On March 28, after “disappearing” from my social circle for nearly 48 hours, I returned to the Yemeni capital Sana’a, coinciding with a new wave of airstrikes by the US and British air forces. Despite the danger at hand, my thoughts were still lingering in the past 48 hours—full of excitement and memories of my journey to and from Saada province and its steep mountains. We were not only among the first group of foreigners invited after the Houthi forces took control of the capital, but also pioneers lucky enough to explore the Houthi headquarters. Although the visit was brief and superficial, everything we saw and heard felt novel and fascinating.

March 26 marked the tenth anniversary of the Saudi-led Arab-Islamic coalition’s military intervention in Yemen’s civil war. For the Houthis, it also marked the tenth anniversary of their religious jihad against the Saudi coalition and the United States. On March 26, 2015, Saudi Arabia launched “Operation Decisive Storm,” with the coalition’s air force unleashing bombs and missiles across Yemen under the pretext of saving Yemen’s legitimate government and halting the Houthi advance after their capture of Sana’a.

At 5 a.m. that day, our “international brigade”—comprising former officials, journalists, and scholars from the US, UK, South Africa, Malaysia, Lebanon, Iraq, Bolivia and China—departed in a convoy arranged by the Houthis to visit their “revolutionary base” and “uprising headquarters” in Saada province.

For security reasons, our trip was kept secret. We departed at dawn when there were few pedestrians or vehicles on the streets. Instead of the armored and bulletproof vehicles we previously used in Sana’a, we traveled in identical white Toyota Land Cruisers, with a lead vehicle flashing lights but sirens off to guide us quietly out of the city.

Less than a week before the end of Ramadan, the city of Sana’a, which had been noisy all night due to evening iftar and pre-dawn suhoor, fell silent at dawn. We drove easily through the dark, sparse streets and left the city smoothly as the sky lightened, heading north on the Chinese-built Sana’a–Saada highway toward Saada city, the provincial capital 230 km away.

Sana’a and Saada, two adjacent inland provinces in Yemen’s northwestern highlands, have no rivers or tall mountains along the route—only continuous brown hills, gravel, and desert. Occasional small green oases provided a glimpse of life on this famously barren ancient land. While the scenery was monotonous and lifeless, it felt fresh and memorable to us.

No matter how far we traveled, on both sides of the road were clusters of short plants—either exposed to the sky or covered with white mesh—densely planted qat trees. Their leaves contain the hallucinogenic substance cathinone and juice that suppresses hunger and boosts alertness. Reportedly, 70% of Yemenis are addicted to qat. Though water is scarce, 60% of it is used to irrigate qat trees. In short, Yemenis can go a day without food, but not without qat.

After traveling nearly 200 km and reaching the border between Sana’a and Saada provinces, our driver told us this area was once occupied by Al-Qaeda and was only fully cleared by the Houthis after 2015. Although the Houthi-controlled area is in a state of war, we didn’t see any signs of conflict—no soldiers, military vehicles, camps, air defense systems, or war scars. Even the few security checkpoints were almost symbolic. In contrast, I experienced far stricter and more numerous checkpoints in southern Iraq last year, making that place seem more dangerous than Yemen.

Our vehicle was playing Yemeni pop songs all the way—rhythmic and powerful, in a typical Arab rap battle style. The melodies were modern and catchy, with tunes that deeply resonated, and the lyrics were passionate and stirring, featuring buzzwords like “Gaza” and “Palestine.” The driver said this was a representative work by a Houthi rap artist named Iras Laith (Iras being the Arabic name for Jesus, and Laith meaning “lion”), whose songs have gone viral globally, especially in the Third World. The U.S. government has reportedly placed a $26 million bounty on him.

Yemeni friends familiar with Irsa said that whenever he performs his rap, his comrades dance the traditional jambiya (curved dagger) dance around him, and his popular songs have seen massive downloads online. A Houthi soldier mentioned that in order to protect Irsa, the Yemeni people have hidden him—just as they’ve hidden their “revolutionary leader,” Hussein’s brother and heir to the cause, Abdul-Malik Badr al-Din al-Houthi.

Three and a half hours later, in a slightly dim and dusty atmosphere, we passed through the “Saada Gate,” damaged by U.S. or Saudi coalition airstrikes, and arrived at this city—considered the “eye of the storm” in Yemen and even the entire Middle East. We checked into the so-called five-star “Yemen Star International Hotel,” a six- or seven-story building. It is located on a side street off Saada’s main road and had clearly just been renovated, possibly even unfinished. We guessed we were among its first guests. Although the hotel lacked internet, it had most basic facilities and satellite TV with various foreign-language channels, including programs from the “Yemen TV” run by the southern government.

During our time in Saada, we experienced a rare extended internet outage, causing an unintentional scare for our families back home. On the morning of the 27th, I happened to see a text alert about a missed call—only then did I realize my daughter and other colleagues and students had tried to reach me multiple times and had been searching for us all night. Since we left the hotel at dawn on the 26th, we had lost connection with our contacts back home via social media and WeChat. In the rush to leave, I hadn’t anticipated a full communication blackout. Before departure, I had only briefly informed a contact at the embassy and a colleague at Xinhua News Agency via WeChat that I was joining the group heading to Saada. Since we didn’t return to Sana’a that day, and I had my phone on silent due to recent daily meetings, it ended up causing needless worry for friends, family, and colleagues. I truly feel sorry—though that’s another story.

Looking out the hotel window, the city of Saada was not large, shielded to the north by hills—about one kilometer wide east to west, and three to four kilometers long north to south. The city consisted mostly of low-rise buildings, many with tin roofs, and only seven or eight mid-rise buildings under ten stories tall. On the sunlit northern hills a few kilometers away, three giant Arabic slogans were spelled out in white stones: “Muhammad,” “Ali,” and “Persistence Means Victory.” The emphasis on the name “Ali” alone reveals the Shia religious identity of the people of Saada.

Yemen’s main population follows the Zaidi sect, the smallest branch of Shia Islam. Zaidis believe in the fifth-generation Imam Zaid, a descendant of Muhammad and Ali, whom they regard as the hidden Mahdi. Because of this, they are also called the “Five-Imam Sect.” Alongside the “Seven-Imam Sect” (Ismaili) and the “Twelve-Imam Sect” (Twelvers), Zaidis form one of the three major Shia branches. Zaidis have primarily survived in Yemen’s Shia-majority population and are theologically closer to Sunnis due to their recognition of the authority of the first four caliphs, making them the most moderate of all Shia sects.

Upon arriving in Saada, after a simple lunch, former Minister of Information Dayfallah al-Shami accompanied us to visit the U.S. and Saudi coalition bombing sites and the Saada Martyrs’ Cemetery. One site bombed by the U.S. was a cancer center under construction. At the scene, at least two top floors had been pierced by missiles, and the floor below had partially collapsed. Some group members found an unexploded heavy bomb in the basement. According to the site manager, this was the site of the March 24 U.S. bombing. No casualty information was mentioned.

After leaving the U.S. bombing site, we were taken to visit bombing sites left behind by the Saudi-led coalition. Along the way were several ruins, but our hosts specifically took us to see two bombed-out buildings at Saada University, one of which was a student dormitory. It’s said the bombings occurred around 2017. Desks and chairs under the rubble suggested that part of the facility had indeed been classrooms or laboratories. The seats scattered outside had been eroded by wind and rain, leaving only rusted metal frames… As for why the U.S. and Saudi coalition bombed civilian facilities, only the historical archives may one day tell us the truth.

On the 24th, while in Sana’a, we had also visited one U.S. and one Saudi coalition bombing site respectively. The U.S. strike was said to be on a residential building, but the remains didn’t look like a home—there were no signs of domestic items. Organizers said 15 people were injured and two died, though we weren’t arranged to visit any of the wounded in the hospital. The Saudi coalition site was from a few years ago and reportedly extremely tragic: over 800 people attending a funeral were “deliberately” bombed, resulting in more than 150 deaths and around 600 injuries.

What struck us the most was the Saada “Martyrs’ Cemetery,” where hundreds of war victims lie. Especially heartbreaking was the “Children’s Martyrs’ Corner,” where dozens of boys and girls who died prematurely are buried. In front of their flower-like portraits, mourners had placed bunches of fake flowers. Four of the deceased children were from the same family—it seemed they perished together in a single car, the twisted wreckage of which now hangs above their resting place. Previously, we had also visited a “Martyrs’ Cemetery” in Sana’a, but the emotional weight there couldn’t compare to the children’s section in Saada.

After our first day in Saada, we returned to the hotel together in a minibus. On the way back, we passed through the main street, where the run-down buildings resembled those in Sana’a. Infrastructure was very poor, and street shops were mostly ordinary stores, repair shops, eateries, or fruit stands. The streets were packed with people, and puddles and mud from recent rain made the roads chaotic. Cars and motorbikes weaved wildly, and there wasn’t a single traffic light on the main street. A few traffic police vaguely attempted to direct traffic. What caught my eye most was that nearly every motorcycle carried three or four children—an indirect sign of Yemen’s high birthrate and youth-heavy population.

That night in Saada wasn’t peaceful. Our thoughtful hosts knocked on the door to ask if we needed toiletries. We politely declined and hinted not to be disturbed again. However, at midnight, they knocked again and brought a large bag of unopened pajamas and toiletries, which was quite touching. In the deep of night, as we were fast asleep, they knocked a third time to deliver a hearty breakfast—flatbread, chickpea paste, eggs, drinks, and mineral water—placing the tray at our door.

Around noon on the 27th, our hosts, having taken a good nap after iftar, appeared leisurely in the hotel lobby and “suddenly” informed us that we would be going to Maran, a town on the northern border of Saada province, 70 kilometers away, to visit the hometown of Hussein, the founder of the Houthi movement. It was another unexpected delight. We divided into Toyota off-road vehicles, crossed Saada city, and headed for the northern mountains of the province bordering Saudi Arabia.

Throughout the week, all our activities had been notified at the last minute. We were never told in advance who we would meet—not even the drivers knew our next stop; they were only told to follow. Due to the wartime situation and open threats from Israel and the U.S. to assassinate Houthi leaders, the secrecy of our movements was for the safety of both our hosts and us foreign guests. We fully understood this and respected the principle: “guests follow the host.”

Heading north from Saada, the 70-kilometer journey involved crossing mountain after mountain—the farther we went, the higher the mountains, and the steeper the roads. Although the quality of the mountain roads rivaled provincial highways back home, they were still winding and twisty, taking two full hours for a one-way trip. Unlike the semi-hilly, semi-desert landscape along the Sana’a–Saada highway, this mountainous route revealed large oases, terraced fields, sparse trees, and even streams and small dams, indicating that northern Saada is a relatively agriculturally developed area, though still mostly at a subsistence level of natural economy.

Approaching the birthplace of the Houthi movement—the town of Maran, where Hussein launched his rebellion—the terrain was dominated by towering ridgeline mountains running east-west, averaging over 200 meters in height. Each mountain had three to five typical Yemeni earth buildings about ten meters tall. The mountains around Maran are densely packed, with earthen buildings scattered across peaks, forming a breathtaking skyline that resembled a miniature “Great Wall.” The scene evoked an ancient system of warning beacons, signaling threats across great distances.

Below this “Great Wall” were clusters of earth buildings that resembled a mix between farmhouses, forest forts, and watchtowers. These provided shelter from the elements for local farmers and served as strongholds against outside threats. This remote area—far from the centers of power in both Yemen and neighboring countries—offered an ideal environment for guerrilla warfare. It’s here that the Houthi movement was born, grew strong, suffered setbacks, and rose again—ultimately expanding from Yemen’s northwest corner to take over much of the country.

Finally, deep in the mountains, just 20 kilometers from the Saudi border and adjacent to the Saudi regions of Jizan and Najran, we arrived at Maran—a small, picturesque town nestled in the hills. This was Hussein’s hometown and resting place, located in a naturally defensible spot with steep terrain.

The Houthi forces built a majestic “Martyrs’ Cemetery” on a high point resembling an eagle’s beak, constructed primarily in off-white stone and offering panoramic views of the surrounding mountains. On the town’s broadest hilltop—nearly 1,000 square meters—they also built a grand marble plaza for Hussein’s tomb. At the center lies a beautifully crafted rectangular sarcophagus engraved with Quranic verses. Along a long flight of concrete stairs descending the mountain, another burial site can be found, along with a cave where Hussein once hid from government troops during the early revolutionary days.

Shami, our guide and recently resigned Minister of Information, accompanied us throughout. He vividly narrated the life of Hussein and the legends of the Houthi movement, especially the six-year “First War” from 2004 to 2010, recounting dramatic life-and-death struggles between the Houthis and the government, and the key figures who played roles in that era.

What stood out was Shami’s emphasis that the Houthi movement doesn’t operate on a cycle of revenge and has moved beyond tribal narrow-mindedness. Many former mortal enemies who once exchanged gunfire with them are now colleagues and comrades, holding positions in the Houthi-led administration. In fact, none of the Houthi officials who accompanied us to Saada—including the escorts, bodyguards, and drivers—were from Saada. They hailed from Sana’a, Ibb, Marib, and even more distant provinces. Former Houthi Prime Minister Habtoor, whom I had interacted with several times, is from Aden and once served as its governor—suggesting he is likely a Sunni Muslim.

My Houthi friends told me that they don’t differentiate by sect or region; they believe in “One Yemeni Family.” The Houthi movement’s ability to sweep through northwest Yemen and ultimately control more than half the country would have been impossible without such inclusiveness.

In 1962, a republican revolution broke out in North Yemen, ending more than 1,000 years of Zaidi Imamate theocratic rule. Afterward, Zaidi elites and the population found themselves caught between the internal pressure of Yemen’s secular republicanism and external pressure from Saudi-supported Sunni Salafism, and were gradually marginalized. In 1992, aiming to revive “Zaidism,” religious leader Hussein from Saada established the “Believing Youth” movement. Through religious schooling and preaching, it spread religious and political ideas, resisting the republican regime led by Saleh internally and countering Saudi ideological expansion externally, while also laying out a vision for an Iranian-style Islamic regime.

In 1994, four years after Yemeni unification, civil war broke out. Hussein, who belonged to the same powerful Hashid tribe as Saleh, led Saada tribal militias to help the government suppress the southern rebellion—partly out of tribal interests and other political calculations—thereby growing his own power.

After 2001, as the U.S. launched wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, the Saleh government was forced to align with the U.S., supporting troop deployments to both countries. While the Houthis did not support international terrorism, they consistently adhered to anti-American and anti-Zionist ideology, focused on liberating Islamic lands and reviving Islam. This caused the two sides to become enemies again. In 2004, a six-year civil war broke out between the Houthis and government forces. Hussein was killed early in the conflict. His successors renamed the “Believing Youth” to the “Houthis” in his honor, vowing to carry on his fight until a ceasefire was brokered by Saudi Arabia in 2010.

In 2011, the Arab Spring reached Yemen. The country plunged into political chaos. Losing both military and popular support, and abandoned by the Hashid tribe, Saleh was forced to resign. With backing from Saudi Arabia and other Gulf states, the Hadi government—mainly supported by southern factions—was established. In 2014, amid efforts to form a federal system, the Houthis rebelled again, claiming their interests were not being protected. They swiftly entered the capital, seized power, and—teaming up with Saleh for the third time—set up parallel administrative and legislative institutions to replace the Hadi government, forcing it into exile in Saudi Arabia.

On March 25, 2015, Saudi Arabia formed a “Ten-Nation Coalition” of Arab and Islamic countries to intervene in Yemen’s civil war, and on March 26 officially began airstrikes against the Houthis—ushering in a new phase of the conflict. The Houthis declared Saudi Arabia, its allies, and their Western backer, the United States, as enemies. The following year, with Jordan and others mediating, the Houthis began peace talks with the coalition. In 2017, Saleh—accused by the Houthis of betrayal and of negotiating for personal gain—broke ranks. Disputes over military control further escalated tensions. Eventually, Saleh was intercepted and executed by the Houthis while fleeing Sana’a.

By 2023, the Houthis had become a powerful force, controlling half the country. They extended Hussein’s anti-American, anti-Israel ideology abroad and, for the first time, intervened in the Israel-Palestine conflict. They became a solid pillar of the “Axis of Resistance,” opened a front in the Red Sea, targeted Israel, and even launched airstrikes deep inside Israeli territory—triggering military retaliation from the U.S., U.K., and others.

On the night of the 27th, after having iftar in Saada, we concluded our rapid tour of the Houthi stronghold and began our overnight journey back to Sana’a. The drive took nearly four hours, with no streetlights along the way—our young driver relied entirely on his familiarity with the roads. He had been driving all day, and we worried about whether he had the strength to stay alert. But Yemenis have their own way—both the driver and the bodyguard riding shotgun kept chewing qat leaves for energy, seasoned by years of battlefield experience. The bodyguard, only 23 years old, was already a veteran with five years of combat experience.

While we were away from Sana’a, media reports indicated that the U.S. and U.K. had launched airstrikes on Sana’a International Airport and other targets. Shortly after midnight, we returned to the noisy city of Sana’a. We had barely settled into our hotel for half an hour, just beginning to notify friends and family via WeChat, when a series of thunderous explosions erupted in the clear night sky. The sound of F-16 fighter jets circling overhead followed, along with sporadic anti-aircraft fire. Drawing on my extensive frontline experience in Gaza and Baghdad, I could almost identify every model of jet, missile, bomb, or bullet just by sound. My immediate reaction: “The U.S. is launching an airstrike.” And this was the first time during my week in Yemen that I directly experienced and heard a U.S. strike.

On the 29th, I left Yemen as planned, bidding farewell to the Houthi movement, with whom I had only just begun to interact and was far from familiar. Yet, the Houthis have now risen to become a key part of the “Axis of Resistance” and an important player on the Middle Eastern stage. This political “celebrity” or “nouveau riche” type of non-state actor, despite Yemen’s extreme poverty and streets full of struggling citizens, has positioned itself as the backbone and vanguard of “Palestinian liberation.” In my view, its enthusiastic promotion of the Palestinian cause is a strategy aimed at shielding itself under the banners of pan-Islamism and pan-Arab nationalism, using the turmoil it stirs in the Middle East—especially in the Red Sea and Eastern Mediterranean—to gain broader domestic, regional, and international legitimacy. Ultimately, this is a bid to force the international community to recognize it as Yemen’s sole legitimate representative, or at the very least, to secure dominance and voice in the process of forming a joint government.

This trip may not have yielded every possible gain, but it still brought many insights—some even unexpected. That said, the regrets are obvious. Despite our repeated requests, we never got the chance to visit the front lines to see Houthi soldiers, equipment, or camps. We had no opportunity to speak with their top leader—Hussein’s brother and successor Abdul-Malik al-Houthi. We didn’t visit the crucial Red Sea port city of Hudaydah under Houthi control, let alone conduct a full investigation in rival-controlled areas like Aden or Taiz.

Fouad, an advisor to the Houthi “Prime Minister” who coordinated my entire visit, tried to reassure me, saying, “It’s okay. Come again next year. We’ll take you to Aden, or anywhere else you want to go.” This wasn’t just his personal wish—it likely reflects the broader ambition of the Houthis to one day unify and rule the entire country.

Prof. Ma is the Dean of the Institute of Mediterranean Studies (ISMR) at Zhejiang International Studies University in Hangzhou. He specializes in international politics, particularly Islam and Middle Eastern affairs. He previously worked as a senior Xinhua correspondent in Kuwait, Palestine, and Iraq.

The Houthi War: The “Sixth Middle East War” and the Palestinian Narrative