How Yemenis’ Pockets Became a Lifeline for Financing Cross-Border Wars
When many middle-class families are struggling to buy basic food, the telecommunications sector has become a major financial channel for funding the Houthis’ war effort
Saeed, 42, a government employee in Sanaa, has gone years without receiving a regular salary. Each morning, he checks his mobile phone—not for a job offer or salary deposit, but to see what remains of his meager balance. His screen rarely brings good news. Instead, it shows a familiar message from his telecommunications provider: “To support the Missile and Drone Force with 100 rials, send to 180.”
Across areas controlled by the Houthis, millions of Yemenis are facing what critics describe as a carefully organized system of digital collections. At a time when many middle-class families are struggling to buy basic food, the telecommunications sector has become a major financial channel for funding the “war effort.”
At first glance, the requested 100 rials may seem insignificant. Multiplied across millions of subscribers, it becomes a substantial revenue stream that helps finance military manufacturing and battlefield operations. For Saeed, 100 rials could buy an extra loaf of bread for his family. In the Houthis’ political and military calculations, it is presented as a “popular contribution” toward missiles and drones used on battlefronts and in regional escalation.
What is described as a “voluntary donation” appears to go further. It reflects a systematic policy for managing resources in areas under Houthi control, redirecting money from economically exhausted Yemenis toward military spending and widening the gap between humanitarian needs and defense expenditures.
The issue extends beyond the text messages on Saeed’s phone. Behind the 100-rial donation request linked to code “180,” and similar numbers, lies a daily struggle for survival.
“When I receive a message asking me to support the ‘missile force,’ I feel like my phone is no longer a communication tool—it has become a mandatory piggy bank for the Houthis,” Saeed said bitterly. “They do not ask whether I can afford food for my children. Instead, they force me into a war I have nothing to do with. How can I donate to missile production when I cannot even buy a sack of flour?”
The report explains how revenue from this vital sector is redirected toward military manufacturing, effectively turning ordinary phone subscribers into unwilling contributors to military operations extending beyond Yemen’s borders into the Red Sea and elsewhere.
Abdulwasea, a technical engineer working for a mobile telecommunications company, described how this “money printer” operates within the sector: “We are not running marketing campaigns—we are implementing technical military orders.”
“As soon as a military operation against targets in Saudi Arabia or Israel is announced, we receive instructions to send the messages. These codes are linked to a direct deduction system, and the money is transferred at the end of each day to designated accounts.”
This mechanism targets millions of subscribers with relatively small sums—about 100 rials each—which can generate billions in available liquidity within hours. According to the engineer, the rapid cash flow helps finance drone programs and missile development by exploiting full control over telecommunications infrastructure and turning technology designed to connect people into a tool for financing prolonged wars of attrition.
Conditions on the streets mirror what is happening to mobile phone balances.
Inside his retail shop on one of Sanaa’s busy streets, Abdulwahid watches not only his customers but also the changes imposed on his business with each new occasion introduced by the Houthis.
“My shop has shifted from being a source of income into a channel for funneling money to supervisors,” Abdulwahid said. “We do not pay zakat and taxes just once—we pay them repeatedly, under labels such as ‘supporting the frontlines’ or ‘Martyr’s Week.’ Even cleaning fees, municipal charges, and business licensing costs have multiplied several times over, without any improvement in services.”
This parallel system does not stop at present-day taxation; it also pursues companies and banks retroactively, demanding financial records dating back to their year of establishment to collect taxes allegedly unpaid for decades, with the revenues directed toward financing the “war effort” rather than paying public sector salaries.
The reports also indicate that these practices have weakened the regular commercial sector in favor of a new class of “war profiteers” linked to the Houthis, who benefit from the system to expand their influence. While independent small business owners such as Abdulwahid face two difficult options: submitting to the collection system or risking bankruptcy and withdrawal from the market.
A field survey conducted for this report included a random sample of 50 participants, including telecommunications users and wholesale and retail traders in markets across the capital.
The findings reflected the depth of the crisis. About 98% of participants—48 people—said the ongoing collections directly contributed to rising prices for essential goods and the deterioration of purchasing power, arguing that war effort levies consume money that would otherwise be spent on food and medicine for their families.
Fear also shaped the responses. Two participants refused to speak or express any opinion, worried that the survey team could be affiliated with the Houthis and tasked with monitoring dissenting voices. Their refusal reflected widespread mistrust and fear of retaliation.
Ultimately, Saeed’s struggle to secure bread and Abdulwahid’s fear of losing his business converge at the same point.
After more than a decade of war that devastated Yemen and turned the “public sector salary” into a distant memory from a more stable era, Yemenis now find themselves trapped in a new cycle of collections that extends beyond financing domestic frontlines to supporting wider regional conflicts.
Yemen, once a country seeking a political solution to its crisis, has increasingly become, critics say, a testing ground for a “trench economy”—a financial system that feeds on crises and exploits religious and nationalist sentiment to justify the extraction of citizens’ savings.
While missiles launched across the region send political and military messages, the clearest message for people like Saeed and Abdulwahid appears on a phone screen or a payment receipt: Even the struggle for daily bread has become fuel for wars that ordinary Yemenis neither chose nor expect to gain from and may lead to more poverty.