Transitional Politics in Egypt

The news that over 7,000 Egyptians have been tried in military courts since February raises important questions about the legitimacy of political authority in a post-Mubarak Egypt. Highly pertinent, such issues lie at the very heart of the debate surrounding the future of the political system. 4 months on, the legacy of the revolution remains in flux and the coming weeks will be crucial in determining whether we come to see those 18 days as a catalyst for genuine political change, or as the start of yet another elite-managed transfer of power.

A brief appraisal of their governing record so far may prove instructive here.

Although their narrative has been one of maintaining stability, the SCAF’s public posturing belies its own inaction. For example, their record on economic prosperity – one commonly cited reason for the ‘necessity’ of their rule – remains poor. For a start, unemployment continues to rise: some estimates suggest about 800,000 people have lost their jobs in the past three months. Furthermore, the SCAF’s attempts to mitigate the economic decline remains inadequate. The deployment of foreign currency reserves in order to prop up the Egyptian pound has only served to rapidly deplete those reserves with little success to show for it. If this trend accelerates, experts predict that Egypt could be left with almost no hard currency reserves by the end of the year. One likely consequence would then be market speculation and sales of pound-denominated holdings, plausibly leading to a currency collapse, and yet more economic and political turmoil.

Instead, it seems that the best chance for economic stability – an outcome that many crave – will come with the reform that (one hopes) will finally be enacted by the next government. As Jane Kinninmont points out, Egypt’s current economic problems have their roots in a deeper political malaise that requires institutional solutions. But how and when will the transition of power take place? The debate over when to hold elections continues to rage among the activist community. Although still a minority opinion among the wider population, the line of thought that prioritises constitutional reform over an immediate transfer of power seems to be gaining traction. However, this does raise questions as to who would determine the structure and contents of a new constitution. If the SCAF are not viewed as the legitimate authority to do so, then what is to say than another interim body would be?

Another common justification for a postponement of the elections relates to the strength of Egypt’s political parties. At present, it is believed that Islamist parties would be the largest beneficiaries of early elections. As the only political organisations that were able to operate in the Mubarak era – albeit under the constraints of sporadic and often immense repression – they remain best equipped to rally support at the ballot box. However, as Marc Lynch points out, this is not necessarily a bad thing.

The role of the Muslim Brotherhood in the ranks of Tahrir points to one of the greatest and most sharply contested legacies of the revolution: Who can legitimately claim to speak for the revolution? The loose coalition of youth activists and liberal politicians warn loudly that the Islamists might “hijack” the revolution. But the Muslim Brotherhood youth were in Tahrir as well, fighting hard. So were a wide coalition of workers, ordinary people, and the “Ultras” which have been receiving a bit of attention of late. Indeed, that diversity is precisely what made Tahrir so amazing. But if the Brothers were a key part of the assembled forces on Tahrir, then why do they not have equal claim on its legacy? Why should prominent and media-savvy young activists have a greater claim than the labor union leaders and ordinary people whose participation in the uprising helped it succeed where a decade of internet-led activism had mostly failed?

The success of the sort of representative democracy that western observers encourage did not occur over night. Rather than springing to life fully constituted, it emerged over centuries of political conflict and contestation. To manipulate the electoral process into favouring one particular strain of thought would seem reminiscent of the political stage-management for which both Mubarak and the SCAF have been criticised. Furthermore, arguments that justify postponement on this basis are rooted in the problematic assumption that democracy should only be measured by its substantive outcome. In a recent article,  Jillian Schwedler, Stacey Philbrick Yadav and Joshua Stacher offered an excellent deconstruction of this position:

Most people currently enjoying such choices elsewhere in the world would probably not agree that this is what is important about democracy, if it were put to them so starkly. Why do we herald choice when it comes to market practices, but evaluate outcomes when it comes to (other people’s) politics? The answer is the Islamists.

But as Issandr El Amrani argues, the postponement of elections could be used for more fruitful purposes. The extra time could, for example, see the authorities working towards the establishment of a more transparent electoral process:

Egypt’s referendum was held under a system in which it was impossible to ensure that people did not vote twice — staining thumbs with ink simply is not enough. Not enough is being done in both countries to ensure the electoral procedures are beyond reproach, and in Egypt there is too little consultation and transparency on the forthcoming electoral law. The governments of Egypt and Tunisia should be spending much of its time to make sure Egypt has the cleanest, most irreproachable election in its history.

For me, this remains the most compelling argument for any delay. A more transparent process would enhance the victors’ claim to legitimacy, ensuring the possibility of the sort of political stability that so many crave. It is this – and not the supposed steady hand of the SCAF – that will ultimately provide best chance for economic recovery. Not only are investors less likely to be deterred by the political uncertainty of a post-Mubarak Egypt, but the new government would have a more certain set of foundations upon which to build a new economic strategy. If elections are to be postponed, it should be for this reason, rather than out of ideological fears regarding the beneficiaries of an earlier polling day.

Saleh clutching at straws

True to form, today’s speech from Saleh was as fiery as it was predictable. As the months of protest have worn on in Yemen, these presidential appearances have become somewhat of a formality. Each week after Friday prayers, Saleh stands in front of a crowd of cheering (and likely, paid) supporters and condemns the protesters in increasingly colourful terms. Today’s target: the JMP. The unrest, it seems, it their fault, and they must be careful ‘not to play with fire’.

This accusation is worth unpacking, if only to expose how ludicrous it is. After a decade in which Saleh has turned the screw on formal politics , keeping the space for dissent to a bare minimum, the JMP have in fact struggled to gain a foothold in the protesters’ affections. The party’s obstacle has come in the form of history. Almost two decades of deference to the regime has rendered the party complicit in the perpetuation of Yemen’s weak political system, and the demonstrators know it.  According to Hamza Alshargabi,  a Yemeni blogger: ‘I, as many, perceive the leaders as a part of the regime; they have [been] stripped of their dignity.’ As Alshargabi’s comments suggest, the JMP’s tacit alliance with the regime provoked anger amongst many of the demonstrators who would make it clear that they neither trusted nor felt represented by the JMP leadership. This is the legacy of a political process that has co-opted the formal opposition into the President’s sphere of influence.

In pushing the label of protest ‘leaders’ upon the JMP, Saleh has only fueled the protesters anger and vindicated their sense of marginalisation from political life.When the JMP finally decided to support the protests, it was widely interpreted as yet another display of the same political opportunism, rather than a principled decision to ‘do the right thing’. Given this, it is interesting to note that figures such as Tawakkul Karman, a human rights activist who has adopted a high profile during the revolution and who is also a member of the Islah Party, have tended to emphasise the fact of their participation in a personal, rather than party-affiliated, capacity.

This newfound notion that formal politics is not an adequate forum for expression has presented particular problems for Saleh. Since the demonstrators have not mobilised along party lines, they now represent a diverse group of unlikely allies drawn together through informal links. This has been one of their biggest strengths: since the protests has no clear leader early on, the president was unable to target a figurehead and in so doing, halt them in their tracks. As a result, he necessarily had to pursue a strategy of (largely meaningless) ‘dialogue’ with the JMP as they were the only identifiable ‘opposition’ grouping he could be seen to engage with.

The claim that this uprising is the work of the JMP is further proof, if it were needed, that Saleh is clutching his final straws. The attempt to delegitimise a feeble political force is a sign of desperation.

Saleh: Is this goodbye? (Part 2)

Further to my earlier skepticism at Saleh’s resignation promise, today brought news of more bloodshed in Yemen. According to the BBC, security forces opened fire on demonstrators in Taiz, wounding 10:

Security forces erected concrete barriers to block roads leading to the Taiz governor’s office, and deployed armoured vehicles on the streets, witnesses said.

“There were thousands in a march who came from outside Taiz, but the police and army and gunmen in civilian clothes confronted them, opening fire with bullets and tear gas,” one witness told Reuters.

“They opened fire heavily from every direction.”

AFP are also reporting 30 injured and 2 dead in the southern city of Ibb:

“Security forces shot dead a protester and wounded 30 others, eight of them by live rounds,” a medical source in Ibb, south of Sanaa, told AFP.

In the southeastern province of Al-Baida, gunmen “belonging to the ruling party” opened fire at a sit-in demonstration, killing one protester, according to a witness.

Do these look like the actions of a regime about to concede power?

Saleh: Is this goodbye?

Just a quick post today as I try to make sense of the events in Yemen over the past 24 hours. Late last night, it was announced that President Saleh has accepted the terms of a GCC plan that would see him relinquish power within 30 days. Although this initially seems to be a victory for the protesters, the situation remains far from clear-cut.

What is the GCC plan?

According to Iona Craig:

under the latest draft, Yemen’s parliament would grant Saleh legal protection from prosecution. The president would submit his resignation within 30 days and hand power to his vice president, who would call for new presidential elections.

Potential sticking points

Saleh is an incredibly canny political operator. Whilst this latest announcement could signify an acceptance that his time is finally up, it could also be a last ditch attempt to split the protesters and formal opposition parties. Assuming it’s the former, there remain a number of problems with the GCC deal:

• The timeframe: although Saleh would remain at the helm for 30 days, a new government would be formed within a week of the deal being signed. This could give Saleh a good deal of leverage during the transition: despite important defections from the army and ruling party, large swathes of the political elite remain indebted to him.
• Parliament: under the terms of the deal, parliament would have the power to accept or reject Saleh’s resignation. This condition could yet provide his get-out-of-jail-free card. The overwhelming majority of parliament is drawn from Yemen’s ruling party, the GPC. As fully paid-up members of Saleh’s patronage networks, most of these individuals owe both their positions and their livelihoods to his continued support (never a good position from which to make an impartial decision). Should parliament reject the resignation, Saleh could potentially cling onto power. Pointing to ‘popular’ support and even a renewed legitimacy, he might recycle a tactic from 2006 when he reneged on a previous promise not to run for re-election.
• The family: Reports have suggested that the future of Saleh’s family has been an important sticking point in negotiations over his departure. After 38 years at the top, his sons and extended family are firmly embedded in the country’s political life: whilst the Republican Guard and Special Forces are under the control of his son, Ahmed, his personal protection force  is led by nephew, Tariq. Of course, this is just the tip of the iceberg and his dependents are present in all levels of the political system. Over the next 30 days, Saleh will presumably have a good deal of time to cut last minute deals and guarantee their positions for the future.
• Immunity: Whilst parts of the official opposition may settle for an immunity clause, it is unlikely that many of the protesters will accept such an option. Saleh’s bloody repression of the country’s northern al-Huthi rebellion and southern secessionist movement has led some to label him a war criminal. In adition, the last 3 months have seen over 130 protesters killed at the hands of his security forces. Such brutality will not be easily forgotten.

In addition, the plan calls for the JMP to halt demonstrations. This will be difficult: not only would the party struggle to  stop unaffiliated protesters from continuing to demonstrate – indeed, the capacity to mobilise large numbers without formal political organisation has been one of the uprising’s greatest strengths – but it would even have difficulty controlling its own members. The past few months have seen an increasing disconnect between the JMP’s young activists and its leadership. Many of the former have felt increasingly betrayed by the latter’s tacit alliance with the regime, reinforcing its preference for coexistence over confrontation. It is hard to see why the younger activists would suddenly end their participation in the demonstrations when there is so much left to achieve. This battle remains far from over.

Translating the Revolution

“The poetry of this revolt is not reducible to a text that can be read and translated in words, for it is also an act in and of itself.”

The Egyptian revolution has presented us with a number of intellectual challenges, not least the question of how to interpret events that seemed as globalised as they were localised. Although the uprising was a distinctly Egyptian expression of anger and frustration, many outside the country’s borders were also able to ‘live’ the revolution, following events in real-time using satellite telivision and social media sites. In this respect, it was truly the first of its kind. When Egypt’s internet connection was cut off, internet users across the world were able to ‘do their bit’ for the revolution, creating dial-up connections that could be accessed by Egyptians.

And yet for the non-Arabic speakers among us, we were experiencing nothing more than a revolution in translation. We heard so much about the warmth and humour of the uprising but could never truly understand the sentiments expressed through the chants and signs that assaulted the senses in Tahrir Square. In February, the American University of Cairo (AUC) decided to tackle this issue head on, announcing a new course entitled ‘Translating the Revolution‘. Dedicated to exploring challenges posed by the written, oral, and visual sources that now historicise the events of January and February, the course is sure to produce some fascinating material for non-Arabic speakers.

For those who are interested, there are a number of excellent accounts detailing the challenges faced by translators during the Revolution. Here’s a taster of a piece over at Arab Literature in English on the work of Karima Khalil, the editor of the forthcoming Messages from Tahrir:

Khalil notes, in an email, that she was challenged by a sign that read دمي في رقبتك. She did not opt for the literal translation (“my blood is on your neck”), but instead the more comfortable “my blood is on your conscience.” She said that she didn’t find it ideal, but added that it was “the closest I could get to the implicit meaning of ‘my blood is your responsibility’ that is inbuilt in ‘ra2abtak.’ I mean, ‘my blood is on your neck’ gets one nowhere and ‘my blood is on your hands’ is not quite right either.”

The literal translation of “my blood is on your neck” does take the reader outside his comfort zone, evoking a space and context beyond the words on the sign. While it may take a little decoding—since the expression in English is slightly different—the new body part (neck instead of hands) enlivens the English language and makes us think about responsibility in a different way. However, it also moves away from the directness of the sign, which does not have this linguistic “strangeness” in Arabic.

Elliot Colla has also written an excellent essay about the use of protest chants and the translation challenges these pose, do have a look.

Red Lines and the Egyptian Media

Two contrasting stories caught the eye yesterday. Firstly, the announcement that media outlets will no longer need to obtain approval from the security services before releasing publications. On the face of things, this is a positive step forward, and one that is consistent with the apparent increase in press freedom that followed the fall of Hosni Mubarak. However, as with so much of of Egyptian politics, there is more to this announcement than meets the eye. As proven by the uncompromising treatment of Maikel Nabil Sanad, a young blogger who dared to publicly criticise the military, clear red lines still separate subjects that can be discussed with relative freedom and those that must not be broached under any circumstances:

Al-Ahram said the military tribunal found Maikel Nabil Sanad, 26, guilty of “insulting the military” and “disturbing public security” because of a blog entry titled, “The army and the people were never one hand.”

Nabil’s blog went on to denounce the military’s use of detentions and courts-martial to punish critics and democracy advocates.

The military tribunal handed down the ruling late Sunday after Nabil’s attorneys had departed, a rights group said. Nabil was immediately remanded to prison.

That Sanad’s arrest should come so soon after the army crackdown in Tahrir Square is no surprise. As Steven Cook has explained over at CFR, the military are engaged in a struggle for ‘competing legitimacy’ with activists who seek to defend the legacy of their revolution. It seems the Supreme Council for the Armed Forces (SCAF) have now put the threat of force definitively back on the table in an effort to demonstrate that they are prepared to use all the means available to them to defend the authority of the state. Within this context, Sanad’s explicit challenge to the authority of the armed forces will have been treated as a form of dissent that was not just inconvenient but intolerable.

For journalists, the revolution’s legacy has been far from uniform. During the 18 days of demonstrations, the regime sought first to control the media narrative and, when this strategy failed, then to shut off all communications, pulling the plug on the internet, arresting journalists and ransacking Al Jazeera’s Cairo office.

In the months since Mubarak’s fall, there have certainly been cosmetic improvements to press freedom. Both independent and state media have been able to criticise President Mubarak’s time in office and the corruption of figures such as Ahmed Ezz has also come under sustained attack in the print press. Furthermore, the beginning of April saw the announcement of a new union for independent journalists, the Egyptian Association of Publishers of Independent Newspapers, a grouping that will: ”defend the interests of the printed press industry, and to liberate it from all forms of monopoly and the set of legal restrictions on  freedoms of expression and publishing.”

However, as Sanad’s arrest shows, there remain strict red lines relating to what can and cannot be criticised. There also remains a clear difference between those who use blogs to convey their message and those who still operate through traditional media channels. A recent report revealed that Egypt remains one of the most repressive countries in the world for bloggers, a fact which is unsurprising. Unlike newspaper journalism, a medium for which there tends to be direct accountability, online blogging can take place behind the shield on anonymity. Operating outside the constraints of traditional publications – there is no need, for example, for editorial oversight – blogs represent a greater unknown, and by extension, a greater threat to the authority of the SCAF. The experience of the past few years has taught political elites that the internet can be used to transmit uncomfortable truths around the world: the before and after photos of Khaled Said that circulated on Youtube and blogging sites served as an early warning of this, as the young man’s family and friends used the internet to offer a direct rebuttal to police claims that he had died after swallowing a bag of narcotics. Online ‘citizen journalism’ was of course crucial throughout the revolution, as activists sent photos and videos of the security crackdown to the outside world, often evading complicated state-enforced obstacles in the process.

In addition, bloggers continue to arouse state suspicion as they routinely break cultural and religious taboos: discussing the social and political malaise afflicting the Egypt and the wider region, exploring sexual identities and challenging the dominant institutions of religion, state and family. In an environment where authorities are struggling to reassert themselves over a restive population, such developments will continue to be monitered closely. This battle has a long way to run yet.

Sarah Phillips on Yemen

The Guardian is carrying a great piece from Sarah Phillips on the struggle in Yemen, here’s a taster:

I see pictures on Facebook of my young Yemeni friends demonstrating peacefully but assertively. Some of them are carrying gruesome pictures of those killed by the regime’s snipers to bolster their argument that the president has lost his legitimacy to rule and must leave.

These heady days will remain with them on the difficult road ahead as biographical hooks in their political consciousness. The networks of trust and solidarity that are being consolidated are likely to endure. As such, they are likely to remember how external actors viewed their nascent project.

As leaderless, amorphous and uninstitutionalised as they may seem, some of these people will emerge as leaders in the future, and western policymakers would be wise to take a longer term view of the changes under way. Yemeni politics – any state’s politics – is not a zero-sum game, and here is a group of young people that wants reform and wants a seat at the table.

While the old guard may maintain power for a while longer, the current generation of Yemeni leaders has, essentially, had its day, and it is prudent policy to forge good relations with the next generation.

American policy on Yemen has taken an encouraging turn in the past week. On Wednesday, it was reported that the annual aid package – believed to be in the region of $1 billion – has been frozen until further notice, and reports suggest that the US are seeking to cultivate links with the protesters. Although difficult, this is a crucial step. Yemen’s political architecture is changing and whilst the future remains uncertain, the youth will not forget how they were treated in their time of need.

Dislodging the Deep State (Part 2)

Just a quick post this morning and I wanted to draw attention to a story from the BBC:

Egypt’s interim military government has said it will remove some provincial governors appointed by former President Hosni Mubarak.

The move is an apparent concession to protesters who want Mr Mubarak and his allies tried for corruption.

The announcement comes days after a mass rally in Tahrir Square, dubbed the ‘Day of Trial and Cleansing’, demanded that Mubarak and his inner circle be brought to justice. Whilst the replacement of governors from the ancien régime is an encouraging step, the devil is in the detail. During the Mubarak era, half of the 29 governerates were run by members of the military (here’s a good breakdown of the stats from Jonathan Wright). Given that those replacing these as yet unspecified governors will also be from the military, it will be interesting to monitor the profiles of the new appointees. The more cynical observer might suggest this is an excellent chance for the army to to fill strategic posts with reliable candidates. Watch this space.

Dislodging the Deep State

The Egyptian military are under fire. Yesterday, 3000 gathered in Tahrir Square to demand that they deliver on their promised reforms and bring to justice former regime members. The rally was met with an uncompromising response as the army used tasers, batons and – allegedly – live rounds to disperse the crowd under the cover of a night curfew. This reaction only adds to a growing body of accusations that have trickled out over the past month: activists claim have made arbitrary arrests, abusing and torturing prisoners, and subjecting detainees to rapid military justice. That such claims are reminiscent of those levelled at the old regime – if indeed the current ruling military council can be called ‘new’, given that it is made up of so many old faces – and this should come as no surprise.

An Egyptian protester shows spent bullets and a blood-stained sheet after Egyptian soldiers stormed Tahrir Square in Cairo. Photograph: Khaled Desouki/AFP/Getty Images

The ‘deep state’

The ongoing revolution may have toppled a dictator, but it has not dislodged the roots of an authority that runs far deeper. In the years that followed the Free Officers Movement, essentially a military coup that deposed a monarch and created the Arab Republic of Egypt, it was the army that played a key role in constructing and entrenching Egypt’s strong political infrastructure. That this survived the fall of its leader is testament to the true strength of the system.

The military played a key role in reinforcing Mubarak’s authority right up until his final days in office. In return, they were rewarded with a privileged position in society. Life in the top brass was a lucrative business and even the officers reaped the economic benefits; special schools, hospitals, and residential areas were created especially for the officers and their families, separating them from the rest of the population.

Yet just as military support reinforced and legitimated Mubarak’s authority, their decision to turn against him proved prove deadly. Geoffrey Aronson, who has characterised this layer of political influence as the ‘deep state’, has argued compellingly that the fall of Mubarak reflected the prioritization of the military’s self-interest over loyalty to the presidency.

By the time Mubarak gave his final televised speech, it was clear that he was no longer calling the shots. The previous evening, it was not he but a longstanding member of the military establishment, Omar Suleiman, who appeared on state television announcing negotiations over the direction of a political transition. Having purposely kept out of the day to day running of the country, leaving such responsibilities to the hated police apparatus, the military remained in a position where they could credibly and definitively intervene during the revolution, indicting key members of the security services and maintaining their well-crafted image as defender of the Egyptian people.

Torturers of the revolution

But as yesterday’s demonstration shows, the mask is starting to slip. In the 2 months since Mubarak fell, a growing body of evidence has emerged to suggest that the army were complicit in torture throughout the revolution. A Channel 4 report this week documented disturbing  stories of the military’s actions:

Some protesters claim they were taken to the nearby museum which was allegedly turned into a torture chamber.

One of them is 21-year-old Khaled Yaries who says he was badly beaten inside the Egyptian Museum. Footage taken as he recovered in hospital shows his torso covered in bruises and red slash marks where, he says, he was beaten by soldiers (pictured above).

“They told me to strip off my clothes and lie on my stomach,” Khaled said. “They started to beat me and I tried to fend them off with my hands. So they tied up my hands.”

And this is by no means the first time such allegations have been made. Since 9/11, Egypt has emerged as a key destination for America’s extraordinary rendition programmes. During this time, the military is believed to have been responsible for both the torture and interrogation of countless victims. Naturally, there remains little to suggest that the US issued direct instructions to this effect, but victim testimonies offer weight to claims that such a relationship existed in an informal, often implicit, capacity. This would certainly explain the American hesitancy, at least in public, to condemn Mubarak’s repeated renewal of the draconian Emergency Law, legislation which permitted the suspension of basic rights, prohibiting demonstrations, censoring newspapers, and detaining prisoners indefinitely without charge.

Given the unaccountability that the Emergency Law preserved, it is not difficult to imagine more horror stories of the army’s role in silencing dissent behind closed doors.

The media war

The battle to define to define the narrative continues. This morning, an army spokesman was wheeled out on state television to insist that only ‘blanks’ had been fired to break up the protest. The images circulating on social media networks tell a different story:

At 3.20am, a huge number of army special forces (sa3ka) , military police and central state security (amn markzi) supported by 20-30 army armored vehicles and tanks stormed the square, thousands of rounds of ammunition have been used, soldiers beating and attacking the civilian demonstrators , some of them were families with children.

Many were injured and others got arrested and many others dispersed running for shelter in the roads [...] around 4am, the army seemed to be setting up the scene for their own spin on events. After they dispersed the protesters we saw them go into the square, break chairs and tables, and other items, basically destroying items , burning banners and tents and then we saw them step away from the broken items and bringing in their own camera and actually taking footage (not sure if it’s video or photography) of the broken items. The footage they’re taking shows only broken items and NOT the army personnel in the process of breaking them. This seems to be their attempt to set up their spin on things – what we expect is that they will use this footage to try to portray the protesters as violent thugs who broke chairs and various other items to use as weapons or that the protesters were just vandalizing things, etc.

In a great piece for CFR, Steven Cook has gone into more detail about this ‘battle over competing legitimacies’. That Al Jazeera are broadcasting stories that directly contradict the military’s claims, may yet prove important. But in a nation where many are now trying to refocus on the struggles of day-to-day life, there remains a real worry that it will be the voice of the military, and not of the protesters, that wins the media war.

Field Marshal Tantawi, meeting with David Cameron in January

Yemen and the War on Terror

After another bloody day in Yemen, questions need to be asked about the relationships that facilitate and constrain the government’s actions. I’m reading a number of reports that suggest the weapons used against protesters in Sana’a came from US-military shipments, and this comes as no surprise. To my mind, the most damaging thing to happen to Yemen over the past decade has not simply been the rule of President Ali Abdullah Saleh. Instead, it has been the country’s incorporation into the US ‘War on Terror’, and all the damage it has entailed. This is not meant to imply that America represents some sort of imperialist ogre. In many ways, the alliance has been mutually convenient: clinging to the notion that Saleh is all that stands between stability and chaos in Yemen, the US have often turned a blind eye to his repressive actions as he manipulates the rhetoric of counterterrorism to suit his own ends.

Salehʼs position as a fully-fledged actor in the War on Terror has therefore brought many advantages: until recently, he has had a relatively free hand to persecute domestic opposition under the guise of counterterrorism, using a security apparatus that has been trained and funded by the United States. These forces have been repeatedly deployed to crush uprisings in the north and south of the country, and now we are seeing their lethal capacity unleashed on anti-regime demonstrators. He has balanced this with a notional commitment to reform, absorbing money from the US and other international donors and channelling it into patronage networks that cement his position at the top.

Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to overstate Saleh’s agency in what remains a military partnership.  That the regime feels obliged to use the western lexicon of counterterrorism, despite domestic hostility, reflects the regimeʼs achilles heel: in relying on external aid to fulfill patronage duties and secure limited domestic autonomy, it is fatally weakened. Salehʼs participation in the War on Terror has forced him into a delicate and precarious balancing act. Dependent on his ability to appease plural social forces, he must pursue a dual strategy towards his domestic constituency and the international community. On the one hand, he must demonstrate an ability to act regardless of US concerns, and on the other, he must prove his credentials as a strongman in the War on Terror. The latter pressure has been as much a constraining factor as a structure of opportunity and an added justification for furthering an internal political reordering.

As the cracks in Saleh’s regime are beginning to show, the full impact of the US-Yemeni alliance becomes increasingly apparent. For the US, this has involved a rediscovery of the fact that nailing their colours to the mast of a dictator will only pay-off in the short-term. Not only are finding it difficult to take a strong stance against a monster of their own making, but their weapons are publicly being used to further his repressive agenda. On the Yemeni side, a decade of US support has failed to secure the regime’s political future. Saleh’s ad hoc strategy of buying off pockets of resistance using American funds and unleashing violence upon those who do not cooperate has culminated in a backlash which he is unable to appease. The reliance on patronage networks and repression has resulted in an environment where political openings rarely appear unless there is international pressure to do so. When they materialise, reforms are cosmetic and the system underpinning them remains deeply corrupt. In this respect, the US-Yemeni alliance has only delayed Saleh’s moment of reckoning; after a decade of prioritising external relations over the country’s political future, resentment has now spilled onto the streets.

For Saleh, his part in the War on Terror now represents more of a trap than an opportunity. As he gambles that violent crackdowns will remain unpunished by an American ally fearful of alternatives to his rule, he moves closer towards the point of no return. Yemenis will forget neither his brutal response nor his dance with the American devil that made it possible.