Ma’n Ahmed Qassem Dammaj
Academic and Lecturer in Philosophy at Sana’a University, Writer
Sixty-three years have passed since the September 26, 1962 Revolution in North Yemen, and sixty-two years since the October 14 Revolution in the South. Both revolutions remain at the heart of Yemen’s political and social struggle, as much in the reckoning of their achievements and failures as in the fate of the promises made to the people in both the North and the South.
Perhaps the first paradox to be noted in Yemenis’ relationship with the September Revolution—after eleven years of Sana’a falling to the Houthis (and their then-partner Ali Abdullah Saleh, whom they later eliminated)—is the revival of the spirit of September’s meaning. The Houthis are considered the natural cultural extension of the Imamate state toppled by the September 1962 Revolution, as well as the families that monopolized power under sectarian, religious, and dynastic pretexts.
The commemoration of September has since grown, after it had previously been reduced to a hollow official ritual with little meaning to the people. In fact, many sectors of society came to resent it after Saleh’s regime turned it into a justification for entrenching social inequalities and serving his ruling class.
Now, however, the people reclaim the memory of September as a tool to express their rejection of the Houthi project—a political agenda rooted in domination, exclusion, sectarianism, dynastic privilege, and violent coercion.
The September 26 Revolution can be credited with historic social and political accomplishments. Chief among them: abolishing the “medieval theocratic autocracy” of the Imamate, declaring the first Republic in the Arabian Peninsula, and unleashing broad social transformations that opened paths for the majority.
Through public education, which the Revolution expanded, and through the newly formed national army, the broader population gained an avenue for social mobility and upward change, improving their socio-economic conditions and opening the doors of modernity to a people long imprisoned—according to many historians—in the equivalent of the fourteenth century at best.
Yet despite all these gains, September remained unable to forge true social integration. The legacy of the medieval Imamate system and Yemen’s entrenched economic and social underdevelopment prevented the establishment of equal citizenship for all Yemenis.
Power remained concentrated in the northern tribal regions, entrenching two levels of citizenship within the structure of authority. In this sense, the September Revolution can be seen as a transfer of dominance: from “religious sectarian elites” (mainly Hashemite families competing for rule) to tribal chieftains of the northern Zaydi areas, in alliance with military leaders from the same region and the “emerging commercial bourgeoisie.”
While legally and constitutionally all citizens were supposed to enjoy equal rights and opportunities, the reality was different. Discrimination between northern tribal areas and the so-called lower Yemen weighed heavily on citizens’ lives.
Even with participation by commercial elites from across the country, and even with bureaucratic leadership often drawn from outside the tribal north, the last two decades saw the state morph into mafia-like networks monopolizing wealth and fighting over resource rents. This explains the recurrent struggles within the ruling elite before, during, and after the February 2011 uprising.
Thus, the unresolved task of achieving equal citizenship and dismantling the “historic concentration of power” in the northern highlands remained at the forefront of September’s unfinished agenda.
In recent years, September has also been restored as a popular national occasion of defiance against Houthi rule. What began as modest celebrations in villages like Al-Nadirah and Al-Sadda—birthplace of Ali Abdul-Mughni, the young Free Officer who became a revolutionary symbol after his martyrdom—has since grown into a wave swelling each year. In the last two years, it reached its height in Sana’a, Ibb, Dhamar, and across many rural areas under Houthi control, turning into a nightmare that haunts the group year after year.
Despite Houthi bans, mass arrests—including of women and children—and systematic intimidation, Yemenis continued to display September’s symbols. They proved unable to stop people from commemorating the Revolution, which has become one of the most powerful signs of public opposition to their rule.
Some interpreted this year’s broad campaign of arrests—particularly in Ibb Province, starting more than three months before September—as an attempt by the Houthis to preemptively instill fear and prevent demonstrations. Such readings align with Houthi propaganda, which, despite cloaking itself in rhetoric about supporting Gaza and resisting “American-Zionist plots,” betrays deep anxiety over September’s enduring power.
The popular revalorization of the September Revolution has often been idealized, even romanticized—embracing it as wholly virtuous, even its periods of regression under Saleh’s attempt to cement dynastic control. While nostalgia for the state and stability prior to the rise of the “Houthi scourge” partly explains this renewed attachment, the deeper reason lies in September’s values of freedom, equality, and dismantling social privilege.
Above all, this resurgence embodies the spirit of resistance and defiance against everything the Houthi movement stands for—a spirit likely to grow year after year, day after day, despite the failures of the so-called legitimate authorities and the self-absorbed rivalries of political and cultural elites.
