Qobool Abdo Al-Absi
Chairperson of Qarar Foundation for Media and Development
In exile, the 26th of September is no longer just a passing memory but has become an occasion through which Yemeni communities revive the spirit of revolution and pass its stories on to new generations. For Yemenis abroad, this date is more than a national celebration; it is the voice of identity and a memory that refuses to fade. In Cairo, for example, the Yemeni embassy organizes an annual celebration of the revolution attended by members of the diplomatic mission and community leaders. Youth and women participate actively, wearing national attire, carrying flags, and singing the national anthem in scenes that blend nostalgia with pride.
Suhail Yaseen, a Yemeni statistician, explains that for him, “the revolution carries the same meaning it does for Yemenis at home; it is a living memory that preserves the path our people have taken and enables us to continue building where our predecessors left off. September represents a station from which we draw fuel for self-confidence, embedding in the Yemeni personality the belief in our ability to govern ourselves. It is also a symbolic reservoir to which we always return in search of tools and methods to correct the flaws that have slowed the republican ship.”
Yemeni writer Jolan Al-Wuraidi explains in a heartfelt tone that “September 26, for me, is not just a date carved into the memory of a homeland I left behind, but the last remnant of struggle—a fiery bridge connecting me to my roots. The revolution transforms from a national event into a personal ritual I embrace, as an exile embraces old family photos. We meet in small circles, carrying our hearts like flags, clapping to the songs of the revolution, because the most we can do in exile is clap in freedom.”
These testimonies are carried through evenings and cultural events, accompanied by national songs and symbolic celebrations of Yemeni communities across different countries of exile. In the streets of Cairo and other cities where Yemeni communities gather, the anniversary takes shape in spontaneous celebrations decorated with flags, echoing national anthems, and retelling the stories of the forefathers about the birth of the republic. None of these initiatives had governmental support; rather, they were born from the conviction of youth and women in the sanctity of this day. For them, September 26 is not just a date but a living identity and a renewed covenant each year, no matter how places or circumstances change. As Al-Wuraidi further notes: “Some are born inside a house without ever seeing the key. That is the state of the new generation, living between two times: the time of the revolution, which they did not witness, and the time of exile, in which they were born. Some lost the thread that connects them to their roots, but we all know we began from there.”
Yaseen believes that the connection of new generations to September varies depending on the stage of migration and the conditions of the host countries. Some left Yemen after the collapse of the state project and the rise of militias, carrying deep frustration, yet they found in September a source of solace and determination. He adds: “No matter how intense the pain and injustice, September closed a chapter that was harsher and darker.”
Yet this momentum abroad contrasts sharply with the scene inside Yemen. On the morning of September 26, 1962, a new dawn rose over Yemen, announcing the birth of the Yemen Arab Republic after the revolution toppled the Imamate regime that had ruled for centuries. That moment represented the beginning of a new era in which Yemenis dreamed of freedom, equal citizenship, education, and health for all. The revolution was not the work of men alone; women were partners from the very beginning. They contributed to protecting the revolution, enshrining republican principles, joining demonstrations and protests, playing a key role in spreading revolutionary awareness and clarifying its objectives, as well as offering nursing services, logistical support, and direct political participation. Thanks to those sacrifices, the revolution’s major goals were achieved, and the republican system was established, promising democracy and equality for all citizens regardless of gender, race, or religion.
But the dream remained incomplete. More than half a century later, Yemenis found themselves facing a reality that reproduced the past they thought they had overcome. On September 21, 2014, the Houthis seized Sana’a, opening a new chapter of conflict that deeply undermined the gains of the revolution. Women’s rights, for which generations had fought, receded. Restrictions on movement, education, and work were reimposed, while many female workers and activists faced arrest and enforced disappearance, as documented by human rights organizations.
Over time, the anniversary of September 26 within Yemen became clouded by repression. Schools were banned from holding national events, the national flag was prohibited and replaced with slogans tied to the September 21 coup, and even primary school curricula were altered: references to the September Revolution were deleted, lessons about the state, authorities, and despotism were removed, replaced by materials reflecting the group’s narrative of identity and their so-called defense of the homeland.
Thus, while the militia attempts to erase the traces of the September Revolution at home, Yemenis abroad insist on keeping it alive in memory. Women narrate its stories as personal heritage, youth transform it into a contemporary political discourse, and communities organize cultural and educational events for their children. For Yemenis in exile, celebrating September is not mere nostalgia for the past but an act of cultural and political resistance, and a safeguard of a threatened national identity. It is a reminder that the revolution is not an event that has passed but an open project linking generations and granting them the power to resist forgetting—awaiting the moment when September can once again be celebrated freely in Yemen’s public squares, without fear or censorship, just as it was first born.
