push too far, you will be broken.”3 As the country moved toward the 2006 elections, the view that “the GPC is the only mechanism to change power”4 remained prevalent. Robert Burrowes noted in May 2006, for example, that while “the call for ‘a peaceful transfer of power’ should remain the long-term goal, this does not seem possible over the short-term”5 if real changes are to be enacted peacefully. The outcome of the elections supported these assumptions—the opposition coalition— the JMP—pushed to a point but pulled back when it came to the crunch and did not publicize its own estimates of the genuine (unmanipulated) results. The limited and vacillating reforms between 1990 and 2006 have not empowered the Yemeni people to a level that poses a serious formal challenge

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to the power of the regime. The slight increases to the level of formalized popular feedback permitted from society have not, therefore, made Yemen appreciably more democratic to date. The institutions and methods by which feedback is permitted are not consistently protected and remain at the behest of, or open to manipulation by, the regime. Furthermore, by helping gauge public opinion, the type of feedback permitted by the regime has helped it better understand and therefore manage domestic dissent. Feedback that did manifest violently did not reach levels that the state could not contain with a combination of violence and co-optation, although if oil revenues drop significantly this is a much more likely prospect. With their incorporation into the political arena, dissenters become more visible and more easily monitored, co-opted, and managed. Their failures also become more public and reinforce the public’s perception that the legal opposition offers little realistic alternative to the incumbent leaders. The same overall strategy can be applied to the containment of informal social forces—in Yemen, mainly the tribes and their sheikhs. Sheikhs are pulled toward the center and are artificially detached from their natural power base by offering them wealth in exchange for their role as intermediaries between the state and the tribes. The state reduces the need to create formal representative institutions in the periphery but is still privy to a level of popular opinion generated there. Democracy, though prevalent in political discourse and in some of Yemen’s formal institutional structures, was more notable by its absence in the post-civil war period. The conditional nature of the reforms reinforced the notion that even these may be revoked if the opposition manifests itself too boldly. In the words of one of Islah’s leaders, speaking in 2004: “Saleh could call a state of emergency and dissolve Islah, other political parties and the parliament, and arrest thousands of Islahis … Right now we are pushing for progress but we avoid [the] more sensitive issues.”6 While members of the opposition have complained vocally about the limits and controls placed on them, they have been disinclined to champion systemic changes too aggressively for fear that they might lose the, not inconsiderable, ground that they have gained. The opposition’s fear of provoking the regime into unleashing its security apparatus has further reinforced their preference for coexistence over confrontation. Their lack of capacity is thus made very public and serves to magnify their internal inconsistencies. The hollowedout nature of the political environment makes the dearth of ready alternatives to the incumbent elite plainly apparent, something that President Saleh played on when he announced in the lead-up to the 2006 presidential elections: “Yes, some opposition figures say it is very necessary [for me] to accept nomination [to run again] for there [is] no alternative … Why are there no alternatives?”7

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Political Islam It remains possible, that as the location of legitimacy shifts to include democracy or even its facade, citizens’ expectations for greater empowerment are increased. The vocabulary of democracy that characterized the GPC and the JMP’s electoral rhetoric in 2006 underlines that, if nothing else, recourse to the concept of democracy has become the most legitimate way to frame a political debate. As James Piscatori points out, elections are not necessarily the benchmark of democracy, they may also be a mechanism for facilitating its emergence,8 and several of Yemen’s experiences indicate that this remains a possibility for the longer-term future. First, the increasing electoral turnouts, the level of support that Islah received against the GPC in 2003, the large turnouts at several of the JMP’s election rallies in 2006, and the considerable percentage of people who actually declined to vote for President Saleh in 2006, all suggest that the desire for change and for greater participation in Yemen is strong if it can occur without the likely risk of social chaos. Second, the growth of Islah’s support base strongly suggests that there is popular enthusiasm for an alternative to the regime— even if Islah has not yet been willing or able to unreservedly compete with it at an elite level. Islah’s increased willingness to negotiate with its ideological opponents (principally the YSP) in order to improve its electoral chances against the GPC also indicates its comprehension of the potential to increase its power. While Islah has been hamstrung by its relationship with the regime at an elite level; by regime manipulation; by its internal disputes, splits, and inconsistencies; and by its fears of provoking instability, the party, and through it the JMP, has also become the only formally organized (nonviolent) potential threat to the regime. That such a threat even exists represents a considerable shift in the last fifteen years. The effect of Islah’s alliance with the JMP may have weakened its performance in the 2006 local elections, but the party’s willingness to negotiate with its former battlefield opponents against the regime suggests a significant change in its political mindset. While the JMP has considerable weaknesses and rests upon Islah as its most powerful member, the level of cooperation between Islah and the YSP was sufficient to be deemed a threat by the regime in 2006. This was attested to by the intensity of the pressure that was put on both Islah and the YSP to abandon the JMP in the lead-up to the elections. Islah was offered cabinet positions, and the YSP was offered the return of property and offices that had been confiscated in return for leaving the coalition. Islah wrestled with the possibility until April 2006 but then threw itself in very publicly with the opposition.

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A further significant shift is Islah’s move from religious ideology toward a more pragmatic political agenda. The 2006 elections built on the trend of parliamentary elections of three-and-a-half years earlier and placed anticorruption and service provision much more prominently than the religious rhetoric that framed earlier campaigns. By 2006, the word “shari’ah” was not even mentioned once in the platform used by Islah with the JMP. This suggests two things. First, it is probably wrong to assume that Islah (and other Islamist parties in the Arab world) has gained ground simply because of its religious identity and an innate desire of Muslims to “embrace an Islamist agenda.”9 That the party’s increased voter and membership numbers have occurred in conjunction with its move beyond religious identity further supports this contention. Second, it also suggests that a good part of Islah’s popularity (and probably Islamists’ popularity in general) comes from the fact that it represents the only plausible alternative to the regime. Being essentially an extension of the incumbent Northern elite and a force for the preservation of the status quo, Islah had greater room to maneuver than other opposition groups at the outset and also much greater access to funds both within Yemen and from Saudi Arabia. The constricted environment of pluralized authoritarianism did not, therefore, limit its early growth in the way that it constrained other groups; in fact it contributed positively to its early development. Under this arrangement, Islah had a rather protected corner on the opposition market, one that was suited to the restrictions inherent to pluralized authoritarianism and one that was built firmly on the patronage networks of the regime. It was only when Islah’s exclusion from the regime’s patronage system became obvious with the decaying relationship between Sheikh Abdullah and President Saleh that Islah began to seek a more meaningful cooperation with its former political and ideological rivals. As the relationship unraveled, the al-Ahmar family, particularly Hamid al-Ahmar, came to see the party as a more important alternative power base. Were the constraints of the deliberately fragmented polities in the region to ease, it is reasonable to suspect that Islamists might not maintain their specialized position unchallenged in the longer-term. With a diminished need to send a protest vote against the regime if genuine contestation became an option, Islamists may lose some of the ground that they currently hold. Islamists may represent an organized plausible alternative to the regime, but this does not necessarily translate into a genuine electoral majority on a truly open playing field in the longer term. Often-heard comments such as “I am not a religious man but I will vote for Islah because it offers the only alternative”10 are representative of the wider dissatisfaction with the lack of political options available. For those not currently on board with

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either the regime or Islamist ideology, there are three choices: opting out of the system (which can range from simply not participating to engaging in political violence) or backing either the regime or the Islamists for want of something better.11 The significance of the fact that in the constrained political spaces of the region, Islamists usually offer the only plausible alternative to the incumbent elite should not be overlooked. Religious ideology, while still significant, accounts for only one element of their support base. Elite relationships and popular dissatisfaction are also crucial. To win in a genuinely competitive arena, Islamists would probably need to offer more than a moral alternative to the corrupt regimes. However, Islamists throughout the region have demonstrated their ability to adapt to political changes better than most, and may also have the benefit of a head start for some years to come. Civil Society Civil society has emerged to fill the political spaces deliberately vacated by regimes,12 but in Yemen and the Arab Middle East this has not meant that its members have been sufficiently equipped to protect those spaces once the state’s willingness to provide them has rescinded. Nor has this meant that opposition groups, CSOs, or informal social forces such as tribes are necessarily democratically inclined. This may develop over time and under conditions that mean these actors perceive democratic bargaining and competition to be in their interests, but in Yemen, and elsewhere in the region, this has been a significant sticking point with the interests of their key members often being linked to the regime. Under the conditions of carefully managed pluralism, there is the further danger that the organizations created to fill the new space are a rather artificial layer between state and society, existing on the patronage of the regime and the funds of Western donors keen to support familiar forms of political advocacy13 and further disenfranchising genuine popular political will. The patronage and state funding available to legal political parties and CSOs further divorces them from society by undermining the need for these groups to independently build a grassroots support base that is willing and able to ensure its existence financially. The dilemma, however, is that waiting for the state to grant genuine reforms is not an attractive option either. Top-down reform has thus far led only to the pluralized authoritarian systems that characterize the Arab Middle East today, with little to indicate that systemic change for the short-to medium-term is genuinely under way. With the cards so firmly stacked in the incumbents’ favor by virtue of their hard power capacity, control over the economy, and soft power reinforcements, where is the primary impetus for reform likely to originate

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from—the state or society? Based on the assumption that the presence of a politically engaged “civil society” is a prerequisite to democracy, democracy advocates have tended to concentrate on it as the engine of political reform. Nevertheless, the predictive value of this thesis has been very low in the Arab Middle East. The number of associations labeled as civil society has ballooned but not at the expense of the regimes’ dominance. These organizations fit within the pluralized reconfiguration of authoritarianism rather than acting directly against it. Should they act against it, the state maintains its willingness to resort to physical force. Nonviolent threats from below have thus been largely contained. It may be that a politically engaged, independent, and genuinely representative civil society is, at least in some political environments, more a by-product of democratic development than a formative component.14 Yemen’s regime is not dependent on its coercive capacity alone. Hard power is not sufficient to account for the regime’s durability, but it is a key element and reinforces other impediments to reform, particularly the patronage system. However, a state as poor as Yemen cannot afford to purchase the loyalty of every potential detractor either, and while the regime has thus far been astute at carefully selecting those most capable of mounting significant opposition, this capacity ebbs away with downturned oil revenues.15 By increasingly prioritizing patronage networks over ideology and other forms of legitimacy, the regime also increases its dependence on resources that it may not always have access to. As long as the Yemeni regime can maintain its balance between hard and soft power, which is predicated on its ability to sustain the patronage system, Huntington’s “halfway house” can withstand a remarkable amount of pressure. The longer it stands, the more its hybrid norms and institutions become consolidated and the further it entrenches the norms of the patronage system as the driver of crisis and stability.

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Notes

Introduction 1. About twenty-five percent of the budget is officially spent on the security apparatus but, as is discussed in Chapter 3, it is likely to be significantly more than this. 2. Thomas Carothers,“The End of the Transitions Paradigm,” Journal of Democracy 13 (January 1, 2002). 3. Samuel Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991), p. 137. 4. Carothers, “End of the Transitions Paradigm,” 9 and 13. See also Daniel Brumberg, “The Trap of Liberalized Autocracy,” Journal of Democracy, 13, no. 4 (2002): 56–68. 5. James Piscatori, Islam, Islamists, and the Electoral Principle in the Middle East (Leiden: ISIM, 2000). Available online at http://www.isim.nl/files/paper_ piscatori.pdf, p. 45. 6. Ibid., pp. 23 and 25. 7. Daniel Brumberg, Liberalization Versus Democracy: Understanding Arab Political Reform, (working paper, no. 37, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, Washington, DC, May 2003), pp. 4–7. 8. Marsha Pripstein Posusney, “The Middle East’s Democracy Deficit in Comparative Perspective,” in Authoritarianism in the Middle East, ed. Marsha Pripstein Posusney and Michele Penner Angrist (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2005), p. 17, footnote 20. She is speaking of the region more generally and does not refer to Yemen specifically in this regard. 9. Marsha Pripstein Posusney, “Multiparty Elections in the Arab World: Election Rules and Opposition Responses,” in Authoritarianism in the Middle East, ed. Marsha Pripstein Posusney and Michele Penner Angrist (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2005), p. 93. 10. Michael Bratton and Nicolas Van de Walle, “Neopatrimonial Regimes and Political Transitions in Africa,” World Politics 46, no. 4 (July 1994): 459. 11. Ibid. 12. This paragraph draws from an unpublished paper written with Murad Zafir for Yemen’s National Democratic Institute about the constraints on Yemen’s opposition parties: Sarah Phillips and Murad Zafir, “Baseline Assessment of the Joint Meeting Parties (JMP) Coalition in Yemen,” unpublished, 2007.

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13. James A. Bill and Robert Springborg, Politics in the Middle East, 4th ed. (New York: HarperCollins, 1994), pp. 166–67. 14. Joel Migdal, Strong Societies and Weak States: State-Society Relations and State Capabilities in the Third World (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988) pp. 206–37. 15. Ibid., p. 210. 16. Ibid., p. 236. 17. Omar Daair, “He Who Rides the Lion. Authoritarian Rule in a Plural Society: The Republic of Yemen,” (MSc diss., University of London, 2001). Available online at http://www.al-bab.com/Yemen/pol/daair1.htm. 18. Ibid. 19. Joseph S. Nye Jr., The Paradox of American Power: Why the World’s Only Superpower Can’t Go it Alone (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 9. 20. William Zartman refers to this as complementarity in “Opposition as Support of the State,” in Beyond Coercion: The Durability of the Arab State, ed. Adeed Dawisha and William Zartman, vol. 3 (London, New York: Croom Helm, 1988), pp. 61–87. This is discussed in greater detail in Chapter Five. 21. Marina Ottaway, Democracy Challenged: The Rise of Semi-Authoritarianism (Washington D.C.: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2003), p. 146.

Chapter 1 1. Daniel Williams, “New Vehicle for Dissent Is a Fast Track to Prison: Bloggers Held under Egypt’s Emergency Laws,” Washington Post, May 31, 2006. Williams is quoting from an interview President Mubarak gave to Egypt’s state-owned newspaper al-Gomhoreya. 2. Ibid. 3. Some of the most prominent texts in this field include: Philippe C. Schmitter and Laurence Whitehead, eds., Transitions from Authoritarian Rule, 4 vols. (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986); Adam Przeworski, Democracy and the Market: Political and Economic Reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991); and Scott Mainwaring, Guillermo O’Donnell, and J. Samuel Valenzuela, eds., Issues in Democratic Consolidation: The New South American Democracies in Comparative Perspective (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1992). 4. See, for example, Daniel Lerner, The Passing of Traditional Society: Modernizing the Middle East (London: Glencoe, Collier, Macmillan, 1958); Gabriel Almond and James S. Coleman, eds., The Politics of the Developing Areas (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1960); Seymour Martin Lipset, Political Man (London: Heinemann, 1960); Karl Deutsch, “Social Mobilization and Political Participation,” in Political Development and Social Change, ed. Jason Finkle and Richard Gable (New York: John Wiley, 1966), pp. 384–402. 5. Dankwart Rustow famously advanced this theory in “Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model,” Comparative Politics 2 (April 1970): 337–63.

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6. This argument was framed in similar terms in James Piscatori, Islam, Islamists, and the Electoral Principle in the Middle East (Leiden: ISIM, 2000). Available online at http://www.isim.nl/files/paper_piscatori.pdf, p. 11. 7. The list of such texts exploring the possibilities of democracy emerging in the Arab Middle East in the 1990s is long. Some prominent examples include: Abdo Baaklini, Guilain Denoeux, and Robert Springborg, Legislative Politics in the Arab World: The Resurgence of Democratic Institutions (Boulder, CO, and London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1999); Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds., Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World: Theoretical Perspectives, vol. 1 (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1995); Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds., Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World: Comparative Experiences, vol. 2 (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1998); Sheila Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen: The Political Economy of Activism in Modern Arabia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); John Waterbury, “Fortuitous By-Products,” Comparative Politics 29, no. 3 (April 1997): 383–402; and Augustus Richard Norton, ed., Civil Society in the Middle East, 2 vols. (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995–96). 8. See, for example Michael C. Hudson, “After the Gulf War: Prospects for Democratization in the Arab World,” Middle East Journal 45, no. 3 (1991): 407–8; Heather Deegan, “Democratization in the Middle East,” in The Middle East in the New World Order, ed. Haifaa A. Jawad, 2nd ed.(Hampshire and London: Macmillan, 1997), pp. 15–34. 9. Amr Hamzawy, Arab Political Reality: One Lens is not Enough (Policy Outlook, Washington, D.C.: Democracy and Rule of Law Project, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, March 2005). Available online at http://carnegieendowment.org/files/PO15.hamzawy.FINAL.pdf. 10. For an earlier analysis of this debate regarding democracy, see David Collier and Steven Levitsky, “Democracy with Adjectives: Conceptual Innovation in Comparative Research,” World Politics 49, no. 3 (1997): 430–51. 11. Some other noteworthy examples of this critique include: Adeed Dawisha and William Zartman, eds., Beyond Coercion: The Durability of the Arab State (London and New York: Croom Helm, 1988); Oliver Schlumberger “The Arab Middle East and the Question of Democratization: Some Critical Remarks,” Democratization 7, no. 4 (2000): 104–32; Marina Ottaway, Democracy Challenged: The Rise of Semi-Authoritarianism (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2003); and Marsha Pripstein Posusney and Michele Penner Angrist, eds., Authoritarianism in the Middle East: Regimes and Resistance (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2005). For a theoretical treatment that is not directly related to the Middle East, see Andreas Schedler, ed., Electoral Authoritarianism: The Dynamics of Unfree Competition (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2006). 12. Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen, pp. 210–11. 13. Theodore Nkwenti, “Yemen Enacts New Law Governing Associations and Foundations,” International Journal of Not-For-Profit Law 3, no. 3 (2001). Available at http://www.icnl.org/JOURNAL/vol3iss3/cr_nafrica.htm.

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14. Marina Ottaway, “Evaluating Middle East Reform: How Do We Know When It Is Significant?” Carnegie Endowment for International Peace: Democracy and Rule of Law Project 56 (February 2005): 6. 15. Ibid. 16. Baaklini, Denoeux, and Springborg, Legislative Politics in the Arab World. 17. Daniel Brumberg, “Liberalization Versus Democracy: Understanding Arab Political Reform” (working paper, 37, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, Washington, DC, May 2003), 8. 18. Ibid., 7. 19. Ferenc Miszlivetz and Jody Jensen, “An Emerging Paradox: Civil Society from Above?” in Participation and Democracy East and West: Comparisons and Interpretations, ed. Dietrich Rueschemeyer, Marylin Rueschemeyer, and Bjorn Wittrock (New York: M. E. Sharpe, 1998), pp. 84–85. 20. Frances Hagopian, “After Regime Change: Authoritarian Legacies, Political Representation, and the Democratic Future of South America,” World Politics 45, no. 3 (1993): 474. 21. Quintan Wiktorowicz, “Embedded Authoritarianism: Bureaucratic Power and the Limits to Non-Governmental Organisations in Jordan,” in Jordan in Transition: 1990–2000, ed. George Joffé (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), pp. 110–26. 22. Thomas Carothers, “The End of the Transitions Paradigm,” Journal of Democracy 13, no. 1 (January 2002): 10. 23. It is important to note, however, that despite Carothers’ accusation of such assumptions (Ibid.), many associated with the transitions school have also explicitly denied the idea of a linear model. See Schmitter and Whitehead, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule, pp. 9–10. 24. Ottaway, “Evaluating Middle East Reform.” 25. Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, “Introduction: Theoretical Perspectives on Arab Liberalization and Democratization,” in Brynen, Korany, and Noble, Political Liberalization and Democratization, p. 3. 26. Daniel Brumberg, “Beyond Liberalization,” Wilson Quarterly 28, no. 2 (Spring 2004): 47–55. Available online at http://wwics.si.edu/index.cfm?fuseaction= wq.essay&essay_id=69730. 27. Ibid. 28. Najib Ghadbian, Democratization and the Islamist Challenge in the Arab World (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997), pp. 133–34. 29. Ottaway, “Evaluating Middle East Reform,” 6. 30. Joseph Schumpeter, Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy (New York: Harper, 1947), p. 269. 31. Ibid., p. 295. 32. Samuel Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991), pp. 266–67. 33. Schirin H. Fathi, Jordan—An Invented Nation? Tribe-State Dynamics and the Formation of National Identity (Hamburg: Deutsches Orient-Institut, 1994), p. 206.

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34. See Steven Levitsky and Lucan Way, “Elections Without Democracy: The Rise of Competitive Authoritarianism,” Journal of Democracy 13, no. 2 (April 2002): 51–65. 35. Robert A. Dahl, Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1971). 36. Robert A. Dahl, On Democracy (New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, 1998), pp. 85–86. 37. Larry Jay Diamond, “Is the Third Wave Over?” Journal of Democracy 7, no. 3 (1996): 23–24. 38. I am grateful to Marc Armansin for suggesting the idea of feedback in this context, and then discussing it with me over many dinners. 39. In this context, instability is a violent attempt to reestablish the prevalence of popular will. 40. Gabriel Almond and Sidney Verba, The Civic Culture (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1963), p. 14. 41. Michael C. Hudson, Arab Politics: The Search for Legitimacy (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1977), pp. 85–86. Hudson’s overall argument is more complex than this, however, and he emphasizes that the “autocratic, unstable nature of all present Arab governments” draws more from the unstable political environment than it does from “the superstitions of ‘traditional’ people” (pp. 2–3). 42. Hisham Sharabi, Neopatriarchy: A Theory of Distorted Change in Arab Society (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 7. 43. Fouad Ajami, The Arab Predicament: Arab Political Thought and Practice Since 1967 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 182. 44. Ajami, Arab Predicament, updated ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 26. 45. Jason Brownlee, “Political Crisis and Restablization: Iraq, Libya, Syria, and Tunisia,” in Posusney and Angrist, Authoritarianism in the Middle East, p. 60. 46. Adam Garfinkle, “The Impossible Imperative? Conjuring Arab Democracy,” The National Interest (Fall 2002), cited in Gary C. Gambill, “Explaining the Arab Democracy Deficit: Part I,” Middle East Intelligence Bulletin 5, no. 2 (February–March 2003). Available online at http://www.meib.org/articles/ 0302_me.htm. 47. United Nations Development Programme, Arab Human Development Report 2003: Building a Knowledge Society, available online at http://www.sd.undp.org/ HDR/AHDR%202003%20-%20English.pdf, p. 141. 48. Marsha Pripstein Posusney, “The Middle East’s Democracy Deficit in Comparative Perspective,” in Authoritarianism in the Middle East, ed. Marsha Pripstein Posusney and Michele Penner Angrist (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2005), p. 4. 49. Halim Barakat, The Arab World: Society, Culture, and State (Berkeley: California University Press, 1993), p. 274. 50. Bassam Tibi, “The Simultaneity of the Unsimultaneous: Old Tribes and Imposed Nation-States in the Middle East,” in Tribes and State Formation in the

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51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56.

57. 58. 59.

60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68.

69.

70.

NOTES

Middle East, ed. Philip. S. Khoury and Joseph. Kostiner (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), p. 149. Eli Kedourie, Democracy and Arab Political Culture (London: Frank Cass, 1994), pp. 1 and 103. Bernard Lewis, What Went Wrong: The Clash Between Islam and Modernity in the Middle East (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 2002). Huntington, Third Wave, pp. 72–85. Samuel Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1996). Samuel Huntington, “The Clash of Civilizations,” Foreign Affairs 72, no. 3 (Summer 1992–93): 40. John Waterbury, “Democracy Without Democrats? The Potential for Political Liberalization in the Middle East,” in Democracy without Democrats: The Renewal of Politics in the Muslim World, ed. Ghassan Salame (London: I. B. Tauris, 1994), p. 45. Robert Bowker, “Analysing the Politics of Contemporary Middle East Islam” (unpublished article, 2003). Each of these examples are cited in Adeed Dawisha,“Arab Regimes: Legitimacy and Foreign Policy,” in Dawisha and Zartman, Beyond Coercion, p. 264. Graham E. Fuller, “Islamists in the Arab World: The Dance Around Democracy,” Carnegie Paper 49 (September 2004): 4. Available online at http://www.carnegieendowment.org/files/cp49_fuller_final.pdf. Ibid. Eva Bellin, “Coercive Institutions and Coercive Leaders,” in Posusney and Angrist, Authoritarianism in the Middle East, p. 24. Bowker, “Analysing the Politics of Contemporary Middle East Islam.” Alfred Stepan and Graeme Robertson “An ‘Arab’ More than ‘Muslim’ Electoral Gap,” Journal of Democracy 14, no. 3 (2003): 30–44. Mark Tessler and Eleanor Gao, “Gauging Arab Support for Democracy,” Journal of Democracy 16, no. 3 (2005): 87. Ibid. Ibid., 91. Fares Braizat, “Islam, Muslims and Liberal Democracy: Jordan in a Comparative Perspective” (PhD diss., Kent University, 2003), p. 213. Jordanian Center for Strategic Studies, “Democracy in Jordan,” Poll 33, June 2003. Available online at http://www.css-jordan.org/polls/democracy/2003/ index.html. In 2005, al-Jazeera conducted a survey that asked people if they trusted “Western democracy” to which over 80 percent of the people questioned responded that they did not. See Ramzy Baroud, “The Problem with Western Democracy in the Middle East,” Christian Science Monitor (February 3, 2005). Available online at http://www.csmonitor.com/2005/0203/p09s01-coop. html. Abdullah M. al-Faqih, “The Struggle for Liberalization and Democratization in Egypt, Jordan and Yemen” (PhD diss., Northeastern University, 2003), pp. 25–26 and 244.

NOTES

181

71. See Ellen Lust-Okar, “Divided They Rule: The Management and Manipulation of Political Opposition,” Comparative Politics 36, no. 2 (January 2004): 159–79. 72. Brumberg, Liberalization Versus Democracy, pp. 4–7. 73. Brumberg, “Beyond Liberalization.” 74. Waterbury, “Democracy without Democrats?” pp. 29–30. 75. Michael Ross, “Does Oil Hinder Democracy?” World Politics 53, no. 3 (2001): 325–61. 76. Larbi Sadiki, “Popular Uprisings and Arab Democratization,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 32 (2000): 84 and 91. 77. Ibid., 84. 78. Ibid., 84–85. 79. Sean Yom, “Civil Society and Democratization in the Arab World,” Middle East Review of International Affairs 9, no. 4 (December 2005): 25. See also Eva Bellin, “The Robustness of Authoritarianism in the Middle East,” Comparative Politics 36, no. 2 (January 2004): 139–57. 80. Mark LeVine,“The UN Arab Human Development Report: A Critique,” Middle East Report Online (July 26, 2002). Available online at http://www.merip.org/ mero/mero072602.html. 81. Bellin, “Coercive Institutions and Coercive Leaders,” p. 31. See also Clement M. Henry and Robert Springborg, Globalization and the Politics of Development in the Middle East (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 30–38. 82. Bellin, “Coercive Institutions and Coercive Leaders,” pp. 26–27. 83. Ibid., pp. 27–28. 84. In April 2006, the U.S. Government Accountability Office reported that Egypt received nearly this amount again in economic assistance. U.S. Government Accountability Office, Security Assistance: State and DOD Need to Assess How the Foreign Military Financing Program for Egypt Achieves U.S. Foreign Policy and Security Goals, Report to the Committee on International Relations, April 2006, H. Rep. Available online at http://www.gao.gov/new.items/ d06437.pdf. 85. U.S. State Department, Fiscal Year 2001 Budget Request: Summary and Highlights of Accounts by Appropriations Subcommittees, February 7, 2000. Available online at http://www.fas.org/asmp/profiles/aid/fy2001_fmf. htm#FMF. 86. U.S. Government Accountability Office, Security Assistance. 87. Gary C. Gambill, “Explaining the Arab Democracy Deficit, Part II: American Policy,” Middle East Intelligence Bulletin 5, nos.8–9 (August–September 2003). Available online at http://www.meib.org/articles/0308_me1.htm. 88. President George Bush at the 20th Anniversary of the National Endowment for Democracy, United States Chamber of Commerce, Washington, DC, November 6, 2003. Available online at http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/ releases/2003/11/20031106-2.html. 89. Interview with senior government official and advisor to President Saleh, Sana’a, January 2006.

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90. See Eberhard Kienle, “More than a Response to Islamism: The Political Deliberalization of Egypt in the 1990s,” Middle East Journal 52, no. 2 (1998): 219–235. 91. Oliver Schlumberger, “Transition in the Arab World: Guidelines for Comparison” (EUI Working Paper RSC No. 2002/22 (San Domenico: European University Institute, 2002), 4. 92. Carothers, “The End of the Transition Paradigm”; and Daniel Brumberg, “The Trap of Liberalized Autocracy,” Journal of Democracy 13, no. 4 (2002): 56–68. See also Schlumberger, “Arab Middle East and the Question of Democratization,” 123. 93. Schlumberger, “Transition in the Arab World,” 36. 94. A number of scholars suggest this as a minimum period for a transition to democracy, such as Rustow in “Transitions to Democracy,” 347. 95. Schlumberger, “Transition in the Arab World,” 12. 96. Waterbury, “Fortuitous By-Products,” 388. 97. Schlumberger, “Transition in the Arab World,” 13. 98. John Mueller, “Democracy, Capitalism, and the End of Transition,” in PostCommunist Societies, ed. Michael Mandelbaum (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1996), p. 104, cited in Ghia Nodia, “The Democratic Path,” Journal of Democracy 13, no. 3 (2002): 15. 99. Samuel Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1968). 100. Rustow, “Transitions to Democracy,” 361. 101. Ibid., 344–45. 102. Diamond, “Is the Third Wave Over?” 24. 103. Ghadbian, Democratization and the Islamist Challenge, p. 6. See also Nazih Ayubi, Over-Stating the Arab State: Politics and Society in the Middle East (London and New York; I. B. Tauris, 1995), pp. 411 and 414. 104. Josep Colomer, Strategic Transitions: Game Theory and Democratization (Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press, 2000), p. 5. 105. Saad Eddin Ibrahim, “Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World: An Overview,” in Brynen, Korany, and Noble, Political Liberalization and Democratization, p. 54. 106. Fouad Ajami, “Iraq and the Arabs’ Future,” Foreign Affairs 82, no. 1 (2003): 2–18. 107. Baaklini, Denoeux, and Springborg, Legislative Politics in the Arab World, pp. 33–34. 108. Ibid., p. 42. 109. Ibid., p. 249.

Chapter 2 1. Jonathan Schanzer, “Sanaa Dispatch: Basket Catch,” New Republic, Washington Institute for Near East Policy, August 21, 2003. Available online at www. washingtoninstitute.org/media/schanzer/schanzer082103.htm. The ubiquitous

NOTES

2.

3. 4. 5.

6. 7.

8.

9.

10.

11. 12.

183

figure of 60 million weapons is almost certainly inflated. The 2003 Small Arms Survey found the figure more likely to be between 6 and 9 million—still one of the highest per capita figures in the world; Derek B. Miller, Demand, Stockpiles and Social Controls: Small Arms in Yemen, Small Arms Survey, Occasional Paper No. 9, May 2003. Osama bin Laden’s father was born in Yemen but he spent most of his life in Saudi Arabia, where Osama was born. CIA World Fact Book 2006, s.v. “Yemen.” Available online at http://www.cia.gov/ cia/publications/factbook/geos/sa.html. This figure should be taken as a rough guide only. Census statistics from Saudi Arabia have a reputation of inaccurate inflation. CIA World Fact Book 2006, s.v. “Yemen.” The Economist Intelligence Unit estimates that Yemen’s GDP growth for 2006 will be around the same figure. Economist Intelligence Unit Newswire, Yemen: Country Outlook, January 24, 2006. United States State Department, Yemen: Country Report on Human Rights Practices, Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor, March 8, 2006. While oil holdings are difficult to quantify absolutely, a number of different reports pointed to 2012 as a likely depletion point. The origin of this figure seems to be the Yemeni Oil Ministry’s September 2004 estimation that the country’s remaining oil reserves amounted to only 1.3 billion barrels. See Srinivasan Thirumalai and Thilakaratna Ranaweera, Coping with Oil Depletion in Yemen: A Quantitative Evaluation, 2005. Available online at http://www.ecomod.net/conferences/middle_east_2005/middle_east_2005_ papers/Thirumalai.doc. Sarah Phillips, “Foreboding About the Future in Yemen,” Middle East Report Online, April 3, 2006, available online at http://www.merip.org/mero/ mero040306.html. These are not exact boundaries. Different authors classify these cutoff points in slightly different places. D. Thomas Gochenour, for example, places Dhamar outside the highland area because it is south of the Yaslah Pass, despite the fact that it is still quite arid, strongly Zaydi, and is organized along tribal lines. D. Thomas Gochenour, “Towards a Sociology of the Islamisation of Yemen,” in Contemporary Yemen: Politics and Historical Background, ed. B. R. Pridham (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1984), pp. 1–19. Parts of what is referred to in this study as Lower Yemen or the Lowlands are sometimes also referred to as the Southern Highlands (Ibb, and parts of Ta’izz and al-Baydah) as their altitude is still higher than that in the former PDRY and the Tihama Plain, which borders the Red Sea. Zaydi Islam is commonly referred to as the “fifth school” of Sunni Islam. See Robert D. Burrowes, Historical Dictionary of Yemen (Lanham, MD and London: Scarecrow Press, 1995), p. 430. Robert D. Burrowes, The Yemen Arab Republic: The Politics of Development, 1962–1986 (Boulder, CO: Westview; London: Croom Helm, 1987), p. 8. Iranian Grand Ayatollah Hussein-Ali Montazeri was quoted by the AKI news agency as saying: “It is not acceptable that the Shiites be persecuted for their faith in a country which defines itself Islamic.” See “Yemen: Iranian Grand

184

13.

14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

19. 20. 21.

22.

23.

NOTES

Ayatollah Defends Yemeni Shiites,” May 18, 2005. Available online at http: //www.adnki.com/index_2Level.php?cat⫽Religion&loid⫽8.0.168503326& par⫽0. Iraqi Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani reportedly accused Yemen’s government of waging “a kind of war” against Zaydis in Yemen. See Jane Novak, “Ayatollah Sistani and the War in Yemen,” May 2, 2005. Available online at http://www.worldpress.org/Mideast/2083.cfm. Novak incorrectly stated that Yemen’s government is Sunni. Stephen Day discusses the importance of resource location throughout his dissertation, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony: A Case Study of the United Republic of Yemen” (PhD diss., Georgetown University, 2001), pp. 430–33. This paragraph relies heavily on Abd al-Ghani al-Iryani’s insightful, though unpublished, paper, Proposal for Reform in Yemen, 2005. Al-Iryani, ibid. Ibid. According to 2004 figures from the Yemeni Ministry of Oil cited in Denes, “Yemen Special Report,” Petroleum Argus, June 27, 2005,” 7. Their rule extended as far south as the area around the dividing line between the former YAR and PDRY that was drawn up by the British and the Ottomans in 1904. Paul Dresch, A Modern History of Yemen, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000) , p. 11. Ahmed A. Saif, A Legislature in Transition: The Yemeni Parliament (Aldershot, UK, and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2001), p. 30. William R. Brown, “The Yemeni Dilemma,” Middle East Journal 17, no. 4, (1963): 357. Nineteen forty-seven marked the beginning of the “educational emigrants”— a group of several hundred young men (initially the “Famous Forty”) who were sent from their villages to travel abroad to learn about the outside world. This program was rescinded under Imam Ahmed in 1959. See Robert D. Burrowes, “The Famous Forty and Their Companions: North Yemen’s FirstGeneration Modernists and Educational Emigrants,” Middle East Journal 59, no. 1 (Winter 2005): 81–97. Sheila Carapico discusses the LDA movement extensively in Chapter 5 of Civil Society in Yemen: The Political Economy of Activism in Modern Arabia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). See also Burrowes, Yemen Arab Republic, chap. 5. See also Sheila Carapico, “The Political Economy of Self-Help: Development Cooperatives in the Yemen Arab Republic” (PhD diss., State University of New York, 1984). Burrowes, Historical Dictionary of Yemen, pp. 216–18. Kiren Aziz Chaudhry says that LDA spending between 1973 and 1980 was more than 300 percent government development project spending. Concerned by the overt independence of these organizations, the government combined them into the centralized Confederation of Yemeni Cooperatives in 1978. See “The Price of Wealth: Business and State in Labor Remittance and Oil Economies,” International Organization 43, no. 1 (Winter 1989): 133–34. The LDAs were eventually marginalized through this process. See also Sharon Beatty, Ahmed No’man al-Madhaji, and Renaud Detalle, Yemeni NGOs and Quasi NGOs,

NOTES

24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31.

32.

33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

39.

40.

41. 42.

185

Analysis and Directory. Part 1: Analysis (Sana’a, Republic of Yemen, no publisher listed, May 1996), p. 20. Interview with a former member of President al-Hamdi’s cabinet, Sana’a, September 2004. Interview with a member of the Majlis al-Shura, Sana’a, April 2004. Burrowes, Historical Dictionary of Yemen, p. 389. Saif, Legislature in Transition, pp. 50–51. Dresch, Modern History, p.122. Michael C Hudson, Arab Politics: The Search for Legitimacy (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1977), p. 356. Ibid., pp. 356–57. The opening sentence of the PDRY’s 1970 constitution was: “Believing in the unity of the Yemen, and the unity of the destiny of the Yemeni people in the territory,” cited in Hudson, Arab Politics, p. 357. John Ishiyama, “The Sickle and the Minaret: Communist Successor Parties in Yemen and Afghanistan after the Cold War,” Middle East Review of International Affairs 9, no. 1 (March 2005): 10. Ibid., 11. Ibid., 14. Dresch, Modern History, p. 169. Ibid., p. 172. Rafiq Latta, Yemen: Unification and Modernisation (London: Gulf Centre for Strategic Studies, 1994), p. 41. Abdullah al-Faqih, “Yemen Between National Consensus or War,” Yemen Mirror May 18, 2006. Available online at http://www.yemenmirror.com/ index.php?action⫽showDetails&id⫽19. Al-Wasat,“Meeting between [the president and] all parties individually,” no. 55, June 8, 2005. Available online at http://www.alwasat-ye.net/modules.php? name⫽News&file⫽article&sid⫽736. For local commentary on the rising levels of Southern anger, see Sami Ghaleb Abdullah, “Internal Developments in Yemen,” in Gulf Year Book, 2005–2006 (Dubai: Gulf Research Center, 2006), pp. 371–78. Sheila Carapico, “Arabia Incognita: An Invitation to Arabian Peninsula Studies,” in Counter-Narratives: History, Contemporary Society, and Politics in Saudi Arabia and Yemen, ed. Madawi al-Rasheed and Robert Vitalis (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), p. 28. Both North and South had held some minor elections prior to unification, in 1988. For more on this debate, see Robert Burrowes, “The Republic of Yemen: The Politics of Unification and Civil War, 1989–1995,” in The Middle East Dilemma: The Politics and Economics of Arab Integration, ed. Michael Hudson (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998), pp. 187–213; Stephen Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” pp. 219–57; Brian Whitaker, “National Unity and Democracy in Yemen: A Marriage of Inconvenience,” in Yemen Today: Crisis and Solutions, ed. E. G. H. Joffe, M. J. Hachemi, and E. W. Watkins (London: Caravel Press, 1997), pp. 21–27; Dresch, Modern History, pp. 187–214; and Joseph Kostiner,

186

43. 44.

45. 46. 47. 48. 49.

50. 51. 52.

53. 54. 55.

56. 57. 58.

59. 60.

61.

NOTES

Yemen: The Tortuous Quest for Unity, 1990–94 (London: Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1996). Kiren Aziz Chaudhry, “The Price of Wealth: Economies and Institutions in the Middle East” (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997), p. 303. Interview with then YAR minister who requested anonymity and insisted that the YAR had obtained detailed knowledge of the significance of the PDRY’s oil reserves. Sana’a, April 2004. Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen, p. 50. These elections were delayed until April 1993. Kostiner, Tortuous Quest, p. 68. Cited by Dresch, Modern History, p. 212. Sheila Carapico, “How Yemen’s Ruling Party Secured an Electoral Landslide,” Middle East Report Online, May 16, 2003. Available online at http://www.merip. org/mero/mero051603.html. Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen, p. 138. Burrowes, “Republic of Yemen,” p. 191. This has been a common summation of the law. See Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen, p. 138 and Abdu H. Sharif, “Weak Institutions and Democracy: The Case of the Yemeni Parliament, 1993–1997,” Middle East Policy 9, no. 1 (2002): 84. Law No. 66 (1991), Governing Parties and Political Organizations, Article 8. Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen, p. 139. Sheila Carapico argues this consistently. See, for example Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen; Carapico, “How Yemen’s Ruling Party Secured an Electoral Landslide”; Carapico, “Elections and Mass Politics in Yemen,” Middle East Report 23, no. 6 (November–December 1993): 2–7. See also Iris Glosemeyer, “The First Yemeni Parliamentary Elections in 1993. Practising Democracy,” Orient 34, no. 3. See Ahmed A. Hezam al-Yemeni, The Dynamic of Democratisation—Political Parties in Yemen (Bonn: Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung, 2003), p. 81. Ahmed Abdulkareem Saif, The Yemeni Parliamentary Elections: A Critical Analysis (Dubai: Gulf Research Center, 2004), pp. 29 and 32. Abd al-Aziz al-Saqqaf, “Sigha yamaniyya jadida li al-dimuqratiyya” [A New Yemeni Formula for Democracy], cited in Nazih Ayubi, Over-Stating the Arab State: Politics and Society in the Middle East (London; New York: I. B. Tauris, 1995), p. 432. Most observers would disagree with his characterization of Bakil as “the main tribal confederation” and Hashid as “the second.” While Bakil members outnumber Hashid considerably, Hashid has been the more cohesive and influential of the two since the end of the Northern Civil War in 1970. Al-Yemeni, Dynamic of Democratisation, pp. 25–42. The GPC’s monopoly on the state’s economic resources will be discussed in some detail in chapter 3. Ibid., p. 39. Interviews with various former and current parliamentary members of the GPC confirm the great lengths to which top party officials (including the president) go discourage dissent within the party. Interview with former GPC member of Parliament, Sana’a, June 2004.

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62. Holger Albrecht, “The Political Economy of Reform in Yemen: Privatisation, Investment, and the Yemeni Business Climate,” Asien Afrika Lateinamerika 30 (2002): 143. 63. Al-Yemeni, Dynamic of Democratisation, p. 50. 64. Jillian Schwedler, “Islam, Democracy and the Yemeni State” (paper presented at the Conference on “Islam, Democracy and the Secular State in the PostModern Era,” Georgetown University, April 7, 2001), p. 26. 65. Saif, Legislature in Transition, p. 85. 66. Two of Sheikh Abdullah’s sons hold seats for the Islah party, while another two are members of the GPC. One Islah member of Parliament quipped publicly at a qat chew in 2004 that this fact underlined how democratic Sheikh Abdullah is. 67. See interview with the former Yemeni ambassador to the UN Abdallah alAshtal, “Eventually there can only be an Arab Solution,” Middle East Report 169 (March–April 1991): 8–10. While advocating an “Arab solution,” Yemen maintained that it was opposed to the invasion of Kuwait. This was widely questioned at the time. 68. Secretary of State James A. Baker III famously told the Yemeni ambassador that he had just made “the most expensive ‘no’ vote you will ever cast” at the vote on UNSCR 678 on November 29, 1990. 69. Kostiner, Tortuous Quest, pp. 106–08. 70. Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” 289. 71. Kostiner, Tortuous Quest, p. 55. 72. Based on figures given in Saif, Yemeni Parliamentary Elections, p. 23. In 1993, there were 6,282,939 eligible voters and 2,271,185 votes cast. In 1997, there were 6,976,040 eligible voters and 2,827,369 votes cast. In 2003, there were 8,097,000 eligible voters and 4,294,631 votes cast. It must be emphasized again, however, that Yemeni electoral statistics are best seen as indicative only as each election has been hampered by significant violations, both before and after votes have been cast. 73. United Nations National Human Development Report Project, Yemen: Human Development Report 2000/2001, p. 100. Available online at http://www.undp. org.ye/nhdr.htm. 74. Kostiner, Tortuous Quest, p. 64. 75. Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen, p. 175. 76. Ibid., p. 180. 77. Ibid., p. 184. 78. Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” 313–22. 79. A quick walk through the Military Museum in Sana’a demonstrates the ongoing sensitivities surrounding the civil war for the Saleh regime. In the room dedicated to the 1994 war, the largely apolitical depictions of conflicts prior to unification are discarded in favor of graphic photographs of charred bodies—the victims of a war perpetrated by Southern “conspirators” and “traitors” against the Northern “forces of legitimacy.” 80. Stephen Day claims that “the YSP could still claim to represent the entire southern half of the country.” Other observers claim, however, that this was

188

81. 82. 83. 84.

85. 86. 87. 88. 89.

90.

91. 92. 93.

NOTES

due more to systematic electoral manipulation by the YSP in the former South during the 1993 elections, than it was to genuine support for the YSP. See Saad al-Deen Ali Talib, who claims: “The YSP was guaranteed no competition from GPC and a free hand in the supervision and execution of the elections in the southern governorates’ fifty-seven constituencies … [the YSP’s] disappointment was the very few constituencies they were able to win in the north, where they were allowed to compete freely.” Saad al-Deen Ali Talib, A Decade of Pluralist Democracy in Yemen: The Yemeni Parliament after Unification (1990–2003) (paper presented at the Second Annual Conference of Parliamentary Program, “Parliamentary Reform in New Democracies,” Cairo University, Cairo, Egypt, July 15–17, 2003). Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” 353–54. Ibid., 352. Fred Halliday, “The Third Inter-Yemeni War and its Consequences,” Asian Affairs 26 (June 1995): 138. Interview with a businessman who was asked at the time by Canadian Oxy to help negotiate with the government on this matter, Sana’a, May 2005. Written documentation of this claim was not available during fieldwork but the same source gave confirmable information on other issues. Paul Dresch also refers briefly to the oil payments at this time: “Oil and gas revenue itself was a bone of contention … Southern revenues for a time … were paid directly to Aden.” Dresch, Modern History, p. 194. A string of assassination attempts (between 150 and 200) befell the YSP leadership and members in the lead-up to the civil war. Omar al-Jawi, “We Are the Opposition … but …” in Yemen Today, ed. E. G. H. Joffe, M. J. Hachemi, and E. W. Watkins, p. 83. Saif, Legislature in Transition, p. 75. Sharif, “Weak Institutions and Democracy,” p. 84–85. Abdullah M. al-Faqih, “The Struggle for Liberalization and Democratization in Egypt, Jordan and Yemen” (PhD diss., Northeastern University, 2003), p. 220. Robert D. Burrowes, “Yemen: Political Economy and the Effort Against Terrorism,” in Battling Terrorism in the Horn of Africa, ed. Robert I. Rotberg (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution Press, 2005), p. 151. Ibid., pp. 151–52. Charles Schmitz, “Transnational Yemen: Global Power and Political Identity in Peripheral States,” Arab World Geographer 6, no. 3 (2003): 155. The number of seats that the GPC won varies slightly between the different reports because of the ambiguous nature of the affiliations of some of the independent candidates. The National Democratic Institution says it won 240 seats, National Democratic Institute For International Affairs, The April 27, 2003 Parliamentary Elections in the Republic of Yemen. Available online at http: //www.ndi.org/worldwide/mena/yemen/yemen.asp. The figure of 229 is from the Supreme Commission for Elections and Referendum, The 2003 Parliamentary Elections: Electoral Documents, Results and Records (Sana’a: Supreme Commission for Elections and Referendum, December 2004, in Arabic).

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94. Quoted by Brian Whitaker, “Salih Wins Again,” Middle East International, May 2, 2003. Available online at http://www.al-bab.com/yemen/artic/ mei92.htm. 95. Carapico, “How Yemen’s Ruling Party Secured an Electoral Landslide.” 96. Omar Daair, “He Who Rides the Lion. Authoritarian Rule in a Plural Society: The Republic of Yemen” (MSc diss., University of London, 2001). Available online at http://www.al-bab.com/Yemen/pol/daair1.htm accessed November 11, 2005. Saleh’s “competitor” also used the fight against the use of qat as one of campaign themes, further cementing his detachment from voters. 97. Lisa Wedeen, “Seeing Like a Citizen, Acting Like a State: Exemplary Events in Unified Yemen,” in Counter-Narratives: History, Contemporary Society, and Politics in Saudi Arabia and Yemen, ed. Madawi al-Rasheed and Robert Vitalis (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), p. 257. 98. Discussions with several electoral observers, in Sana’a between June and September 2004. Lisa Wedeen suggests that only around 30 percent of registered voters actually voted. See Wedeen, “Seeing Like a Citizen,” p. 252. A member of al-Sha’abi’s campaign claims that figures of between 10 and 15 percent were common for his candidate. Interview, Sana’a, June 2004. Of the five governorates (from a total of 20) that officially registered more than 10 percent of the vote for al-Sha’abi, all are in the former South. Supreme Commission for Elections and Referendum, Final Results for the 1999 Presidential Elections, September 23, 1999 (in Arabic). Available from the Commission’s Head Office in Sana’a, Yemen. 99. Discussions with several electoral observers in Sana’a between June and September 2004. 100. Mohammed al-Qadhi, “Will the Opposition Challenge Saleh Next Year?” Yemen Times, June 20, 2005. 101. 2001 Constitutional Amendment, (Article 100), available online at http://www.al-bab.com/yemen/gov/amend00.htm. 102. “Saleh accuses opposition of plotting to take over power,” Yemen Times, May 31, 2004. 103. European Union Election Observation Mission, Republic of Yemen: Presidential and Local Elections—September 20, 2006, Preliminary Statement, Sana’a, September 21, 2006. 104. There were, however, more countries surveyed in 2004 than in 2003. Transparency International, Corruption Perceptions Index 2004, available online at http://www.transparency.org/cpi/2004/cpi2004.en.html#cpi2004. 105. The World Bank Group, Governance Research Indicator Country Snapshot Comparison within Yemen for all Six Governance Indicators, May 2005, available online at http://info.worldbank.org/governance/kkz2004/sc_chart.asp. 106. Conversation with two midlevel managers in government offices, Sana’a, November 27, 2004. 107. Interview with a tribal ally of President Saleh, Sana’a, December 2004. 108. It was estimated in 2005 that 27 percent of Yemeni families lived in severe (that is, nutritional) poverty and that 47 percent lived in absolute poverty. IDEA, Building Democracy in Yemen, p. 44.

190

NOTES

109. “Robert Hindle, WB Country Manager Gives His Perspective before Leaving Yemen: World Bank Demands More Reform,” Yemen Times, September 16, 2004. 110. While estimates vary as to what the exact date will be, the Economist Intelligence Unit observed in 2006 that “most industry insiders agree that 2003 will stand as the peak of Yemen’s oil output and that the industry is now in terminal decline … It is generally agreed that the country’s oil will have run dry well before 2020.” Yemen Country Profile 2006/2007, report summary available online at http://store.eiu.com/index.asp?layout⫽show_sample& product_id⫽60000206&country_id⫽YE. 111. Yemen Times, “Yemen Can’t Depend on Oil: study,” January 13, 2005. 112. Yemen Times, “Foreign Investment in Yemen Declines,” April 4, 2006. 113. Economist Intelligence Unit, Country Profile 2006/2007. 114. Ibid. 115. Ibid. 116. Burrowes,“Yemen: Political Economy and the Effort Against Terrorism,” p. 163. 117. Yemen Times, “U.S. Congress commends Yemen’s reform and democratization efforts,” January 20, 2005. 118. Mohammed al-Kibsi, “Bush: Yemen is a Beacon for Reforms in Middle East,” Yemen Observer, May 29, 2005. 119. Burrowes, “Yemen: Political Economy and the Effort against Terrorism,” p. 163. 120. Interview with senior GPC official, Sana’a, January 2006. 121. Private conversation with U.S. diplomat, Sana’a: January 31, 2006. See also Phillips, “Foreboding About the Future in Yemen.” 122. Kevin Whitelaw, “On a Dagger’s Edge,” US News & World Report, March 13, 2006. Available online at http://www.usnews.com/usnews/news/articles/ 060313/13yemen.htm. 123. This is discussed in greater detail in Phillips, “Foreboding About the Future in Yemen.” See also Andrew McGregor,“Stand-Off in Yemen: The Al-Zindani Case,” Terrorism Focus, Jamestown Foundation 3, no. 9, (March 7, 2006). Available online at http://jamestown.org/terrorism/news/article.php?articleid⫽2369917. 124. In one of his bolder declarations, President Saleh said at the conference on Human Rights, Democracy and The International Criminal Court in January 2004, that democracy is a lifeboat for Arab regimes. See Joseph Nasr, “Yemen: Democracy is Life Raft of Arabs,” Jerusalem Post, January 13, 2004. 125. Dar al-Hayat, “Yemen to be a regional center for democratic dialogue in the region,” December 6, 2004. 126. Interview with tribal ally to President Saleh, Sana’a, December 2004. 127. Ibid. 128. Quoted by Brian Whitaker, Yemen Overview 2003–4, 2004. Available online at http://www.al-bab.com/bys/articles/whitaker04.htm.

Chapter 3 1. Jason Brownlee, “Political Crisis and Restablization: Iraq, Libya, Syria, and Tunisia,” in Authoritarianism in the Middle East: Regimes and Resistance, ed.

NOTES

2. 3.

4. 5. 6. 7.

8.

9. 10. 11.

12.

13.

14.

191

Marsha Pripstein Posusney and Michele Penner Angrist (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2005), p. 47. See for example Amy Hawthorne, “Yemen and the Fight Against Terror,” The Washington Institute for Near East Policy, Policy Watch 572, October 11, 2001. Interview with an associate of a recently released political detainee, Sana’a, June 2005. See also Economist Intelligence Unit, Yemen Country Profile 2001/ 2002, report summary available at http://store.eiu.com/index.asp?layout⫽ show_sample&product_id⫽30000203&country_id ⫽ YE. Based on the author’s observations over a period of thirteen months from an unscientifically selected random sample group. Interview with a personal associate of President Saleh who requested anonymity, Sana’a, December 2004. Ibid. Interview with two Southern journalists, Aden, July 2005. Tribal irregulars also benefited greatly from the desecration of the Southern army following the civil war carrying off much of its military hardware. Richard I. Lawless, “Yemen: History,” in Regional Surveys of The World: The Middle East and North Africa 2005, 51st ed. (London and New York: Europa Publications, 2005), p. 1246. F. Gregory Gause says that this was also the case in the YAR prior to unification in F. Gregory Gause III, Saudi-Yemeni Relations: Domestic Structures and Foreign Influence (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990), p. 25. “Parliament and Cabinet: Tension Accumulates,” Yemen Times, September 19, 2005. This figure was commonly mentioned in interviews by a variety of politicians and political observers. Saif al-Asaly, “The Political Economy of Economic Growth Policies” (report, Sana’a University, no date given, probably written in late 2002 or early 2003 judging from the other works cited in the text), p. 17. Available online at http: //www.gdnet.org/pdf2/gdn_library/global_research_projects/explaining_growth/ Yemen_final.pdf. Yemeni Ministry of Finance, Hisaab Khitaami: Mawaazanah al-Sultah alMarkaziah (Final Accounts: Budget of the Central Authority, 2002) in Arabic, pp. 391–93. Sami Ghaleb Abdullah, “Internal Developments in Yemen,” in Gulf Year Book, 2005–2006 (Dubai: Gulf Research Center, 2006), p. 376. See also Mohammed al-Qadhi, “Investing in Military Versus Development,” Yemen Times, October 24, 2005. Based on figures presented in Federation of American Scientists, “Military Expenditures, Armed Forces, GNP, CGE, Population and their Ratios, By Group and Country 1989–1999,” available online at http://www.fas.org/man/ docs/wmeat9900/table1.pdf. This table lists Yemen as having spent US$374 million on its military (20.9 percent of spending—which is not accurate). MoF figures from that year show that the government (officially) spent more than this, at US$434 million. See Yemeni Ministry of Finance, Bulletin of Government Finance Statistics (quarterly bulletin issued by the MoF), no. 19, 1st quarter 2005, p. 75.

192

NOTES

15. Interview with a senior GPC official, Sana’a, January 2006. 16. For background on this uprising see: Sarah Phillips, “Yemen: Economic and Political Deterioration,” Arab Reform Bulletin 3, no. 7 (September 2005); Sarah Phillips, “Cracks in the Yemeni System,” Middle East Report Online, July 28, 2005. Available online at http://www.merip.org/mero/mero072805.html (accessed September 8, 2005); and Iris Glosemeyer, “Local Conflict, Global Spin: An Uprising in the Yemeni Highlands,” Middle East Report 232 (Fall 2004): 44–46. 17. In April 2005, the government had claimed that only 525 soldiers had been killed and 2,708 had been wounded. This was believed at the time to be an underexaggeration and no figures were given for nongovernment combatants. Phillips, “Cracks in the Yemeni System.” 18. Interview with a source affiliated with an elite faction of the military who requested anonymity, April 2007. 19. Interview with a senior GPC official, Sana’a, January 2006. 20. According to two of President Saleh’s advisors, by 2005 the president had become increasingly unwilling to heed advice from those outside his extreme inner circle. Interviews, Sana’a, August 2004 and November 2007. 21. Lisa Wedeen, “Seeing Like a Citizen, Acting Like a State: Exemplary Events in Unified Yemen,” in Counter-Narratives: History, Contemporary Society, and Politics in Saudi Arabia and Yemen, ed. Madawi al-Rasheed and Robert Vitalis (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), p. 255. 22. E-mail correspondence with a Western embassy official who works closely with the MoF and was quoting the Deputy Minister of Statistics and Planning, received July 2005. Taxation and customs duties are arbitrary and the MoF can choose to extend its favor to some importers (often military) and not to others (often private operators outside its patronage network). 23. Interview with a former GPC member of Parliament, Sana’a, June 2004. 24. This was referred to on a number of occasions during interviews with members of Parliament, Sana’a, between June and December 2004 and was also heard conversationally on a number of occasions. After fieldwork had been completed, this post was taken by Islah’s former Assistant Deputy Minister of Finance, Saif al-Asaly. 25. Various informal conversations with government employees, Sana’a, March–December 2004. 26. The Yemeni Ministry of Civil Service listed the number of government employees as being 473,710 at the end of 2004 (this figure does not include members of the armed forces), e-mail correspondence with a Western embassy official, received July 17, 2005. The MoF has been known to intentionally delay salaries to ward off dissent among its employees. Another way of extending their co-optive reach is by paying loyal staff members extra salaries. For example, there are reportedly 120,000 people on the Ministry of Education’s payroll but only around 30,000 actually report for work. Interview with Western diplomat who works closely with the MoF, Sana’a, July 2004. 27. Stephen Day even argues that the centralized control of the MoF by the northern regime was the primary reason that the two sides ended up at war in 1994.

NOTES

28.

29. 30. 31.

32. 33.

34. 35. 36. 37.

38. 39.

40. 41.

42.

43. 44.

193

Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony: A Case Study of the United Republic of Yemen” (PhD diss., Georgetown University, 2001), p. 304. Floor Beuming, “The Merger of the Dagger and the Rifle: Failing Integration of Former South Yemen into the Unified Republic of Yemen” (Masters thesis, University of Amsterdam, October 2004), p. 44. Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” p. 272, footnote 27. Day cites the Yemen Times, October 10, 1994. The World Bank Group, Economic Growth in the Republic of Yemen: Sources, Constraints and Potentials (Washington, D.C.: The World Bank, 2002), p. 30. Marco Denes, “Yemen Special Report,” Petroleum Argus, June 27, 2005, p. 7. It was still around this figure in 2004 (after going slightly above this) though it appeared to be in decline. Transparency International, Corruption Perceptions Index 2004, available online at http://www.transparency.org/cpi/2004/cpi2004.en.html#cpi2004. Yemen Times, “Robert Hindle, WB Country Manager Gives His Perspective Before Leaving Yemen: World Bank demands more reform,” September 16, 2004. Yemeni Ministry of Finance, Bulletin of Government Finance Statistics, p. 18. Economist Intelligence Unit Newswire, Yemen: Country Outlook, May 23, 2005. Mohammed al-Qadhi, “WB Warns of Yemen’s Reform Package Collapse,” Yemen Times, October 14, 2004. Paul Garwood “Yemen Under New Pressure to End Corruption,” Seattle Post Intelligencer, October 27, 2005. Available online at http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/ national/1107AP_Yemen_Corruption.html. This is combined with a loss of donor income from the IMF, which has been withholding US$300 million in concessional finance since 2002 owing to the government’s failure to comply with IMF poverty reduction and growth facility reforms. Economist Intelligence Unit Newswire, Yemen: Country Outlook, January 24, 2006. Walid al-Saqqaf and Mohammed al-Jabri, “Yemen Unlikely to Reach MDGs: UNDP,” Yemen Times, October 20, 2005. Economist Intelligence Unit, Yemen Country Profile 2006/2007, report summary available online at http://store.eiu.com/index.asp?layout⫽show_sample& product_id⫽60000206&country_id⫽YE. Interview with a Western diplomat who works closely with the MoF, Sana’a, July 2004. Interview with a YSP MP, Sana’a, December 2004; interview with a professional analyst of tribal and parliamentary politics, Sana’a, May, 2005. See also “Dr. Bafadl to Yemen Times: The Government Deceives the Council, and the Wages Strategy Is an ‘April Fool,’” Yemen Times, June 9, 2005. “Parliament and Cabinet: Tension Accumulates,” Yemen Times, September 19, 2005. This article reported that the allocations for the fiscal years 2001, 2002, and 2003 were less, however, at 15, 19, and 16 percent, respectively. “Parliament Approves Additional Appropriation to Budget,” Yemen Times, December 8, 2005. “Yemeni Parliament Approves 2006 Fiscal Budget,” NewsYemen, December 29, 2005. A member of Islah pointed out that the new budget allocated an average

194

45.

46. 47.

48. 49. 50. 51.

52. 53. 54.

55. 56. 57.

58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63.

NOTES

of YR1000 ($5.20) per citizen for education and YR750 ($3.90) per citizen for health. Available online at http://newsyemen.net/en/view_news.asp?sub_no⫽ 3_2005_12_29_5730. Quoted in Ali al-Faqih, “Yemen Oil Price Difference Totals 2B Dollars,” NewsYemen, March 26, 2006. Available online: http://www.newsyemen.net/ en/view_news.asp?sub_no⫽6_2006_03_26_5929. The Economist Intelligence Unit also noted its inability to account for the real value of Yemen’s oil exports, noting that “details are scant” in its Yemen Country Profile 2006/2007. Interview with a senior YSP official, Sana’a, December 2004. See Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” pp. 472–76; and Saad al-Deen Ali Talib, “Hadhramis Networking: Salvage of the Homeland” (paper presented at the International Conference on “The Arab Hadhramis in Southeast Asia: Identity Maintenance Or Assimilation?” at the International Islamic University Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, August 2005). Talib says that this was another attempt “to undermine any future plan for secession of Hadhramaut.” International Crisis Group, Yemen: Coping with Terrorism and Violence in a Fragile State (ICG Middle East Report no. 8, January 8, 2003), p. 8. This was article 143 of the 1994 constitution. This issue is dealt with in greater length by Beuming, The Dagger and the Rifle, pp. 73–74. United Nations Development Program, Decentralisation and Local Development Support Program (DLDSP)—Pilot Phase (Sana’a: UNDP Program Document, 2003). Cited by Beuming, The Dagger and the Rifle, p. 75. Interview with a Western Embassy official who works closely with the MoF, Sana’a, July 2005. Interview with a foreign development expert working with the local councils, Sana’a, January 2006. Stephen Day, “Yemeni Unification 1990–2005: Democracy, Power Sharing, and Central-Local Government Relations,” (paper presented at the Middle East Studies Association, Washington, D.C., November 2005). He retracted this same promise in 1996. “Ruling Party Starts Election Campaign,” Yemen Times, October 10, 2005. Sharon Beatty, Ahmed No’man al-Madhaji, and Renaud Detalle, Yemeni NGOs and Quasi NGOs, Analysis and Directory. Part 1: Analysis (Sana’a, Republic of Yemen, May 1996), pp. 18–20. In early 2008, the issue of appointment was being reviewed. Yemeni Center for Strategic Studies (YCSS), 2003 Annual Report, available from the YCSS offices in Sana’a, p. 16. Prior to the constitutional amendments of 2001, parliament had a four-year term. Interview with a former GPC MP, Sana’a, June 2004. Interview with a YSP MP, Sana’a, December 2004. Omar Daair, “He Who Rides the Lion. Authoritarian Rule in a Plural Society: The Republic of Yemen,” (MSc diss., University of London, 2001). Available online at http://www.al-bab.com/Yemen/pol/daair1.htm.

NOTES

195

64. Ahmed Abdulkareem Saif, The Yemeni Parliamentary Elections: A Critical Analysis (Dubai: Gulf Research Center, 2004), p. 25. 65. Ibid., p. 17. Saif reports that a GPC MP explained this action against party heads saying that because GPC MPs are not generally consulted before decisions are passed, the members do not feel compelled to follow them on the peripheral issues. 66. Interview with a tribal ally of President Saleh, Sana’a, December 2004. 67. Interview with a YSP MP, Sana’a, December 2004. 68. Interview with a former GPC Member of Parliament, Sana’a, June 2004. Background information about this incident was obtained in an interview with a member of an NGO that had worked closely with the group of parliamentarians to raise the issue, Sana’a, March 2004. Legislation to reintroduce compulsory military service was approved in 2007. 69. United States Agency for International Development, Democracy and Governance Assessment of Yemen, 2004 (Washington, D.C.: Center for Democracy and Governance, February 2004), p. 30. 70. Interview with a YSP MP, Sana’a, December 2004. 71. The Oil Minister, who had been one of the key figures in the scandal, lost his position two years later in the 2006 cabinet reshuffle. 72. ARD, Center for Democracy and Governance, Democracy and Governance Assessment of Yemen, p. 31. 73. Interview with an Islah member of Parliament, Sana’a, December 2004. See also attendance figures 1997–1998 for the previous parliament: “Yemen’s Parliament: Dismal Record of Participation,” Yemen Times, March 8, 1999. The 1997–2003 Parliament is widely believed to have acted with more commitment than the parliament that succeeded it. 74. All following figures on the education levels of the 2003 Yemeni parliamentarians are based on the list given in SCER, The 2003 Parliamentary Elections: Electoral Documents, Results and Records (Sana’a: Supreme Commission for Elections and Referendum, December 2004), in Arabic, pp. 188–259. 75. This figure was commonly given conversationally and was cited during interviews with members of Parliament and other political observers and activists, see also al-Asaly, “The Political Economy of Economic Growth Policies,” p. 16. 76. Yemeni Constitution 2001, article 64, section 2c. 77. Saif, Yemeni Parliamentary Elections, p. 21. 78. While the YSP’s boycott of the 1997 elections cleared space for new candidates, the percentage of returned incumbents was even less in the 2003 elections where the YSP competed but won only seven seats. 79. Interview with a GPC MP, Sana’a, July 2005. 80. Interview with an Islah MP, Sana’a, December 2004. 81. Yemeni Center for Strategic Studies, 2003 Annual Report, p. 16. 82. Fou’ad al-Salahi outlines this tribal dominance in the Consultative Councils between 1962 and 1988. See Fou’ad al-Salahi, Al-dawlah wa al-qabeelah wa al-mujtim’a al-madani [The State, the Tribe, and Civil Society] (Ta’izz: Centre for Human Rights Training and Information, 2002), in Arabic, p. 50.

196

NOTES

83. Manfred W. Wenner, The Yemen Arab Republic: Development and Change in an Ancient Land (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1991), p. 156. 84. Interview with local analyst of tribal and parliamentary politics, Sana’a, May 2005. 85. Al-Asaly, “Political Economy of Economic Growth Policies,” p. 16. 86. Interview with an employee at a political NGO, Sana’a, May 2005. 87. Saif, Yemeni Parliamentary Elections, p. 20. 88. Ibid. Saif does not give a date for when this survey was taken, however, based on other material in the paper it is likely to have taken place after the 2003 elections. 89. This is according to the 2003 official report by the SCER, Final Results for the 1999 Presidential Elections, September 23, 1999, in Arabic. Available from the Commission’s Head Office in Sana’a, Yemen. However, other sources, such as Saif, Yemeni Parliamentary Elections, p. 14, list the number of independents elected in 2003 as eight. The discrepancies are owing to the confusion immediately after the elections when a number of independent candidates quickly aligned themselves with either the GPC or Islah. 90. Ibid., p. 37. 91. Iris Glosemeyer, “The Development of State Institutions,” in Le Yemen Contemporain, ed. Remy Leaveau, Frank Mermier, and Udo Steinbach (Paris: Editions Karthala, 1999), pp. 79–100. 92. Yasser Mohammed al-Mayassi, “Al-Ahmar Declares Session over: Heated Argument over Report of Gas Project,” Yemen Times, June 23, 2005. 93. Saad al-Deen Ali Talib, A Decade of Pluralist Democracy in Yemen: The Yemeni Parliament after Unification (1990–2003) (paper presented at Second Annual Conference of Parliamentary Program, “Parliamentary Reform in New Democracies,” Cairo University, Cairo, Egypt, July 15–17, 2003). 94. Interview with a prominent Hashid tribal leader and former member of Parliament who witnessed the incident, Sana’a, May 2005. 95. Informal conversation with an Islah MP, Sana’a, December 4, 2004. 96. Khaled Mohsen al-Akwa’a, The Policy Role of Senior Civil Servants in the Government of Yemen (PhD diss., Portland State University, 1996), pp. 195–96. 97. While this survey was taken in 1996, interviews from 2004 to 2005 corroborated its findings. 98. Interview, Sana’a, December 2004.

Chapter 4 1. Robin Madrid, Resident Director of the National Democratic Institute, quoted in James Brandon, “Yemen Attempts to Rein in Outlaw Tribes,” Christian Science Monitor 25 (January 2006). 2. Rafiq Latta, “Yemen: Unification and Modernisation (London: Gulf Centre for Strategic Studies, 1994),” p. 18. 3. Socialist newspapers have also derided the tribal elements of Islah in this way. Paul Dresch and Bernard Haykel, “Stereotypes and Political Styles: Islamists

NOTES

4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

10.

11.

12. 13.

14.

15.

16.

197

and Tribesfolk in Yemen,” International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 27, no. 4 (1995): 408. Stephen Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony: A Case Study of the United Republic of Yemen” (PhD diss., Georgetown University, 2001), p. 362. Cited in Joseph Kostiner, Yemen, The Tortuous Quest for Unity, 1990–94 (London: Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1996), p. 45. See Paul Dresch, A Modern History of Yemen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 197–98. Abd al-Ghani al-Iryani, political consultant, e-mail message , received in March 2006. Robert D. Burrowes, The Yemen Arab Republic: The Politics of Development, 1962–1986 (Boulder, CO: Westview; London: Croom Helm, 1987), p. 51. Floor Beuming, “The Merger of The Dagger and the Rifle: Failing Integration of Former South Yemen into the Unified Republic of Yemen” (masters thesis, University of Amsterdam, October 2004), p. 28. John Ishiyama, “The Sickle and the Minaret: Communist Successor Parties in Yemen and Afghanistan After the Cold War,” Middle East Review of International Affairs 9, no. 1 (March 2005):11. Fred Halliday, Revolution and Foreign Policy: The Case of South Yemen, 1967– 1987 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 46–47. Regional identities were also a factor in the 1986 bloodletting. Kiren Aziz Chaudhry, The Price of Wealth: Economies and Institutions in the Middle East (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997), p. 300. This figure is only a rough estimate based on interviews with a number of local experts. Steven Caton, ‘Peaks of Yemen I Summon’: Poetry as Cultural Practice in a North Yemeni Tribe (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1990), p. 218. Faleh A. Jabar makes this point with reference to Iraq in “Sheikhs and Ideologues: Deconstruction and Reconstruction of Tribes under Patrimonial Totalitarianism in Iraq, 1968–1998,” in Tribes and Power: Nationalism and Ethnicity in the Middle East, ed. Faleh Abdul-Jaber and Hosham Dawood (London: Saqi Books, 2003), p. 100. Patricia Crone, Pre-Industrial Societies (Oxford and New York: Blackwell, 1989), p. 57, cited in Victoria Naomi Kelly, “State-Building in Central Asia: Tradition, Modernity and Post-Modernity” (master’s thesis: Australian National University, 2002), p. 11. Cited by Paul Dresch, “Imams and Tribes: The Writing and Acting of History in Upper Yemen,” in Tribes and State Formation in the Middle East, ed. S. Khoury and J. Kostiner (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), p. 280. Such notions have continued to permeate regime discourse, Nasser Arrabyee, “Loyalty Divided Between State, Tribe,” Gulf News Online, June 29, 2002 quotes Hameed al-Ahmar, son of Sheikh Abdullah and part of the regime establishment as saying, “The tribe is the people, while the tribe as power is complementary to the state and one of its components.”

198

NOTES

17. Interview with Abd al-Ghani al-Iryani, political consultant, Sana’a, June 2004. Stephen Day also cites interviews with several ranking GPC officials where they expressed their concerns that decentralizing government power risked empowering tribal sheikhs. Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” p. 440. 18. The Small Arms Survey reported in 2003 that Yemen’s tribes held a total of 5.58 million small arms and the sheikhs held 184,000, while the state held only 1.5 million. Derek B. Miller, “Demand, Stockpiles and Social Controls: Small Arms in Yemen,” Small Arms Survey, Occasional Paper No. 9, May 2003, p. 28. This figure was calculated largely by educated guesswork and should be taken as indicative only. 19. Paul Dresch, “The Tribal Factor in the Yemeni Crisis,” in The Yemeni War of 1994: Causes and Consequences, ed. Jamal al-Suwaidi (Emirates Center for Strategic Studies and Research: Saqi Books, 1995), p. 38. 20. Ibid., p. 42. 21. Ibid., p. 38. 22. Ibid., p. 34. 23. One author has seemingly misquoted Dresch as calling the system a “tribal military-commercial complex” (italics added). This is likely because the omission in Dresch’s characterization is quite unexpected. Omar Daair, “He Who Rides the Lion. Authoritarian Rule in a Plural Society: The Republic of Yemen,” (MSc diss., University of London, 2001). 24. Ibid., p. 35. Dresch makes a similar argument in Modern History, pp. 192–93, where he quotes a northern tribal leader denouncing the concentration of power in the hands of the Sanhan tribe. 25. Interview with the head of a local NGO, Sana’a, July 2005. He suggested that this was partly because military service is so poorly paid that it is not attractive to the urban population. Dresch also concedes that “recruitment to [the army] may certainly show a tribal bias but the structure of [it] is not tribal.” Dresch, “Tribal Factor,” p. 42. 26. Ibid., p. 41. 27. F. Gregory Gause III, Saudi-Yemeni Relations: Domestic Structures and Foreign Influence (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990), p. 25. 28. Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” p. 419. 29. Interview with tribal ally of President Saleh, Sana’a, May 2005. 30. See for example, Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” p. 212. 31. Study cited in Beuming, “The Dagger and the Rifle,” p. 91. 32. Hassan al-Zaidi, “Marib Events Reflect Crisis between State and Tribe,” Yemen Times, February 14, 2005. 33. Robert D. Burrowes, “Yemen: Political Economy and the Effort against Terrorism,” in Battling Terrorism in the Horn of Africa, ed. Robert I. Rotberg (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution Press, 2005), p. 148. Burrowes cites Yemen Times, November 20, 2003. 34. The then British Ambassador Frances Guy confirmed the death of at least one man on the day of the incident. The Yemen Times reported that there were at least two people killed and possibly four (the three policemen and

NOTES

35. 36. 37.

38. 39.

40. 41. 42. 43.

44.

45. 46.

47. 48.

49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

199

one passerby), “Sept. 29 Fatal Firefight near British Embassy: Gun Battle ‘Normal Accident,’” Yemen Times, October 7, 2002. Interview with a local analyst who witnessed the events, Sana’a, May 2005. In traditional Yemeni culture, the bride and groom have separate wedding parties. Ibid. For such a large area of urban combat using heavy ammunition, there were relatively few casualties. In a tribal conflict such as this, people are usually not killed intentionally. There were no injuries to anyone in the embassy. Interview with a British diplomat, Sana’a, May 2005. Interview with a (nontribal) local analyst, Sana’a, May 2005. The Yemen Times also concluded that such incidents are “frequent” in Yemen and that this one only gained such publicity “because it occurred near a Western embassy.” “Sept. 29 Fatal Firefight near British Embassy,”Yemen Times. Interview with Sheikh Abdullah, United Press, October 3, 2002 (in Arabic). Available online at http://www.alahmar.net. Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” p. 333. Kostiner, Tortuous Quest, p. 40. For a discussion on the vast amounts of money that flowed to Northern Yemeni tribes from Saudi Arabia in the 1970s and 1980s, see Paul Dresch, Tribes, Government and History in Yemen (Oxford: Clarendon, 1989), p. 19. Elham M. Manea, “Yemen, the Tribe and the State” (paper presented at the “International Colloquium on Islam and Social Change” at the University of Lausanne, October 10–11, 1996). Available online at http://www.al-bab.com/ yemen/soc/manea1.htm. Saudi Arabia supported the former South financially in its secession, although it never formally recognized the South as a state. This figure was consistently reported in interviews during 2004–05 and was publicly acknowledged by the Saudi government after the death of Sheikh Abdullah in late 2007. The Saudi government confirmed that the sheikh’s sons would continue to receive the monthly payment. Charles Schmitz, “Transnational Yemen: Global Power and Political Identity in Peripheral States,” Arab World Geographer 6, no. 3 (2003): 156. Interview with Abd al-Ghani al-Iryani, political consultant, Sana’a, May 2005. Estimates vary: Brian Whitaker states that the Yemen Times claimed in 1998 that the list of recipients had dwindled from 27,000 to 11,000. Brian Whitaker, Yemen Overview 1998, available online at http://www.al-bab.com/bys/articles/ whitaker98.htm. Yemen Times, July 31, 2000, cited by Daair, “He Who Rides the Lion.” Interviews with two local political analysts, Sana’a, May 2005. Interview with an employee at an NGO that works with Yemeni tribes, Sana’a, August 2005. The area of Marib was well represented in this action, but were reportedly tribes from several regions involved. Hassan al-Zaidi, “Government and Marib Tribes Make Deal,” Yemen Times, August 1, 2005.

200

NOTES

54. Interview with an employee at an NGO that works with Yemeni tribes, Sana’a, August 2005. 55. Christopher Ward, “Yemen’s Water Crisis,” July 2001, available online at http://www.al-bab.com/bys/articles/ward01.htm. 56. G. Lichtenthaler and A. R. Turton, “Water Demand Management, Natural Resource Reconstruction, and Traditional Value Systems: A Case Study from Yemen” (Occasional Paper no. 14, Water Issues Study Group, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, 1999). Available online at http://www.ciaonet.org/wps/lig03/index.html. 57. Interview with an official in the Ministry of Water and Environment, Sana’a, July 2004. 58. Interviews with several (Northern) tribesmen, Sana’a, June 2004, November 2004, and July 2005. This is impossible to verify but the consistency with which it was reported by tribal sources warrants its mention. 59. Paul Dresch, “The Position of Shaykhs among the Northern Tribes of Yemen,” Man 19, no. 1 (1984): 41. 60. The World Bank Group, Comprehensive Development Review: Judicial and Legal System Building Block, 2000, p. 7. Available online at http://lnweb18. worldbank.org/mna/mena.nsf/Attachments/Judicial/$File/BB-5.pdf. 61. National Democratic Institute For International Affairs, “Yemen: A Report on The Survey Study Implemented in Marib, Al Jouf and Shabwah Governorates,” unpublished document, Negotiations and Reconciliations Support Program, 2007, Section 7.5. Respondents were allowed to give more than one response for their preferred method of state involvement; the three stated above were the most popular and were suggested by 44, 34, and 61 percent of respondents respectively. 62. Revenge killing is sometimes associated with tribal conflict and occurs when a member(s) of a tribe is killed and that tribe seeks to kill a male member of the perpetrator’s tribe in revenge. This can spill into a cycle of violence that in some cases has lasted for decades. 63. National Democratic Institute For International Affairs, “Yemen: A Report on The Survey Study Implemented in Marib, Al Jouf, and Shabwah Governorates,” Section 7.6. 64. For details on its functioning, see Naguib A. R. Shamiry, “The Judicial System in Democratic Yemen,” in Contemporary Yemen: Politics and Historical Background, ed. B. R. Pridham (New York: St. Martin’s, 1984), pp. 175–94. 65. Jillian Schwedler, Framing Political Islam in Jordan and Yemen (PhD diss., New York University, 2000), p. 209. 66. Beuming, “The Dagger and the Rifle,” p. 89. 67. Sheila Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen: The Political Economy of Activism in Modern Arabia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 203. The attempt was carried out upon the orders of Sheikh al-Shayif, a Northern sheikh from the Bakil confederation with close relations to President Saleh. As fighting broke out at the beginning of the 1994 civil war, Hassan Makki had argued strongly to President Saleh that the conflict should be de-escalated

NOTES

68.

69. 70. 71. 72. 73.

74. 75. 76. 77. 78.

79.

80. 81.

82. 83. 84.

201

and a relationship with the YSP maintained. Days later his car was shot killing two of his bodyguards and wounding Makki so severely that he had to be flown out of the country for emergency treatment. Despite al-Shayif ’s own admission of involvement, no criminal charges were brought against him. Instead, he made amends by slaughtering a bull outside his intended victim’s home—a traditional tribal custom for settling blood feuds—and the issue was forgiven. Hassan Makki was not from a tribal background, however, and did not recognize this act as a legitimate means of resolving the matter. This is also apparent in prohibitions against fighting in marketplaces and confusion over the conditions for the payment of blood money. See International Crisis Group, “Yemen: Coping with Terrorism and Violence in a Fragile State” (ICG Middle East Report No. 8, January 8, 2003), p. 14. Dresch, Tribes, Government and History, p. 361. Interview with a tribal leader and member of parliament, Sana’a, December 2004. Interview with a sheikh (affiliated with the GPC) who receives payments from the DTA, Sana’a, November 2004. Interview with a GPC member of parliament, Sana’a, October 2004. Yemeni Ministry of Finance, Bulletin of Government Finance Statistics, p. 79. The Ministry’s initial data for 2004 indicates that the DTA received YR888 million ($4.8 million) in 2004 and was estimated to receive YR945 million ($5.1 million) in 2005. Interview with a sheikh (affiliated with the GPC) who receives payments from the DTA, Sana’a, November 2004. Interview with an employee at an NGO that works with Yemeni tribes, Sana’a, August 2005. Interview with a (nontribal) businessman, Sana’a, September 2004. Steven Caton, Yemen Chronicle: An Anthropology of War and Mediation (New York: Hill and Wang, 2005), pp. 331–32. Abdullah M. al-Faqih, “The Struggle for Liberalization and Democratization in Egypt, Jordan and Yemen” (PhD diss., Northeastern University, 2003), p. 232. Mamoun Fandy, “Tribe vs. Islam: The Post-colonial Arab State and the Democratic Imperative,” Middle East Policy 3, no. 2 (1994). Available online at http://www.mepc.org/public_asp/journal/9406_fandy.asp. See Daair, “He Who Rides the Lion”; Manea, “Yemen, the Tribe and the State.” Ahmed Abdulkareem Saif, The Politics of Survival and the Structure of Control (MA Dissertation, University of Exeter, September 1997). Available online at http://www.al-bab.com/yemen/unity/saif4.htm. Interview with a former advisor to King Hussein of Jordan, Amman, August 2004. Beuming, “The Dagger and the Rifle,” p. 87. See W. Flagg Miller, “Metaphors of Commerce: Trans-Valuing Tribalism in Yemeni Audiocassette Poetry,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 34 (2002): 29–57.

202 85. 86. 87. 88. 89.

90. 91. 92. 93.

94. 95. 96.

97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104.

105.

NOTES

Interview with a prominent Southern journalist, Aden, July 2005. Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” p. 446. Dresch, “Tribal Factor,” p. 33. Kostiner, Tortuous Quest, p. 80. For example, Hassan al-Zaidi (often a spokesman for tribal affairs) says, “The tribes also played a worthy role beside the legitimate forces against the secessionists in the civil war of 1994” in “The Tribe and the State in Yemen,” Yemen Times, March 29, 2004. Several tribesmen also commented anecdotally that they saw a significant growth in the number of their friends’ possessions after returning home from the large-scale looting of Aden that immediately followed the war. Interview with the head of a local NGO, Sana’a, July 2005. Al-Thawra, July 7, 2005. Daair, “He Who Rides the Lion.” The South’s situation was also extremely dire, and the tribes may not have been aware of the extent of the Northern regime’s troubles, seeing them instead as more likely to defend their interests than would a victorious South. In any event, some $1.5 billion appeared in state coffers overnight allowing the North to bolster its armaments and seal victory. Interview with local political analyst, Sana’a, August 2005. Dresch,“Tribal Factor,” p. 33, footnote 2. See Day’s argument in “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” pp. 357–59. Fred Halliday, “The Third Inter-Yemeni War,” Asian Affairs 26 (June 1995): 133. Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” p. 359. Day implies that it was only the North that drew on support from tribal militias, citing Kostiner, Tortuous Quest, p. 80: “The Northern army had about 40,000 reservists and could call up a tribal militia, drawn mostly from the Hashid confederation of up to 100,000 men.” However, Kostiner also notes on page 84 that the South could reinforce its army “most notably by its tribal militia” of around 20,000— a comparable percentage considering that the South’s population was also between 20 and 25 percent of that of the North. Halliday, “Third Inter-Yemeni War,” 134. Iris Glosemeyer, “Local Conflict, Global Spin: An Uprising in the Yemeni Highlands,” Middle East Report, 232, Fall 2004, p. 45. Quoted in an unpublished paper by Abd al-Ghani al-Iryani, 2005, received from the author. Interview with a tribal ally of President Saleh, Sana’a, December 2004. Interview with the head of a local NGO, Sana’a, July 2005. Interview with an employee at an NGO that works with Yemeni tribes, Sana’a, May 2005. Interview with a tribal activist, Sana’a, November 2004. See, for example, “MP Accuses Authorities of Fomenting Conflict,” Yemen Times, September 15, 2005; Yasser Mohammed al-Mayyasi, “Tribal Confrontations Leave Dozens Killed and Wounded,” Yemen Times, July 14, 2005. Interview with a local political analyst who was privy to this dispute, Sana’a, May 2005.

NOTES

203

106. Steven Caton makes a similar conclusion: “The government’s neglect of tribal problems might even be strategic, weakening the tribal opponents to its rule by letting them bleed to death in factional feuding” in Yemen Chronicle, p. 312. 107. Dresch, “Tribal Factor,” p. 55. 108. Ibid., p. 40. Dresch wrote this in 1995. 109. Interview with GPC member of parliament and tribal sheikh, Sana’a, October 2004. 110. International Crisis Group, “Yemen,” p. 14. 111. Ibid., p. 16. 112. Manea, Yemen, the Tribe and the State. 113. Ibid.

Chapter 5 1. In developed democracies, political parties are usually viewed as state institutions, not CSOs. They are included in the above definition for two reasons— they are politically organized groups theoretically working to communicate with the regime and counter its monopoly on power, and the Yemeni regime also adopts largely the same tactics of control to deal with the parties as they do with other CSOs. In Yemen, political parties other than the GPC and Islah before 1997 do not constitute part of the state. 2. Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions about Uncertain Democracies, vol. 4 (Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press, 1986), p. 49. 3. This proposition was suggested by William Zartman, “Opposition as Support of the State,” in Beyond Coercion: The Durability of the Arab State, ed. Adeed Dawisha and William Zartman, vol. 3 (London and New York: Croom Helm, 1988), pp. 61–87. The idea has more recently been explored with regard to Egypt by Holger Albrecht, “How Can Opposition Support Authoritarianism? Lessons from Egypt,” Democratization 12, no. 3 (June 2005): 378–97. 4. See Albrecht, “How Can Opposition Support Authoritarianism?” 392. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid., 384. 7. Amy Hawthorne discusses this as an issue throughout the region, “Middle Eastern Democracy: Is Civil Society the Answer?” Carnegie Endowment for International Peace: Democracy and Rule of Law Project, no. 44, March 2004, p. 11. Available online at http://www.ceip.org/files/pdf/CarnegiePaper44.pdf. 8. This was organized in conjunction with the European Union, was attended by all Arab countries, and resulted in the Sana’a Declaration. 9. Interview with a professor at Sana’a University, Sana’a, June 2004. 10. Interview with an advisor to President Saleh, Sana’a, August 2004. 11. Interview with a member of the Majlis al-Shura, Sana’a, December 2004. 12. Interview with an unnamed local activist who was explaining his or her reason for choosing not to register the organization officially. Cited in Sharon Beatty,

204

13.

14. 15.

16. 17. 18. 19.

20. 21.

22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

28.

NOTES

Ahmed No’man al-Madhaji, and Renaud Detalle, Yemeni NGOs and Quasi NGOs, Analysis and Directory. Part 1: Analysis (Sana’a, Republic of Yemen, May 1996), pp. 24–25. Interview with an Islah member of the Medical and Pharmaceutical Syndicate, Sana’a, September 2004. The Medical Syndicate had previously been split into three separate syndicates (Doctors’, Pharmacists’, and Dentists’) that were controlled by selected doctors who were members of the GPC. The member noted that the new syndicate was composed solely of “members of the opposition, there were no GPC officials there,” and so it was, therefore, not recognized by the GPC. Paul Dresch, A Modern History of Yemen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 189. The GPC supported the party’s leader Abdullah al-Janadi—a member of Parliament—in his local area, agreeing not to field a GPC candidate there effectively giving him their votes. This process of creating smaller parties from their larger, more legitimate predecessors became popularly known as tafreekh, or “hatching.” Interview with a professor at Sana’a University, Sana’a, November 2004. Ibid. Interviews and informal discussions were conducted in Sana’a between March and November 2004 with members of the Lawyers’, Teachers’, Professors’, Students’, Doctors’ and Pharmacists’, and Journalists’ Syndicates. April, May, July, September, and October 2004. Interview with lawyer and member of Lawyers’ Syndicate, Sana’a, April 2004. Yemeni law requires that NGOs have regular elections for its leadership. This was often not carried out and contributed to the number of unaccountable (often corrupt) organizations vying for donor funds and government favors. Beatty, al-Madhaji, and Detalle, Yemeni NGOs and Quasi NGOs, report that the centralization of power within NGOs is one of the key inhibitors of their effectiveness, p. 69. Interview with several employees and former employees at various Yemeni NGOs, Sana’a, June 2004. Variations on this charge were repeated by others. Khaled Almahdi, “Civil Society in Crisis,” IPS World News, October 17, 2003. Available online at http://www.oneworld.org/ips2/oct00/02_41_007.html. Interview with Deputy Minister of Social Affairs Ali Saleh Abdullah, Sana’a, July 2005. Interview with NGO activist, Sana’a, June 2004. Sato (Kan) Hiroshi, “NGOs in Yemen: Learning from Past Experiences,” Yemen Times, July 6, 1998. Quoted in Kareem Fahim, “First the Guns, Now the Butter,” Village Voice, October 19, 2004. Available online at http://www.villagevoice.com/issues/0442/ fahim.php. Maha Abdel Rahman, “The Politics of ‘unCivil’ Society in Egypt,” Review of African Political Economy 91 (2002): 21. This comment was made with regard to Egypt but it is valid in the Yemeni context.

NOTES

205

29. Ahmed Abdulkareem Saif, The Politics of Survival and the Structure of Control (master’s thesis, University of Exeter, September 1997). 30. Interview with Abd al-Ghani al-Iryani, political consultant, Sana’a, April 2005. 31. Interview with Hadhrami businessman, Mukalla, July 2005. 32. Stephen Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony: A Case Study of the United Republic of Yemen” (PhD diss., Georgetown University, 2001), p. 505. 33. An anecdotal indication of which is that during months of research on Yemeni civil society, the author did not encounter an activist who responded to the question “what percentage of Yemeni NGOs do you think function efficiently and independently?” with a figure of greater than 10 percent. 34. Interview with a religious scholar, Sana’a, May 2005. 35. National Democratic Institute for International Affairs, The April 27, 2003 Parliamentary Elections in the Republic of Yemen, p. 7. Available online at http://www.ndi.org/worldwide/mena/yemen/yemen.asp. 36. Sheila Carapico, “How Yemen’s Ruling Party Secured an Electoral Landslide,” Middle East Report Online, May 16, 2003. Available online at http://www. merip.org/mero/mero051603.html. 37. Interview with Abd al-Ghani Abd al-Qadir, head of the YSP’s political department, Sana’a, December 2004. 38. Interview with a former senior Islah official, Sana’a, May 2005. 39. This paragraph draws from an unpublished paper written with Murad Zafir for Yemen’s National Democratic Institute about the constraints on Yemen’s opposition parties, Sarah Phillips and Murad Zafir, “Baseline Assessment of the Joint Meeting Parties (JMP) Coalition in Yemen,” 2007. 40. The once staunchly independent leader of YIDD became a member of the GPC in 2003. 41. Deborah Dorman and others, Yemeni NGOs and Quasi-NGOs, Part II: Directory (Sana’a, Republic of Yemen, May 1996), p. 128. 42. Sheila Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen: The Political Economy of Activism in Modern Arabia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 196. 43. Ibid. 44. Interview with a former YIDD employee, Sana’a, May 2004. 45. Interview with a former YIDD member and a lawyer who worked on the court case, Sana’a, June 2004. AID’s board also ended up in court over an internal dispute. 46. Daniel Brumberg, “Liberalization Versus Democracy: Understanding Arab Political Reform” (working paper, 37, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, Washington, D.C., May 2003), p.7. Nadia Khouri-Dagher writes: “In Morocco, for example, between 30,000 and 36,000 NGOs have sprung up since the 1980s.The same thing is happening in Jordan, where 17% of the population belongs to an association of some kind.” Nadia Khouri-Dagher, “Arab NGOs: The Difficulty of Being Independent,” Sources 124 (June 2000): 6–7. 47. See United Nations National Human Development Report Project, Yemen: Human Development Report 2000/2001, p. 100. Available online at http://www. undp.org.ye/nhdr.htm, p. 55. This is not to say that these organizations do not have an impact on their members and communities. These organizations stand

206

48. 49.

50. 51.

52.

53. 54.

55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62.

63.

64.

NOTES

in contradiction to arguments that tribally based societies are politically passive. Whether they contribute to the development of national democracy is another matter. Ibid., p. 92. Unfortunately, as is so often the case with statistical information issued by the government, the page (p. 302) that gives the broad indicators for 2003 gives the daily issues of al-Thawra as being 35,000, which is 10,000 more than it states on the following page. As this table is meant as a summary of the information in the following tables (which provides more detailed information), the above figures were calculated on the figure of 25,000. There were also 27,000 bimonthly publications, 107,500 monthly, 402,000 quarterly, 11,000 half-yearly, and 8,000 annual publications. These indicative figures are calculated on the 2004 census results, which showed Yemen to have a population of 20 million. The second figure was calculated by halving the weekly number of daily papers. It is, of course also possible that one paper was read by more than one person. An employee of the independent al-Ayyam paper claimed that in reality only 13,500 copies of al-Thawra are distributed each day. Interview, Aden, July 2005. Stacey Philbrick Yadav, “Pen Battles Sword,” Cairo Magazine, April 21, 2005. Committee to Protect Journalists, “Attacks on the Press 2003: Documented Cases from the Middle East and North Africa for 2003/Yemen,” available online at http://www.cpj.org/attacks03/mideast03/yemen.html. Zartman, “Opposition as Support of the State”. Brumberg, “Liberalization Versus Democracy”, p. 9. Interview with a prominent lawyer and human rights activist, Sana’a, June 2004. Interview with the head of a local NGO, Sana’a, April 2004. Comment made by a member of an opposition political party and political debating group, Sana’a, May 2004. Interview with an official in a minor opposition party, Sana’a, September 2004. Interview with a board member of a political discussion group, Sana’a, June 2004. Mushtaq H. Khan, “The Role of Civil Society and Patron-Client Networks in the Analysis of Corruption,” in United Nations Development Programme, Corruption and Integrity Improvement Initiatives in Developing Countries, 1998, pp.111–27. Available online at http://magnet.undp.org/Docs/efa/corruption. htm#7%20The%20Role%20of%20Civil%20Society. Similarly, Iliya Harik refers to the role of civil society in democratic development and consolidation in advanced industrial nations as having been a “happy coincidence”—not a fundamental element to be necessarily repeated in lessdeveloped nations where, as he argues, society has strong authoritarian tendencies. Iliya Harik, “Rethinking Civil Society: Pluralism in the Arab World,” Journal of Democracy 5, no. 3 (July 1994): 45. Khan, “Role of Civil Society and Patron-Client Networks,” p. 126.

NOTES

207

65. Interview with the director of a democratization advocacy NGO, Sana’a, November 2004. 66. Interview with the director of the YIDD, Sana’a, November 2004. 67. Ibid. 68. This had been a part of Dankwart Rustow’s argument discussed in Chapter 1. 69. Alcohol is illegal for Yemenis but is still accessible. 70. It is well known, however, that these regular semiformal political forums are covertly monitored by the PSO, regardless of formal registration. 71. Interview with a member of a political discussion group, Sana’a, September 2004. 72. Ibid. 73. Interview with former assistant deputy minister of finance for Islah Saif al-Asaly, Sana’a, May 2005. Al-Asaly took up a position as the new Minister of Finance the following year.

Chapter 6 1. See Robert D. Burrowes, The Yemen Arab Republic: The Politics of Development, 1962–1986 (Boulder, CO: Westview; London: Croom Helm, 1987), pp. 101–02. 2. International Crisis Group, “Yemen: Coping with Terrorism and Violence in a Fragile State” (ICG Middle East Report no. 8, January 8, 2003), p. 9. 3. Jillian Schwedler rightly notes that Sheikh Abdullah “cannot be characterized as not Islamist” either because he embodied a number of political identities. Jillian Schwedler, Faith in Moderation: Islamist Parties in Jordan and Yemen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), p. 71. The Sheikh’s strong ties with Saudi Arabia (discussed in Chapter 4) added another layer of religious credentials to his weight as a tribal and political leader. 4. By 2007, Zindani’s weight in the party was diminished considerably and he was no longer in an official leadership position. Sheikh Abdullah had become seriously ill by this time and while he retained his leadership position, was much less involved in the functioning of the party. 5. Omar Daair, “He Who Rides the Lion. Authoritarian Rule in a Plural Society: The Republic of Yemen,” (MSc diss., University of London, 2001). 6. There are some within the party who reject the idea of party politics and thus reject the term “party” (hizb) also to describe Islah, preferring “gathering” (tajamma’) instead. Most members of Islah will, however, refer to themselves as Hizb al-Islah. 7. Charles Schmitz, “Transnational Yemen: Global Power and Political Identity in Peripheral States,” Arab World Geographer 6, no. 3 (2003): 155. 8. Interview with a senior party official, Sana’a, October 2004. 9. Ludwig Stiftl, “The Yemeni Islamists in the Process of Democratization,” in, Le Yemen Contemporain, ed. Remy Leaveau, Frank Mermier, and Udo Steinbach (Paris: Editions Karthala, 1999), p. 260.

208

NOTES

10. Jillian Schwedler, “Framing Political Islam in Jordan and Yemen” (PhD diss., New York University, 2000), p. 281. 11. This paragraph draws from Richard I. Lawless, “Yemen: History,” in Regional Surveys of The World: The Middle East and North Africa 2005, 51st ed. (London and New York: Europa Publications, 2005), p. 1247. 12. The word “Islah” as an Islamic concept also refers to the reformation of society in an Islamic context. Graham E. Fuller, The Future of Political Islam (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), p. 49. 13. Stiftl, “Yemeni Islamists,” p. 262. 14. For further discussion of the origins of the JMP alliance, see Michaelle Browers, “Origins and Architects of Yemen’s Joint Meeting Parties,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 39 (2007): 565–86. 15. Schwedler, Framing Political Islam, pp. 282–84. 16. Lawless, “Yemen: History,”, p. 1252. Most of Islah’s MPs still voted to accept the amendments, which indicates that there was probably a deal between party leaders and the government. 17. Interview with a former GPC member of parliament, Sana’a, May 2004. 18. Interview with a senior Islah official, Sana’a, October 2004. 19. Ibid. 20. The elections were postponed by about two weeks. 21. Yemen Times, January 8, 2001, cited in Jillian Schwedler, Islam, Democracy and the Yemeni State” (paper presented at the conference on “Islam, Democracy and the Secular State in the Post-Modern Era,” Georgetown University, April 7, 2001). 22. Yemen Times, July 16, 2001, cited in Daair, “He Who Rides the Lion.” 23. Floor Beuming, The Merger of the Dagger and the Rifle : Failing Integration of Former South Yemen into the Unified Republic of Yemen” (masters thesis, University of Amsterdam, October 2004), p. 76. 24. Supreme Commission for Elections and Referenda, Final Results for the 2003 Parliamentary Elections. 25. Carol J. Riphenburg, “Gender Relations and Development in Yemen: Participation and Employment,” Peacekeeping and International Relations 28, no. 3 (May–June 1999): 6. 26. Interview with the head of Planning and Development Department, Islah Charitable Society for Social Welfare (ICS), Sana’a, November 2004. Sheila Carapico notes an “unofficial” link between the ICS and the Islah Party in Civil Society in Yemen: The Political Economy of Activism in Modern Arabia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 156–57. 27. Beuming, The Dagger and the Rifle, p. 70. Some studies indicate that in the 1990s, around 20 percent of Yemen’s six million students attended religious high schools. International Crisis Group, “Yemen: Coping with Terrorism and Violence in a Fragile State” (ICG Middle East Report no. 8, January 8, 2003), p. 9. 28. Ahmed Abdulkareem Saif, “The Politics of Survival and the Structure of Control” (MA diss., University of Exeter, September 1997). Available online at http://www.al-bab.com/yemen/unity/saif4.htm.

NOTES

209

29. Personal conversation with an Islah member, Sana’a, November 18, 2004. 30. Schmitz, “Transnational Yemen,” pp. 155–56. 31. United Press International (UPI), “Yemen bans Muslim clerics from sermons,” reprinted in Big News Network, February 6, 2005. Available online at: http: //feeds.bignewsnetwork.com/?sid ⫽ 3e8429ee985353a3. 32. Interview with local a political analyst, Sana’a, April 2005. See also Stephen Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony: A Case Study of the United Republic of Yemen” (PhD diss., Georgetown University, 2001),” p. 456, footnote 81. 33. Mohammed al-Assadi, “Continued Fight against Extremism Starts from Mosques,” Yemen Observer, May 13, 2005. 34. Economist Intelligence Unit Newswire, “Yemen: Clampdown on Religious Schools,” August 13, 2004. 35. Interview with Saif al-Asaly, former assistant deputy finance minister of Islah, Sana’a, December 2004. 36. Ibid. 37. As the SCER never released the final results of these elections, this figure is difficult to confirm and was given by an Islah MP during an interview (Sana’a, November 2004). Based on the party’s results in the 1997 and 2003 elections and on the preliminary figures for 2001, it is likely to be a reasonable estimate. Another high party official estimated that Islah received around 30–35 percent of the popular vote in these elections. Interview, Sana’a, September 2004. 38. See National Democratic Institute for International Affairs, The NDI, April 27, 2003 Parliamentary Elections in the Republic of Yemen. Available online at http://www.ndi.org/worldwide/mena/yemen/yemen.asp., and Sheila Carapico, “How Yemen’s Ruling Party Secured an Electoral Landslide,” Middle East Report Online, May 16, 2003. Available online at http://www.merip.org/ mero/mero051603.html. 39. Ahmed A. Hezam Al-Yemeni, The Dynamic of Democratisation—Political Parties in Yemen (Bonn: Friedrich-Ebert-Siftung, 2003), p. 49. 40. NDI, April 27, 2003, p. 24. 41. Calculation based on the 2003 final results for all candidates in all districts found in the Supreme Commission for Elections and Referendum, Final Results for the 2003 Parliamentary Elections. 42. Interview, Sana’a, September 2006. 43. Interview with Abd al-Ghani al-Iryani, political consultant, Sana’a, September 2004. 44. Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” p. 457, footnote 82. 45. Islah had also done well there in 1993, fielding thirty candidates and winning eighteen, while the GPC fielded thirty-nine candidates and won only eight seats. 46. Day, “Power-Sharing and Hegemony,” p. 294, footnote 89. 47. This is a sensitive issue within the party: “Thank you for the question, I would like to set this straight. We don’t have competing branches, I can prove this. Islah is an open forum, there is freedom for everyone to express their opinions without punishment, our decisions are made by groups, not individuals … We have ideas and trends, not branches.” Interview with Najeeb Ghanem, Islah member of parliament, Sana’a, September 2003.

210

NOTES

48. James Piscatori, Islam, Islamists, and the Electoral Principle in the Middle East (Leiden: ISIM, 2000), p. 49. Available online at http://www.isim.nl/files/ paper_piscatori.pdf. 49. Nathan J. Brown, Amr Hamzawy, and Marina Ottaway, “Islamist Movements and the Democratic Process in the Arab World: Exploring the Gray Zones,” Carnegie Working Paper, no. 67, March 2006, p. 8. 50. Ibid. 51. Schwedler, “Islam, Democracy,” p. 26. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid., p. 27. 54. Interview with an Islah member of parliament, Sana’a, September 2004. 55. A member of the party’s Majlis al-Shura commented that “Sheikh Abdullah is the only major leader who is not a member of the Muslim Brotherhood.” Interview, Sana’a, May 2005. In the leadership that existed before the 2007 internal party elections, these included the general secretary (Mohammed al-Yadumi), deputy general-secretary (Abd al-Wahab al-Ansi—also former deputy prime minister), deputy president (Yasin Abd al-Aziz—considered to be the party’s chief policy architect), chairman of the Majlis al-Shura (Consultative Council—the party’s governing body, Abd al-Majeed alZindani), deputy chairman of the Majlis al-Shura (Abd al-Rahman al-Imad), and head of the Political Department (Mohammed Qahtan). After the 2007 elections, Muslim Brotherhood members became even more powerful and prominent, controlling not only the majority of leadership positions but also all functional offices and regional branch offices. 56. Jillian Schwedler, “The Islah Party in Yemen: Political Opportunities and Coalition Building in a Transitional Polity,” in Islamic Activism: A Social Movement Theory Approach, ed. Quintan Wiktorowicz (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2004), p. 215. 57. Al-Yemeni, Dynamic of Democratisation, p. 51. 58. This information was gained from a number of informal conversations with Islah’s members and leaders in January–February 2007. 59. Schwedler, Faith in Moderation, pp. 190–91 and 195. 60. Bylaws received from a leader of the JMP in July 2007. 61. Sa’atr received the second-highest number of votes in the party for the Majlis. 62. Mohammed al-Sadiq, “The Return of the Salt of the Earth,” Sawt al-Iman, in Arabic, March 2007. 63. Men and women vote in separate polling centers. 64. Author’s observations during an electoral observation mission and informal conversations with Islah party members about the outcome, September 2007. 65. Jillian Schwedler, “Yemen’s Aborted Opening,” Journal of Democracy 13, no. 4 (2002): 52. 66. Interview with Saif al-Asaly, Islah’s former assistant deputy minister of finance, Sana’a, November 2004. 67. Interview with a member of Islah’s Majlis al-Shura, Sana’a, May 2005. 68. The Muslim Brotherhood refers to al-Zindani as one of its graduates and lists him eighteenth on a list of twenty-one “thinkers, scholars and activists” of the

NOTES

69.

70.

71.

72.

73. 74. 75. 76. 77.

78.

79. 80.

81. 82. 83.

211

twentieth century, Muslim Brotherhood Movement (homepage) http://www. ummah.org.uk/ikhwan/. Paul Dresch and Bernanrd Haykel, “Stereotypes and Political Styles: Islamists and Tribesfolk in Yemen,” International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 27, no. 4 (1995): 413. Al-Zindani was quoted in 1995 for example by, al-Thawri, a YSP publication, as saying: “Political pluralism and secularism copied from the West are inappropriate for our Muslim society in Yemen … Whoever joins a political party in the name of pluralism has betrayed his country by promoting sectarianism and secular governance.” Cited in Schwedler, Framing Political Islam, p. 266. It is widely believed that al-Zindani’s al-Iman (Faith) University is a breeding ground for violent radicalism. The extracurricular activities of some of its students (convicted American Taliban fighter John Walker Lindh, the assassin of the YSP’s Jarallah Omar, and the murderer of the American doctors in Jiblah, for example) lend credence to this claim. When journalist and party member Nabil al-Soufi published the list of indictments against Zindani in the U.S. Treasury Department list in October 2005, he received a number of death threats from Zindani’s office. Evan Kohlman, “In Too Deep: Terrorism in Yemen,” National Review 17 (January, 2003). Interview with a senior party official, Sana’a, October 2004. Beuming, “The Dagger and the Rifle,” p. 87. Steven Caton, Yemen Chronicle: An Anthropology of War and Mediation (New York: Hill and Wang, 2005), p. 325, see also pp. 293–94. Schwedler emphasizes the regime’s manipulation of public uncertainty: “There is little evidence that the party follows Zindani’s lead on any consistent basis. In many ways, Zindani seems to be tolerated more than supported by the majority of Islah’s leadership, in large part for the economic and mobilization resources he brings to the party. Yet the comments of those like Zindani and Daylami receive disproportionate play in the press.” Schwedler, Framing Political Islam, p. 225. Sheikh Abdullah al-Ahmar also noted the religious importance of the war against the South: “Our slain soldiers will go to heaven, and their dead soldiers will go to hell.” Dresch and Haykel, “Stereotypes and Political Styles,” p. 409, footnote 29, citing a quote in Time, July 4, 1994. Stiftl, “Yemeni Islamists,” p. 255. Repeated requests by the author for interviews with the party’s leading ideologues and agenda-setters Yasin Abd al-Aziz and al-Zindani were refused, whereas other leaders known for their moderate stance at times actively sought interviews. Interview with Saif al-Asaly, former assistant deputy finance minister of Islah, Sana’a, November 2004. Interview with a member of Islah’s Majlis al-Shura, Sana’a, May 2005. Interview with an employee at a democracy advocacy NGO, Sana’a, October 2004. He referred particularly to the periods following the September 11, 2001 attacks in the United States and the assassination of an al-Qa’ida operative

212

84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91.

92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101.

102.

103.

104.

105.

NOTES

(Ali Qa’id Sinan al-Harithi) from an unmanned U.S.-operated drone as times that Islah tried to educate its followers not to react to these events. Interview with Saif al-Asaly, former assistant deputy finance minister of Islah, Sana’a, November 2004. Interview with a member of Islah’s Majlis al-Shura, Sana’a, October 2004. Abdul-Aziz ibn Qa’id al-Masudi, “The Islamic Movement in Yemen,” Middle Eastern Affairs Journal 2, nos. 2–3 (1995): p. 37. Saif, Yemeni Parliamentary Election, p. 28. Political program of Islah, 1993, cited in al-Masudi, “Islamic Movement in Yemen,” p. 35. Saif, Yemeni Parliamentary Elections, p. 28. Yemeni Islah Party, Political program of the Islah Party, 1997, available online at http://www.al-bab.com/yemen/pol/islah.htm. Interview with the head of Islah’s planning department, Sana’a, September 2004. Other leaders made very similar comments, such as “the only difference between shura and democracy is that democracy has only one reference: people, but shura, in addition to people, there are divine laws to be respected.” E-mail correspondence with Islah MP Abd al-Rahman Ba Fadl, March 2005. Yemeni Islah Party, “Political Program.” Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Dresch and Haykel, “Stereotypes and Political Styles,” p. 420. Schwedler, “Islah Party in Yemen,” p. 219. Schwedler is referring to justice minister Abd al-Wahab al-Daylami as the exception. Interview with a professor at Sana’a University, Sana’a, May 2004. Interview with a ranking YSP official, Sana’a, November 2004. Ibid. Sarah Phillips, “Foreboding about the Future in Yemen.” For full text of the document online in English, see “JMP Document on National and Political Reform,” NewsYemen, January 18, 2006, available online at http://newsyemen. net/en/view_news.asp?sub_no⫽4_2006_01_18_5767. See Michaelle Browers, “Origins and Architects of Yemen’s Joint Meeting Parties,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 39 (2007): 579–82 for further discussion of these omissions. Interview with Najeeb Ghanem, Islah member of parliament, Sana’a, September 2004. That Islah would rather cooperate with other political organizations to solve Yemen’s problems is a common feature of Islah’s centrist public rhetoric. In 1995, the party’s deputy secretary-General, Abd al-Wahab al-Ansi, commented that even if Islah won a majority in the next elections, it would seek to share power. Lawless, “Yemen: History,” p. 1247. This statement was made by a ranking Islah official in response to a question about Islah’s caution in joining a wider opposition campaign against political inheritance. Interview with a senior party official, Sana’a, October 2004. Interview with a middle-ranking party member and scholar of Islamist politics, Sana’a, October 2004.

NOTES

213

106. Sheikh Abdullah bin Hussein al-Ahmar, Al-Jazeera television, April 6, 2005. 107. Interview with a senior party official, Sana’a, October 2004. 108. Interview with former deputy prime minister Abd al-Wahhab al-Ansi, Sana’a, October 2004. 109. Interview with Mohammed al-Sa’adi, head of Islah’s planning department, Sana’a, September 2004. 110. See Ziyad Ayadat, “The Islamic Movement: Political Engagement Trends,” in Islamic Movements in Jordan, ed. Jillian Schwedler (Amman: Al-Urdun Al-Jadeed Research Center, 1997), pp. 145–65. 111. The relationship between the Muslim Brotherhood and the Islamic Action Front (IAF) is controversial in this regard, however. For more on this debate see Hani Hourani and others, Islamic Action Front Party: Civil Society and Political Life in Jordan, (Amman: Al-Urdun Al-Jadeed Research Center, 1993) p. 17–22. 112. Malik Mufti, “Elite Bargains and the Onset of Political Liberalization in Jordan,” Comparative Political Studies 32, no. 1 (February 1999): 110. 113. Quintan Wiktorowicz cites a number of interviews to this effect in “Islamists, the State, and Cooperation in Jordan,” Arab Studies Quarterly 21, no. 4 (Fall 1999): 1–17. 114. Graham Usher, “Hamas Risen,” Middle East Report 238 (Spring 2006). Available online at http://www.merip.org/mer/mer238/usher.html. Hamas won 74 seats. 115. “In ureed ila al-islah ma astata’tu wa ma tawfeeqee ila bi-lah ’alayhi taakkalt.” Translation from Mohammed Tawfi-ud-Din Al-Halali and Mohammed Muhsin Khan, Interpretation of the Meanings of the Noble Qur’an in the English Language, 5th ed. (Riyadh: Dar us-Salam Publications, 1995). 116. “Wa ila khudh ’ala yad al-dhaalim.” Yemeni Islah Party, “Political Program,” in Arabic. 117. Dresch and Haykel, “Stereotypes and Political Styles,” p. 413. 118. Ibid. 119. Ibid. 120. Schmitz, “Transnational Yemen,” p. 155. 121. Email from Abd al-Rahman Ba Fadl, Islah member of parliament, former minister of trade, former minister of fisheries, March 2005. 122. al-Ahmar, Al-Jazeera Interview. 123. The author was a monitor during these elections and witnessed the campaign flurry first hand. 124. News Yemen, “Bin Shamlan Will Remain Independent, Islah to Reshuffle Leaders,” October 9, 2006. 125. Observation based on interviews and personal conversations with a number of Islah supporters and members throughout 2004–06. 126. Interview with a senior Islah official, Sana’a, October 2004. 127. Several informal discussions revealed that Islah does have a considerable presence within the military but that the leaders understand that this factor could also make any conflict even more dangerous. 128. This line is impossible to draw absolutely—public dissent had been clearly building since around the time that the first Sa’ada war erupted in mid-2004,

214

129.

130. 131.

132. 133. 134. 135. 136. 137. 138.

139.

140. 141. 142.

NOTES

but from the author’s first-hand observations, there was a noticeable shift from late 2005 to early 2006 that was related to the impending elections and the possibility of serious unrest. The apology was not made publicly by President Saleh, however, but by the president of the Majlis al-Shura, Abd al-Aziz Abd al-Ghani, which was interpreted by some as a further calculated snub to Sheikh Abdullah. Al-Ahmar, Al-Jazeera Interview. Gregory Johnsen, “Salih’s Road to Reelection,” Middle East Report Online 13 (January 2006). Available online at http://www.merip.org/mero/mero011306. html. Interview with a local political analyst who was privy to the aftermath of this meeting, Sana’a, February 2006. Mohammed al-Qadhi, “JMP & PGC [GPC]: Confrontation or Compromise?” Yemen Times, April 24, 2006. Johnsen, “Salih’s Road.” Mustafa Rajeh, “Crisis in Parliament,” Yemen Times, February 6, 2006. “Islah Encourages Women Candidates,” Yemen Times, January 5, 2006. Ultimately their participation was extremely limited, however. Interview with employee in an advocacy NGO that works with Islah, Sana’a, February 2006. This was reported in Phillips, “Foreboding about the Future in Yemen,” and prompted an almost immediate denial from Sheikh Abdullah, “Al-Ahmar Refutes Announcement ‘Leaving Yemen to Sons of President,’” NewsYemen, April 8, 2006, available online at http://www.newsyemen.net/en/view_news.asp? sub_no⫽3_2006_04_08_5978. The statement was made publicly—though not officially—and was subsequently discussed by one of his sons and was the topic of conversation at a number of politically focused qat chews around Sana’a at the time. “Argument on Hamas victory in elections leads to murder in Yemen,” NewsYemen, January 29, 2006. Available online at http://newsyemen.net/en/ view_news.asp?sub_no⫽4_2006_01_29_5793; “Political Argument Leads to Killing of Islah Party Member,” Yemen Times, February 6, 2006. Schwedler, Faith in Moderation, p. 192. Ibid., p. 21. Browers, “Origins and Architects,” p. 566.

Conclusion 1. I am grateful for Abd al-Ghani al-Iryani’s colourful turn of phrase with this analogy. 2. Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, Tentative Conclusions about Uncertain Democracies, vol. 4 (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1986), p. 23. 3. Interview with the convener of a political discussion group, Sana’a, September 2004.

NOTES

215

4. Interview with former undersecretary of finance for Islah, Saif al-Asaly, who subsequent to making this statement joined the GPC and was appointed as the minister of finance, Sana’a, May 2005. 5. Robert Burrowes, “What Is To Be Done—Now?” Yemen Times, May 11, 2006. 6. Interview with a senior party official, Sana’a, October 2004. 7. “I Am Not a Taxi, Saleh Says,” Yemen Mirror, June 22, 2006. Available online at http://www.yemenmirror.com/index.php?action⫽showNews&id⫽53. 8. James Piscatori, Islam, Islamists, and the Electoral Principle in the Middle East (Leiden: ISIM, 2000), p. 45. Available online at http://www.isim.nl/files/ paper_piscatori.pdf. 9. Daniel Brumberg, “Islam Is Not the Solution (or the Problem),” Washington Quarterly 29, no. 1 (Winter 2005–6): 104. 10. Interview with an independent NGO employee, Sana’a, August 2004. 11. Brumberg, “Islam Is not the Solution,” 110. 12. Sheila Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen: The Political Economy of Activism in Modern Arabia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 207, lists as one of the main findings of her study “that civic participation fills any space ceded to it by the state.” 13. Daniel Neep, “Dilemmas of Democratization in the Middle East: The ‘Forward Strategy of Freedom,’” Middle East Policy 11, no. 3 (Fall 2004): 80. 14. Ibid., 77. 15. Carapico, Civil Society in Yemen, p. 199.

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Index

A Abdel Rahman, Maha, 120 Afghanistan, 32, 138 Ahmar, Ali Muhsin al-, 52–53 Ahmar, Hameed al-, 87, 128, 171, 197 Ahmar, Sadiq bin Abdullah al-, 143–44 Ahmar, Sheikh Abdullah bin Hussein alon civil war, 211 family, 87, 128 Hamid al-Din Imamate and, 43 Islah Party and, 55, 137, 143–44, 149 tribal ties, 52–53 Ajami, Fouad, 24, 36 Akwa’a, Khaled al-, 88 Albrecht, Holger, 115 Algeria, 14, 31, 129, 163, 168 Ali, Salim Rubayyi, 46 al-Jazeera, 159, 164, 180 Almond, Gabriel, 24 al-Qa’ida, 65, 211. See also terrorism Ansi, Abd al-Wahhab al-, 148, 160, 212 Arab Democratic Institute (ADI), 125 Asaly, Saif al-, 70, 74, 152, 154–55 Ash’ari, al-, 27 Assad, Bashar, 25 Assad, Hafiz al-, 25, 121 authoritarianism pluralized, 3–6 political reform and, 33–37 autocracy, 17, 26, 34, 129 Awqaaf, 141, 145 B Baaklini, Abdo, 17, 36 Ba’ath Party, 86, 120–21, 123–24

Bakil tribal confederation, 43, 51, 53, 91–92, 186, 200 Barakat, Halim, 26 Beidh, Ali Salim al-, 47, 58, 74 Beuming, Floor, 74, 153 Bill, James, 5 bin Laden family, 39, 183 bin Laden, Osama, 138 bin Shamlan, Faisal, 125, 162, 164 Bodine, Barbara, 142 Bowker, Robert, 27 Braizat, Fares, 28 Browers, Michaelle, 165 Brownlee, Jason, 24, 67 Brumberg, Daniel, 3, 17, 19, 29, 34, 126, 129 Brynen, Rex, 19 Burrowes, Robert, 45, 49, 60, 92, 97–98, 168 Bush, George H. W., 49 Bush, George W., 28, 32, 36, 49, 64–65, 152 C Canadian Oxy, 59, 188 Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy (Schumpeter), 20 Carapico, Sheila, 15, 48, 50, 57, 126 Carothers, Thomas, 2, 18, 34 Catholicism, 27 Caton, Steven, 105, 153 CCC. See Consolidated Contractors Company Cedar Revolution, 14 Civic Culture, The (Almond and Verba), 24

236

INDEX

civil disobedience, 31, 161 Civil Society in Yemen (Carapico), 16 civil society organizations (CSOs) democracy and, 172, 203 emergence of, 113 government and, 114–16, 118–20, 128–34 opposition groups and, 119–20, 122–23 power of, 126–28 civil war 1962–1970, 44, 91, 99–100 1994, 43, 49, 54–55, 70, 78 feedback and, 22 Islah Party and, 140–41, 154 local councils and, 78 political change and, 14 retraction of reforms following, 31, 115, 119 South Yemen and, 58–62, 70, 74, 121 tribal confederations and, 99–100, 107–9 YAR and, 44 YIDD and, 125 YSP and, 46–47, 54–55 Clash of Civilizations, The (Huntington), 26 Clinton, Bill, 49 Colomer, Josep, 36 Conference of Emerging Democracies (1999), 49 Consolidated Contractors Company (CCC), 59 Consultative Council, 45, 60, 79–80, 149–50, 152, 154–55 corruption economy and, 62–65, 74–75, 133 government power and, 6, 9, 50, 114–15, 120–23 Hamdi, Ibrahim al- and, 44 Islah Party and, 141, 157, 165 legal system and, 102 Nasser, Ali and, 46 parliament and, 82–83 patronage system and, 105

poverty and, 40 public view of, 28 South Yemen and, 58 tribalism and, 90, 94–96, 100 Crone, Patricia, 93 CSOs. See civil society organizations customary law, 96 D Daair, Omar, 6 Dahl, Robert A., 21 Day, Stephen on 1994 civil war, 58–59, 192 on control of natural resources, 77, 184 on Islah Party, 147 on local councils, 77, 79 on tribalism, 89–90, 96, 99, 107–8 Daylami, Abd al-Wahab al-, 140, 153 democracy definitions of, 20–23 minimalist approach to, 20–21 transitions to, 35–37 democratization Arab exceptionalism, 23–33 Brumberg, Daniel on, 29 Bush, George W. and, 64 economy and, 132–33 Huntington, Samuel on, 2, 20 Iraq and, 1, 66 Kostiner, Joseph on, 49 liberalization and, 15–19 literature on, 2–3, 14–15 local councils and, 77 political Islam and, 137, 140 political reform and, 33–37, 56, 58, 61–62, 116 Posusney, Marsha Pripstein on, 3–4 Democratization and the Islamist Challenge in the Arab World (Ghadbian), 19 Denoeux, Guilain, 17, 36 Department of Tribal Affairs (DTA), 104–6, 109 Diamond, Larry, 21, 36 Document of Pledge and Accord, 57, 78

INDEX

“Document on National and Political Reform,” 157, 164 Dresch, Paul, 45, 90, 94–96, 107–8, 110, 117, 161, 198 E Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU), 69 Egypt CSOs and, 120, 126 democracy and, 13–14, 17, 28, 37 Islah Party and, 140 local councils and, 78 Muslim Brotherhood and, 149 oil and, 30 opposition groups and, 120 political reform and, 8, 30–34 tribalism and, 25 Yemeni civil war and, 44–45 embezzlement, 76. See also corruption F Faqih, Abdullah al-, 28–29 Farhan, Ishaq, 160 feedback, 3, 15, 21–22, 88, 128, 169 G Gambill, Gary, 32 Gao, Eleanor, 28 Garfinkle, Adam, 25 General People’s Congress (GPC) democracy and, 168, 170 formal and informal retraction, 57–61 Islah Party and, 10, 53–55, 137, 139–48, 151–54, 158–60, 163–65 local councils and, 77 mechanisms of control and, 116–19 opposition groups and, 122–26, 129–30, 135 parliament and, 79–82, 84–87 political reform and, 49–55 PSO and, 69 Saleh, Ali Abdullah and, 45 tribalism and, 98–99, 105–6, 110 Ghadbian, Najib, 19–20, 36 Ghashmi, Ahmad al-, 44

237

Ghazali, al-, 27 Glosemeyer, Iris, 87 Gochenour, D. Thomas, 183 government, Yemeni Consultative Council, 79–80 elected bodies, 76–88 House of Representatives, 80–88 local councils, 76–79 military and security, 68–73 Ministry of Finance (MoF), 73–75 national budget, 75–76 Political Security Organization (PSO), 68–69 spending and capacity, military, 69–73 state finance, 73–76 “gray zone” political systems, 15–20 H Hadhramaut, 42–43, 51, 57, 77, 97, 121, 147 Hadi, Abd al-Rabbuh Mansour, 52 Hadith, 27 Hagopian, Frances, 18 Halliday, Fred, 59 Hamas, 15, 160, 165 Hamdi, Ibrahim al-, 44–45, 91 Hamid al-Din Imamate, 43 Hamzawy, Amr, 14 Harik, Iliya, 206 Hariri, Rafiq, 14 Hashid tribal confederation background, 53 Bakil tribal confederation and, 186 civil war and, 91–92, 202 Dresch, Paul on, 95, 110 government power and, 4, 105, 107 Islah Party and, 138, 148, 154 preunification history, 43–44 tribal autonomy and, 99 Hawthorne, Amy, 203 Haykel, Bernard, 161 Hizb al-Nasiri al-Dimuqrati, 117–18 House of Representatives, 80–88 Houthi, Hussein al-, 71–72, 92, 108 Hudson, Michael, 24, 179

238

INDEX

human rights, 20, 25–26, 68, 116, 126, 129 Hungary, 18 Huntington, Samuel, 2, 20–21, 26, 35, 173 Hussein, King, 19, 106 Hussein, Saddam, 1, 55, 66, 121 Hussein, Saleh bin, 59 I Imam Ahmed, 43–44 IMF, 60, 76, 193 Iran, 21, 41, 44 Iraq, 1, 14–15, 32, 36, 55, 62, 64, 66, 75, 121, 123 Iryani, Abd al-Ghani al-, 42 Iryani, Abd al-Kareem al-, 49, 125 Iryani, Abd al-Rahman al-, 44 Islah Party, 137–66 background, 137–38 consistency, 151–58 democracy and, 169–71 future of, 163–66 GPC and, 10, 57 local councils and, 77 Muslim Brotherhood and, 121 as opposition party, 115–17, 123–25, 127, 133, 158–63 origins and ties to GPC, 139–44 parliament and, 65, 83–86 political reform and, 59–62 popular support for, 144–47 power centers, 147–49 schools of thought, 149–51 Sheikh Abdullah and, 43, 101, 106 unification and, 49–55 Islamic Action Party, 160 Isma’il, Abd al-Fattah, 46 Israel, 29, 32, 71 J Jammal, Abd al-Qadir Ba, 83 Jawi, Omar al-, 59 JCSS. See Jordanian Center for Strategic Studies (JCSS)

Jensen, Jody, 18 Joint Meeting Parties (JMP) background, 123–26 democracy and, 164–66 GPC and, 57, 79 Islah Party and, 62, 77, 141–42, 144, 146–47, 150–51, 162 opposition groups and, 55, 168 political Islam and, 170–71 political reform and, 157–58 Jordan, 8, 10, 19–20, 28, 30–34, 36–37, 44, 106, 149–50, 160 Jordanian Center for Strategic Studies (JCSS), 28 K Kedourie, Eli, 26 Khan, Mushtaq, 131 Khouri, Giselle, 108 khuruj, 161 Kienle, Eberhard, 33–34 “Kifaya” demonstrations, 14 kinship, 4, 24–26, 58, 86, 91, 120 Korany, Bahgat, 19 Kostiner, Joseph, 49, 56, 202 Kuwait, 36–37, 55, 187 L Lawyers’ Syndicate, 119 LCCD. See Local Councils for Cooperative Development LDAs. See local development associations Legislative Politics in the Arab World (Baaklini, Denoeux, and Springborg), 36–37 Lewis, Bernard, 26 Libya, 120 Lindh, John Walker, 211 Local Authority Law, 78 local councils, 77–79 Local Councils for Cooperative Development (LCCD), 79 local development associations (LDAs), 44, 79, 184

INDEX

M Majlis al-Nuwab, 80–88 Majlis al-Shura, 45, 60, 79–80, 149–50, 152, 154–55 Makki, Hassan, 103, 200–201 Manea, Elham, 111 Marxism, 46, 48, 55, 92, 94, 120, 138 mechanisms of control, 116–19 Migdal, Joel, 6 Ministry of Finance (MoF), 67, 70, 78, 82, 88 Ministry of Religious Endowment, 141, 145 Miszlivetz, Ferenc, 18 Montazeri, Ayatollah Hussein-Ali, 183 Morocco, 17, 28, 31–32, 34, 36–37, 126 Mubarak, Hosni, 13, 18–19, 25 Mueller, John, 35 Muslim Brotherhood, 53–54, 121, 138, 149–52, 154, 156–57, 160, 164, 210 N Nasser, Ali, 46–47 Nasser, Gamal Abd al-, 44 Nasserite Party, 86, 117–18, 120, 123–24 National Liberation Front (NLF), 45–46, 124 NGOs, 10, 16–17, 86, 94–95, 107, 120, 122–23, 125–26, 129–30, 144, 204 NLF. See National Liberation Front Noble, Paul, 19 Nodia, Ghia, 35 No’man, Ahmed, 42 Nye, Joseph Jr., 7 O O’Donnell, Guillermo, 167 oil authoritarianism and, 29–30 civil war and, 57, 59 corruption and, 82–83 economy and, 2, 9, 39–40, 63, 169, 173 location of, 42–43 opposition groups and, 130, 133 patronage system and, 5

239

tribalism and, 101 unification and, 48, 74–76 Omar, Jarallah, 47, 54, 90, 125, 211 On Democracy (Dahl), 21 opposition groups complementarity of the state, 128–35 divisions within, 119–28 Islah Party as, 158–63 Ottaway, Marina, 8, 16–17 Ottoman Empire, 43, 184 P Palestine, 14–15, 36, 64, 160, 165 parliament. See Consultative Council; House of Representatives patronage system civil society and, 113, 172–73 civil war and, 58, 71 democracy and, 51–52, 124 economy and, 40, 63 government power and, 7, 10, 167 Islah Party and, 10, 137, 139, 142, 149–50, 154, 158–59, 162, 163, 165 Middle East and, 23, 26, 33 opposition groups and, 122, 128, 131–32 parliament and, 81 pluralized authoritarianism and, 3–6 Saleh, Ali Abdullah and, 45 state finance and, 74 tribalism and, 90, 93–97, 99, 105, 110 People’s Constituent Council, 45 People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen (PDRY), 41–42, 46–48, 61, 92, 97, 106, 121, 138, 141, 147, 183 Piscatori, James, 2–3, 148, 170 Political Economy of Activism in Modern Arabia, A (Carapico), 126 Political Order in Changing Societies (Huntington), 35 Political Security Organization (PSO), 65, 68–69, 122, 207 Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition (Dahl), 21

240

INDEX

Posusney, Marsha Pripstein, 3–4 poverty, 23, 28, 33, 47, 63, 121, 132–33, 189, 193 power hard, 8–9 soft, 6–8 PSO. See Political Security Organization Q qat, 10, 11, 40, 69, 108, 130, 158, 165, 187, 189, 214 Qur’an, 26–27, 140, 148, 155, 160 R Rabita al-Yamaniyya al-Shar’iyya, 118 Rabitat Abna’ al-Yemen, 118 Rahman, Abdel, 120 Ra’i, Yahia al-, 87 rentierism, 23, 29–31, 33, 63, 75, 114 revenge killings, 92, 102–3, 106–9, 200 Robertson, Graeme, 27 Ross, Michael, 30 Rustow, Dankwart, 35–36 S Sa’ada uprising, 33, 41, 71–72, 118, 213 Sadiki, Larbi, 31 Sadiq, Mohammed al-, 151 Saif, Ahmed, 17, 50, 74, 84, 86, 195, 196 Salami, Alawi Saleh al-, 73–74 Saleh, Ali Abdullah Bush, George W. and, 64–65 corruption and, 63 democracy and, 16, 49, 60–62, 64 GPC and, 134 Hamdi, Ibrahim al- and, 44–45 Iraq and, 1 Islah Party and, 117, 138–44, 146, 148–50, 154, 163–66, 169–71 military/security and, 68–69, 71–72 Ministry of Finance (MoF) and, 73–74 opposition groups and, 122, 124–125 parliament and, 81–82, 84 patronage system and, 52–53 power, 3, 6, 8–9, 65–66, 67

regional views of, 42–43 South Yemen and, 60 tribalism and, 4, 89–95, 97, 99–101, 104, 106–110 YAR and, 44–47 Saqqaf, Abd al-Aziz al-, 51 Saudi Arabia Islah Party and, 138, 148, 171 Kuwait and, 55 military and security, 70 opposition groups and, 120–21 Sheikh Abdullah and, 164 tribalism and, 92, 99–100 war on terror and, 33 Yemen and, 39, 44, 47, 92 SCER. See Supreme Commission for Elections and Referendum Schlumberger, Oliver, 34 Schmitter, Philippe C., 167 Schumpeter, Joseph, 20–21 Schwedler, Jillian, 54, 142, 148, 150–51, 153, 165, 207, 211 September 11, 2001, 138, 145, 156, 211 Sha’abi, Najeeb Qahtan al-, 61, 189 Sharabi, Hisham, 24 Shari’a, 42, 49, 141, 155, 158, 171 Shuhaibi, No’man Saleh al-, 74 shura, 155–56, 161, 212 smuggling, 4, 68, 95, 133 Sofan, Ahmed Mohammed, 75 Souswa, Amat al-Aleem al-, 128 Soviet Union, 47–48, 138 Springborg, Robert, 17, 36 state finance, 73–76 Ministry of Finance (MoF), 73–75 national budget, 75–76 Stepan, Alfred, 27 Sudan, 31, 62, 75, 140, 157 Sunna, 155, 161 Supreme Commission for Elections and Referendum (SCER), 77, 84, 85 T Ta’addudiyya, 4 Taba’’ud, 94 Talib, Saad al-Deen Ali, 87, 188

INDEX

Tanzim al-Wahdawi al-Sha’bi al-Nasiri, 117 taxes, 29–31, 42, 73, 75, 78, 192 terrorism, 32–33, 39–40, 50, 64–65, 75, 138, 164. See also al-Qa’ida Tessler, Mark, 28 Thawra, al-, 107, 127, 206 third wave democratization, 2, 14–15, 20, 26, 33 Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Huntington), 20, 26 Tibi, Bassam, 26 “Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model” (Rustow), 35 transitology, 13, 18 tribalism, 89–111 al-Houthi rebellion and, 108 Department of Tribal Affairs (DTA) and, 104–6, 109 Dresch, Paul on, 94–96 government relationship to, 103–8 leadership, 92–93 Northern civil war and, 91–92 patronage system and, 96–97 reinforcing power status quo, 103–111 revenge killings and, 92, 102–3, 106–9, 200 tribal autonomy, 97–103 Tua’iman, Sheikh Abdullah Mohammed, 100–101 U United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), 70–71, 78 universities al-Iman, 145, 151–52, 154 Sana’a, 47, 97, 118, 157 ‘urf, 42 V Verba, Sidney, 24 W Wahhabism, 120, 138, 153 Waterbury, John, 26, 30, 34

241

Wedeen, Lisa, 61, 72 Wenner, Manfred, 85 Whitaker, Brian, 199 World Bank, 30, 40, 60, 63–64, 75, 102 World Values Survey (WVS), 27–28 XYZ Yadav, Stacey Philbrick, 128 YAR. See Yemen Arab Republic Yaseen, Taha, 1 Yemen overview, 39–43 political economy, 62–66 preunification history, 43–47 retraction of reforms, 57–62 unification and democracy, 47–57 Yemen Arab Republic (YAR), 41, 43–45, 47–48, 85, 138 Yemeni Center for Strategic Studies (YCSS), 79, 85 Yemeni Institute for Democratic Development (YIDD), 125–26, 132 Yemeni National Dialogue of Political Forces, 57–58 YemenPAC, 82–83 YIDD. See Yemeni Institute for Democratic Development YSP civil war and, 54–60 Day, Stephen on, 187–88 decentralization and, 77 democracy and, 49–50 GPC and, 54–60 Islah Party and, 137, 139–41, 145, 146, 154, 157–59, 170 JMP and, 123–25 parliament and, 80, 86, 88 preunification history, 43–47 tribalism and, 89–90, 92, 94, 106 Zaidi, Hassan al-, 202 Zartman, William, 129 Zindani, Sheikh Abd al-Majeed al-, 47, 65, 138–39, 141, 144, 148–54, 157, 164