Mukalla has the look of a coastal city that learned to live with uncertainty. The cranes on the port stand like patient insects. Trucks idle. Fishermen do what fishermen always do. Then the message arrives: evacuate. A Saudi-led coalition announcement tells civilians to clear away from the harbor. Hours later, the airstrike hits. The United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia’s long-time partner in Yemen, says it will now pull out its remaining forces. In a war famous for blurred enemies, the newest rupture is between allies who once promised to “restore the government.” If Yemen is the kind of conflict that disappears from your feed and returns as a single word, withdrawal, it’s because the war has conditioned the world to follow the loudest moment and ignore the long story underneath. But Yemen is not one war. It is several wars stacked on top of each other: a fight for the capital, a fight for the south, a fight for the border, and a fight over whether Yemen is even meant to exist as one country. Today’s Saudi–UAE crisis is not a separate storyline. It is the plot turning on itself.

Reader promise:

If you know nothing about Yemen, this section will get you oriented quickly. Who the Houthis are, who leads them, why Saudi Arabia intervened, what the UAE wanted, what changed after the 2022 truce, and why today’s “withdrawal” is not the end of anything.

The Players: Who Actually Runs What

Start with a simple truth. Yemen’s war is often described as a struggle between “the Houthis” and “the government.” But those are labels for systems of power, and power has names.

Abdul-Malik al-Houthi is the Houthi movement’s central figure, its spiritual and political leader since 2007. He rarely appears in public, but his speeches shape the movement’s tone and its sense of mission. Around him sits an inner circle of family members and long-trusted commanders, built for loyalty and endurance.

Day-to-day administration in Houthi-held areas runs through their governing bodies in Sana’a, including the Supreme Political Council. Mahdi al-Mashat is widely described as the head of that council, the public-facing executive of Houthi rule. If Abdul-Malik is the movement’s “source,” al-Mashat is the signature on the paperwork.

So who “controls” the Houthis? Inside Yemen, the answer is straightforward: Abdul-Malik’s leadership and the movement’s internal security and command structure keep it coherent. Outside Yemen, the answer is more careful. The Houthis are not generally described as a puppet organization that takes daily orders from a foreign capital. But a confidential UN report described how support from Iran’s Revolutionary Guards, Hezbollah, and other external actors helped transform the Houthis from a localized militia into a far more capable military force. That matters because it explains how a northern insurgency developed missiles, drones, and tactics that changed the region’s threat perception.

On the other side of Yemen’s fractured legitimacy is the internationally recognized government, now operating through the Presidential Leadership Council formed in April 2022. Rashad al-Alimi is commonly cited as the council’s chairman. But “government,” in Yemen’s war, often means a coalition of factions, patrons, and militias trying to act like a state while the state itself is hollowed by conflict.

Then comes the southern wildcard: the Southern Transitional Council, led by Aidarous al-Zoubaidi, whose project is not merely defeating the Houthis. It is redefining Yemen. For many STC supporters, the goal is a return of South Yemen as a separate state, or at least a southern autonomy strong enough to eventually become one. The STC has been linked in reporting to long-term Emirati backing, which is why today’s Saudi–UAE rupture is so dangerous. It is a disagreement over the map itself.

How the War Started, and Why 2015 Still Shapes Everything

Before Yemen became a global humanitarian headline, it was a story about who belongs. In the far north, around Saada, a movement emerged that argued the modern Yemeni state had ignored northern communities and traded their dignity for corruption and foreign influence. The movement became known as the Houthis, after the family that helped lead it. Their formal name, Ansar Allah, “Supporters of God,” is not just branding. It is how they understand themselves: as a religiously rooted corrective force, not a temporary rebellion.

The Houthis are rooted in Zaydi Islam, a tradition found mainly in northern Yemen. Zaydism is part of Shia Islam, which is one of the two major branches of Islam. The Sunni–Shia divide began as a dispute over leadership after the Prophet Muhammad died. Sunnis recognize the early caliphs chosen by the community. Shia traditions place special legitimacy in leadership linked to Ali, Muhammad’s cousin and son-in-law, and Ali’s family line. Zaydis share that devotion to Ali’s line, while also developing a legal and cultural tradition that scholars often describe as closer in practice to Sunni schools than many other Shia traditions. This matters because outsiders sometimes treat “Shia” as one uniform identity, when in Yemen it is tied to specific regions, histories, and grievances.

In 2014, the Houthis moved from northern strongholds into the political heart of the country. They seized Sana’a, Yemen’s capital, and quickly turned influence into control of state institutions. To their supporters, it looked like a revolution against a failed transition. To their rivals, it looked like a coup carried out by force.

Then came March 2015. Saudi Arabia, newly under King Salman, launched a coalition intervention. The official explanation was legitimacy: the recognized Yemeni leadership had been pushed out, and Saudi Arabia said it was acting to restore the government and prevent a hostile armed movement from taking over a neighbor on its southern border. But legitimacy was only half the story. The other half was fear and prestige. A Houthi-run Yemen, the Saudis believed, could become a permanent pressure point on the Kingdom’s border, and a strategic win for Iran’s regional posture, whether Iran controlled the Houthis or simply benefited from their survival.

One way to understand Saudi urgency is to remember that Yemen is not distant from Saudi Arabia in the way foreign wars usually are. A map makes it look like two countries. The border makes it feel like one long, porous neighborhood. As the war dragged on, missiles and drones launched from Houthi-held territory became part of the Saudi public’s sense of vulnerability. Human Rights Watch documented how a Houthi strike on Riyadh’s international airport in 2017 raised serious concerns about indiscriminate attacks. Those moments hardened the Saudi case that Yemen was not a war of choice, it was a war that had arrived at their doorstep.

And yet, even in 2015, Yemen was never only “Saudi Arabia versus the Houthis.” The south was already a separate argument about identity. The longer the war went on, the more the anti-Houthi camp turned into a marketplace of agendas: restore the central state, restore the south, secure ports, fight jihadist groups, control oil fields, control customs revenue, control the future.

In April 2022, the war changed tempo. A UN-mediated truce began on April 2, 2022, and fighting dropped significantly. For ordinary Yemenis it felt, briefly, like the future had been returned to them in small increments: a quieter night, a less terrifying road, a chance that the next month would resemble the last. But the truce expired on October 2, 2022. The war did not fully roar back everywhere, but Yemen slid into a new phase that is psychologically brutal: neither all-out war nor real peace, a frozen front line with a collapsing economy underneath.

The Map in Words: A Walk Through Yemen’s Fragmented Power

Imagine Yemen as a country where the capital does not automatically mean control of the coastline, where the south can feel like another nation, and where a port can become a political weapon.

In Sana’a and much of the northwest, the Houthis operate as a governing authority. They run institutions, enforce laws, collect revenue, and speak as a state. Whatever one thinks of their legitimacy, their durability has become a fact of Yemen’s political landscape.

In parts of the south and east, the internationally recognized government exists in a complicated form, often dependent on alliances with local forces, regional patrons, and negotiated arrangements. The Presidential Leadership Council was designed to unify the anti-Houthi camp. The problem is that unity is also the one thing every faction fears, because unity decides who must surrender autonomy.

In Aden and across southern corridors, the Southern Transitional Council has pursued its own vision of the state. Its argument is old and emotional: the south was once its own country, and many southerners believe the post-unification order never treated them as equal partners. In today’s Yemen, that grievance is no longer a slogan. It has become a territorial reality, and it is the beating heart of the Saudi–UAE dispute playing out this week.

Finally, threaded through the chaos, extremist groups like Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula have exploited governance vacuums. This is why foreign actors often describe their remaining deployments as “counterterrorism” even when Yemenis experience those forces as part of a wider struggle over sovereignty.

Questions Readers Ask About the Yemen War

Who are the Houthis, in plain English?

The Houthis, who call themselves Ansar Allah (“Supporters of God”), began as a northern Yemeni revival movement that blended religion, local grievance, and politics. Over time they became an organized armed force, then a governing authority in the areas they control, including the capital, Sana’a.

What does “Shi’ite” mean, and how is it different from Sunni?

Sunni and Shi’ite are the two largest branches of Islam. The split began as an argument about leadership after the Prophet Muhammad died. Sunnis generally recognize the early caliphs chosen by the community, while Shi’ites place special legitimacy in leadership linked to Ali, Muhammad’s cousin and son-in-law, and Ali’s family line. In Yemen, the Houthi base is mostly Zaydi, a Shi’ite tradition concentrated in the north.

What is “Zaydi Shi’ism,” and why does it matter in Yemen?

Zaydism is a branch of Shi’ite Islam historically rooted in northern Yemen. It matters because Yemen’s modern politics can’t be separated from regional identity. When a northern movement says, “We were sidelined,” it’s not only economic, it’s also cultural, historical, and religious, tied to where power used to live and where it shifted after Yemen’s modern state took shape.

Who leads the Houthis, and who “controls” them?

The movement’s central leader is Abdul-Malik al-Houthi. In the areas they govern, public executive authority runs through their institutions in Sana’a, including the Supreme Political Council. Outside powers do not “run” the Houthis day to day, but credible reporting and UN-linked findings have described how Iranian and Hezbollah support helped expand Houthi military capability, which is one reason the war became a regional security issue.

How did the Yemen war actually start?

The war’s modern phase accelerated when the Houthis seized Sana’a in 2014 and the internationally recognized government lost control. In March 2015, Saudi Arabia and partners intervened militarily, saying they were acting to restore that government and to stop a hostile armed movement from consolidating power on Saudi Arabia’s border.

Why did Saudi Arabia get involved?

Saudi Arabia saw the Houthi takeover as a direct border threat and a strategic shock: a heavily armed movement, hostile to Riyadh, holding power next door. It also feared the regional implications of Iranian influence growing through Houthi strength, whether Iran “controlled” the Houthis or simply benefited from their rise. And there was prestige: the Kingdom publicly committed to restoring Yemen’s recognized government, then became tied to that promise.

What is the Southern Transitional Council (STC), and why does it matter?

The STC is a powerful southern Yemeni movement that argues the south should have autonomy or independence. It matters because Yemen is not only a north-south battlefield, it is also a debate about whether Yemen should be one country at all. That internal fracture has repeatedly complicated efforts to present a “united” anti-Houthi side.

What happened today with the UAE “withdrawal”?

On December 30, 2025, Reuters and the Associated Press reported a sharp Saudi–UAE rupture after a Saudi-led strike on Mukalla port and Saudi-backed Yemeni leadership demanding Emirati forces leave within 24 hours. The UAE then said it would end the mission of its remaining counterterrorism units and withdraw. This is less “the war ending” than “the coalition fracturing.”

Did the war ever pause?

Yes. A UN-mediated truce began on April 2, 2022 and reduced major fighting. It was renewed but expired on October 2, 2022 when the parties did not agree to extend it. Since then, Yemen has lived in a damaging middle state: fewer large offensives, but deepening economic collapse and political fragmentation.

How many people have been killed, and how many need help?

One of the most cited UNDP estimates projects roughly 377,000 deaths by the end of 2021 from direct and indirect causes, with indirect deaths a majority. Humanitarian agencies say the crisis continues at massive scale: OCHA’s 2025 plan estimates about 19.5 million people in Yemen need assistance, and UNHCR reporting places the number of internally displaced people around 4.8 million.

Where is the conflict going next?

Three paths are most realistic: a negotiated freeze that hardens into partition, renewed fighting inside the anti-Houthi camp (especially in the south), or a regional shock that re-ignites large-scale violence. The newest variable is the Saudi–UAE dispute: if allies compete, Yemen’s map tends to fracture further.

Where can I read the most reliable baselines?

For humanitarian numbers, use UN OCHA and UNHCR. For conflict impact estimates, use UNDP. For the latest diplomatic and military developments, read wire services like Reuters and the Associated Press, then cross-check with UN reporting.

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