Cairo Magazine - Pen battles sword

Source: Stacey Philbrick Yadav

For better or worse, Yemen has been touted as an example of democratization in the Arabian Peninsula ever since 1990, when the two halves of the country unified under a new democratic constitution. And indeed, regular, reasonably free elections for a national parliament and local councils occur against a backdrop of a prolific press that is freer than most in the region, according to international estimates.

Yet at the same time, this is a place where journalists are tried, tortured and imprisoned while politicians are gunned down in public.

Recent years have cast a shadow on Yemen and seen an increasingly tight grip by the ruling regime that has come at the expense of its citizens’ freedoms, especially in the press. The government has started to ban any criticism from a fiercely independent press that on one hand has been very critical of the government, but on the other hand has been accused of inciting violence and even assassination of those it disagrees with—something that has not endeared it to the NGO community it often targets.

Many locate the roots of the deterioration of democracy in the fact that democratic mechanisms were always seen as a means to a unified end, rather than as a real commitment to the ideals. When the Socialist People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen and the Yemen Arab Republic united in 1990 to form the Republic of Yemen, a system of “checks and balances” was seen as an essential way to keep both sides at the table, an insurance policy against secession.

But the brief 1994 civil war, in which the leadership of the Yemeni Socialist Party retreated to their former capital in Aden and were thoroughly routed by the Northern forces, obviated the need for such practices. The Northern victory was so total that the regime now makes only sporadic use of its fledgling (and foundering) democratic freedoms. In regions where the ruling GPC of President Ali Abdallah Saleh does not field candidates for local elections, for example, independents pledge their loyalty to the GPC after winning posts.

In the eyes of many Yemeni politicians and journalists, the retreat of these “constitutionally guaranteed” freedoms reached their peak in 2004. While the number of newspapers in circulation is still quite impressive, the scope of discussion is narrowing. With the Press Syndicate calling it a “black year” for journalistic freedoms, 2004 saw a virtual press ban on coverage of the armed uprising in the city of Saada, the controversial closure of Al Shura newspaper, and the jailing of Al Shura’s editor-in-chief Abdel Karim Al Khaiwani topping a long list of infringements on press freedoms. And now a press law that allows such arrests and specifically outlaws all but “constructive criticism” of the president is being revised to make it even tougher.

Meanwhile the press itself, in its single-minded pursuit of freedom of expression, allows irresponsible and life-threatening reporting, labeling public figures apostates and creating an atmosphere of intimidation. It is a measure of irony that the press itself contributes to narrowing the scope of public expression in Yemen.

War and censorship

It is no accident that press freedoms were most significantly rolled back in 2004. The increased restrictions occurred alongside the government’s armed response to Zaydi Shia cleric Hussein Al Houthi’s uprising in the northern city of Saada. While making headlines again this month, the conflict was at its height in the summer of 2004, when the Yemeni army laid siege to Saada in an attempt to take Al Houthi into custody. The cleric, who was taking a vocal position against Yemeni cooperation with the U.S. war on terror, was protected by a group of armed partisans, known as the Shebab Al Mumineen, or the Faithful Youth.

Serious fighting escalated over the summer, leading to heavy casualties on both sides, including the death of Al Houthi himself in early September and considerable civilian death and infrastructural damage in and around Saada. Journalists and NGOs were not granted entry, and even UNICEF and other UN relief organizations were required to work through local NGOs with ties to different political parties in order to distribute services, making realistic estimates of the dead and wounded difficult to obtain.

In many ways, press freedom became another casualty of the violence in Saada. While international monitoring agencies have documented all manner of harassment, from the revocation of licenses to physical assaults and detention, the most high-profile case was certainly that of Abdel Karim Al Khaiwani, the editor-in-chief of Al Shura newspaper.

Al Khaiwani, like many in the opposition, took a vocal position against what he saw as the government’s excessive use of force in Saada and began advocating some of Al Houthi’s positions himself. As a result, the paper was closed and Al Khaiwani himself was arrested, tried and convicted of incitement to violence, insulting the president and inciting tribal and religious conflict, among other charges.

By early spring, when his case was scheduled to come up for appeal, Al Khaiwani’s face was plastered on lamp posts and bus stops all around Sanaa, and his freedom had become the clarion call of an entire class of journalists, politicians and public intellectuals. On 22 March, the court of appeals upheld his conviction, but—perhaps bending to international pressures—President Ali Abdallah Saleh pardoned the journalist the following day.

Presidential fiat may have put an end to the Al Khaiwani case for now, but the same cannot be said of the Al Houthi saga, or the debate over press freedoms in Yemen. Shortly before Al Khaiwani was pardoned, Badr Al Din Al Houthi, father of the slain Hussein, gave an interview to the Yemeni weekly Al Wasat in which he made not-terribly-veiled threats against the government. Using a resonant religious metaphor, the elder Al Houthi recalled in the interview that it took the Imam Ali’s supporters two years before they were able to bring his assassins to justice. He then vowed to do whatever it might take to make the “modern Muawiya” pay for the death of his son.

Realizing the potential implications of what his father had said, one of Hussein Al Houthi’s brothers called the interviewing journalist, Gamal Awar, and asked him not to run the inflammatory statements. But Awar went ahead and printed them, telling Cairo later that the statements, which indeed constituted a threat against the government, were fair game. Within a few short weeks of the publication of the article, Badr Al Din Al Houthi fled Sanaa and returned to Saada, where the government is once again battling the Shebab Al Mumineen militia, with government and insurgent casualties reaching more than 200 last week alone, according to local sources in Saada.

In the Al Khaiwani case and the most recent Al Houthi statement, freedom of expression was curtailed because it targeted the president, a violation of the press law governing journalistic freedoms. But this type of call to arms, often issued through the Yemeni press and defended as free expression, is not confined to calls for violence against the state.

There are also frequent incitements of violence against individuals or groups in the pages of Yemeni newspapers, an issue on which the government is far less responsive. It has contributed to a general atmosphere of fear that threatens the fundamental openness that most agree has distinguished Yemeni society, north and south, for a long time. One of the most effective means of issuing such calls for violence, and one that becomes more prolific every day, is through takfir, or religious excommunication. (see box &?)

Assassination by the pen

A little more than two years since he was killed, Yemenis of all political stripe continue to mourn the loss of the most well-known victim of takfir in Yemen, Deputy Secretary-General of the Yemeni Socialist Party Jarallah Omar. On 28 December 2002, Omar was invited to address the annual convention of the Islamist Yemeni Reform Grouping (known locally as the Islah Party) at their party convention in Sanaa. When he returned to his seat following his address, one of the attendees walked up to him and shot him in the heart at point blank range—in the presence of thousands of witnesses.

Omar’s legacy as shahid al dimokratiya, or the martyr of democracy, continues to grow in Sanaani political circles, as people are increasingly intimidated. So what allowed the assassin, a disaffected former member of the Islah and student at the conservative salafi Al Iman University, to make such a brazen attack?

Many point to the widespread discussion in the press of a writ of takfir declaring open season on socialists and other non-believers. As Omar’s story indicates, takfir is having violent consequences in unified Yemen, and the press is deeply implicated in its proliferation.

The result is that while the government cracks down on journalists who criticize the president or incite violence against the government, it turns a blind eye to the incitement of violence against individuals on religious grounds. In many ways, this speaks to the Saleh regime’s efforts to court the Islamists as a part of its ongoing attempt to marginalize the Socialists. But even those within the Islamist Islah party are condemning the growth of takfir in the media.

Member of the Islah executive board Nabil Al Sofee, himself a journalist, recently told Cairo that, “I, as an Islahi, believe that people have the right to write what they want, against others, even against Islam.” Not everyone, however, shares Al Sofee’s position. He was recently forced out of the editorial board of Al Sahwa, the party paper.

Part of the problem is that takfir in Yemen has increasingly become a form of “popular” labeling and is rarely expressed as a legal opinion offered by a trained sheikh. Instead, it is often as simple as a newspaper running an article identifying someone as a kafir (unbeliever) and offering speculative “evidence” of the alleged apostasy. In the wake of the Omar assassination, this is often enough to produce the desired effect.

Jamal Al Awadhi, for example, admitted that he stepped down from a high-profile position in the office of the president of the national Majlis Al Shura due to claims that he was a . These allegations, published in the semi-official paper Al Mithaq, were based on his willingness to meet with members of the foreign diplomatic community.

Similar charges were brought against Nasserist party leader Ali Seif Hassan, who holds a well-attended weekly qat chew for political leaders from all of the major opposition parties and often invites the staff of foreign NGOs or diplomatic missions to attend and participate. He was accused by Al Mithaq and others of being both a kafir and an agent of the CIA. Others, including Al Awadhi, have alleged that he stepped down in the face of media accusations, an interpretation that Hassan has not denied.

To their credit, Al Awadhi, Hassan and others have continued to do the work that they believe will help build democracy in Yemen. While both may have given up their positions, they have gone on to found NGOs designed to promote dialogue between civil society activists, the opposition and the international community. Al Awadhi has formed the Center for Human Rights and Democratic Development, and Hassan has formalized his qat chewing sessions, registering the weekly meeting as an NGO known as the Political Development Forum. Both men are committed to continuing their work, but know that they do so in an environment in which they can count on little support from either the press or the government.

On their own

It is within this context that the NGO community has largely been cool to fighting against press restriction—the perception being that the press wants to preserve freedom of expression at all costs, even when it comes to the endangerment of other people’s lives.

In the wake of both the Al Houthi affair and the Al Khaiwani trial, the government is in the process of completing a new press law that even further restricts journalistic freedoms. The press community is, quite understandably, in an uproar. But with the Information Ministry sidestepping the Journalists’ Syndicate and drafting the new law without any outside input from the press community, the journalists’ anger is falling on deaf ears.

At a recent syndicate-sponsored “town meeting” on the issue, syndicate vice-president Sayeed Thabit Sayeed noted passionately from the podium that, “we don’t want a press law at all, but if there’s going to be one, we most certainly demand that the syndicate play a constructive role in its drafting!”

Deputy Foreign Minister Moustafa Noman is concerned about the international fallout of what is being perceived of as the retreat of basic freedoms in Yemen. Nevertheless, when it comes to the recent arrests and restrictions, he still feels that “the journalists have to blame themselves, at least in part,” he told Cairo. “This law has always been on the books—they can’t trust the government not to enforce it, just because they haven’t enforced it before.”

When it was pointed out to him that the controversy has less to do with the existence of the law than the fact that the syndicate has been excluded from the negotiations concerning the revisions, he maintained that they shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, until the law was already being reviewed by parliament, to mobilize support for their position. This should have been a syndicate priority from the beginning, said Noman.

And he does have a point. Up until the situation reached its current critical levels in 2004, the Journalists’ Syndicate—like many other professional associations—largely concerned itself with the mundane business of issuing press cards and journalistic credentials. But in its recent desire to promote freedom of expression at all costs, the syndicate has supported some highly irresponsible journalism, with life-altering effects for some of its targets.

Not too surprisingly, the syndicate has also made some enemies in the NGO community, who say that Yemeni journalists are unwilling to share their role as “public intellectuals” with a growing class of technocrats and activists. This may help to explain why—despite broadly-distributed invitations—representatives of the growing civil society community in Yemen were largely absent from the meeting at the Journalists’ Syndicate regarding the new press law.

While falling short of a boycott, the tension between journalists and activists in Sanaa is palpable. When asked why he did not attend the town meeting, Al Awadhi complained that, “journalists don’t believe that NGOs have a role to play in democratizing Yemen. But when one of their own is attacked or imprisoned, they come to the NGOs to issue reports and internationalize the issue.”

Noman suggests that the first step in building the capacity of the syndicate and addressing some of the concerns of both the government and civil society activists would be for the syndicate to exercise some kind of “quality control” over the publications of its members. But at this point, this kind of self-imposed censorship remains something that the syndicate categorically rejects, irrespective of the consequences.

As a result, the future prospects for democracy in Yemen are looking worse each day. While everyone may agree that freedom of expression is a necessary feature of democracy, an irresponsible press that intimidates civil society is a major barrier to reform. Perhaps Islah’s Al Sofee put it best when he said categorically that “there can be no takfir in democracy.”

Stacey Philbrick Yadav is a Ph.D. candidate in Political Science at the University of Pennsylvania and a resident of Cairo. She is currently conducting fieldwork in Yemen and Lebanon.