Before arriving in Yemen, I had worked on counterterrorism for two years in Washington and spent more than fifteen years in the Middle East. In that time, I had seen an ambiguous relationship between poverty and terrorism. One prevalent proposition was that terrorism represents a more or less inevitable reaction to material deprivation: desperate people take desperate measures. I had served in the Palestinian territories and knew the difficult living conditions of Palestinian refugees there and in Lebanon. I had also served seven years in Egypt during the crescendos of terrorism in the early ‘80s and mid-1990s and knew the grinding poverty there. The poverty-terrorism nexus seemed superficially credible.
Upon reflection, however, I thought it generally wrong and, as commonly stated, misleading. While some terrorists express solidarity with the poverty-stricken masses, individually they did not necessarily spring from deprived backgrounds. Osama bin Laden himself was a multimillionaire. His deputy, Ayman al-Zawahiri, was a doctor. The leadership of al Qaeda was often well educated and well employed. The 9/11 hijackers for the most part were Saudis who enjoyed many advantages of that relatively well-off society. Terrorists from the IRA, Baader-Meinhoff gang, Aum Shinrikyo, and other groups were not spawned from poverty. Conversely, the least developed countries of Africa did not necessarily produce terrorists. Moreover, a diagnosis that poverty was the root of terrorism suggested that terrorism could not be eliminated unless poverty were eliminated, a daunting prospect with profound resource implications.
Terrorists, however, do need operating space, which could be in the heart of cities or, significantly for al Qaeda, in remote areas where they enjoy the protection of local governments or tribes. In the initial brief for Colin Powell, the CSG had focused on al Qaeda’s camps in Afghanistan. They were producing tens of thousands of trained terrorists.1 They had to be shut down before we could hope to gain the initiative in the struggle against al Qaeda. Denying such safe havens and holding hosts responsible for terrorists on their soil were two fundamental lessons learned from 9/11.
Yemen, of course, was very different from Afghanistan. Its government was a responsible international actor whereas the Taliban had been a rogue regime designated by the United States and placed under sanctions by the UN Security Council as a sponsor of terrorism. While troubling connections did exist in Yemen between some government officials and mujahideen, stemming from the jihad in Afghanistan against the Soviet Union and Yemen’s own civil war, the official policy rejected terrorism. Al Qaeda’s real potential for safe haven resided in the remote tribal areas. The government’s attempt on December 18, 2001, to apprehend terrorists affiliated with al Qaeda in Ma’rib and Shabwah had demonstrated the difficulties and risks of operating in a tribal environment hostile to government activity. As I saw it, the challenge in Yemen was to help its government extend control throughout the country, especially in remote locations, and convince the tribes that their interests lay with the government and not with al Qaeda.
President Saleh had pointed the way in a late-night phone call to me following his meeting with political and tribal leaders. The deprived areas required particular attention; could the United States help? 2
Saleh had misconstrued my attempt to conceptualize an approach to the problem—Plan Ma’rib—because it highlighted the role of bad governance in the vicious circle of insecurity and underdevelopment. As with the aborted counterterrorism memorandum, I decided to implement the concept practically without seeking formal agreement. The objective, to strengthen government control, should have become clear both by how we went about our activities in full cooperation with Yemeni government authorities and in the result.
Ahmed Sufan, the deputy prime minister and minister of international cooperation, would prove to be a fine partner. Extremely voluble, Sufan was adept at absorbing the latest development trend, such as Millennium Goals or Poverty Reduction, and at producing the Yemeni documents required for increased development aid.3 My “no development without security, no security without development” mantra was odd though. Normally development bureaucrats and experts share a humanitarian culture, while counterterrorism officials and experts share a security culture. As with oil and vinegar, they need to be shaken vigorously before they mix.
Sufan usefully suggested that we spend a day together touring U.S.-supported projects in ‘Amran in late October 2001. I found him a delightful traveling companion with a nearly unique variety of expertise. By profession a businessman, he needed no convincing of the essential role of the private sector in sustainable development, and he maintained important relations with Yemen’s powerful business clans who were extremely skeptical of the country’s government. Sufan was also a politician; he was in fact the only government minister to be elected to the parliament in 2003. As such, he knew firsthand the dynamics of government projects and popular support. And finally as a manager, he had built a competent staff, particularly Nabil Shaiban and Hisham Sharabi, with whom we could function effectively. The memorandum experience with the presidency had been painful and fruitless. With Sufan’s ministry, such memoranda flowed from common objectives with relatively little effort.
Two other institutions proved to be trumps in the development game. The Social Fund, led by Minister of Labor Abdulkarim al-Arhabi,4 and the Public Works Project, headed by Abdullah Sa’id, were unusually efficient institutions. With encouragement from the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund, they had been created outside the normal Yemeni bureaucracy to construct a social safety net and enable economic reforms. They paid staff well, and consequently their staffs included the best and brightest in Yemen.5 Their female development specialists were particularly impressive. Al-Arhabi managed the Social Fund to achieve results with low administrative costs. His organization won international renown as a best practice.6
The embassy unfortunately could not begin to match Yemen’s talent. Because of the country’s vote in the UN Security Council against Desert Storm in 1990, our USAID mission had been dismantled and aid-funding almost eliminated. The authorized departure policy triggered by security concerns meant we had no economic section. In my mind, essential tools in the counterterrorism effort were lacking. But, by and large, Washington did not view development as an essential activity. Staffing could wait.
Ever resourceful, the embassy found expertise to fill the gap. Our Foreign Service nationals—Shaif al-Hamdany, Ahmed Attieg, and Fawzia Yousef—stepped into the American roles competently. Mac McAteer, a retired Foreign Service officer who had served previously in Yemen, agreed to come on temporary duty and brought with him experience and good humor.7 Even our embassy doctor, who had public health expertise, would take on extra work with the Ministry of Health to further development. Later, when Colin Powell’s Diplomatic Readiness Initiative began to bring a wealth of entry-level officers into the Foreign Service and to Sanaa, we recruited Gareth Harries, the spouse of one of our consular officers, who had development expertise and a gift for teamwork.
Although our USAID program had been dismantled, my predecessors, especially Ambassador Bodine, had creatively exploited the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s (USDA’s) 416b program. Largely owing to the American farm lobby, excess wheat, dried milk, and other commodities were shipped to Yemen and sold, and the Yemeni currency thus generated was used for development. Sufan’s staff managed the program in Yemen, and Ellen Levinson, an astute lobbyist with long Yemeni experience, adeptly promoted its interests with USDA. Prior to my arrival, 416b funds had financed useful projects throughout Yemen, such as schools, agricultural roads, orphanages, and municipal gardens.
I thought this excellent program could be improved in two ways. First, there was little recognition for the U.S. taxpayer of the good work being accomplished. The signs that identified projects emphasized their executor, the Social Fund or the Public Works Project, and not the funder. Hence, the Yemenis viewed the United States as a nonplayer in development. The embassy had no public diplomacy staff, again because under authorized departure such work was deemed nonessential. And again, we improvised. Sanaa’s great tower houses featured half-moon shaped windows with elaborate floral designs called qamariyas.8 Although initially characteristic of northern houses, this architectural feature had spread throughout Yemen. We designed our own version, which incorporated both an American and Yemeni flag, and set about to “brand” our development efforts accordingly on project sites and in our literature.9
My second concern was the diffusion of projects. A school here and an orphanage there meant little developmental or political impact. If we concentrated our limited resources in the deprived areas, we could then tilt the security balance in favor of the government and also pioneer development so that other international donors could feel safe to expand their activities to these remote areas. A virtuous circle of security and development would thereby be created. For public diplomacy as well, projects needed prominence to register in public opinion. Diffuse and undefined efforts lacked visibility.10
I pitched my Plan Ma’rib concept to the international donors at an informal coordinating dinner, graciously hosted by Japanese ambassador Oki. The Germans welcomed more attention to Ma’rib since they had an ambitious archaeological project there. The Dutch had had a relatively ambitious assistance program but were confronting budget cuts and sought possible donors for some well-conceived but unfunded projects.
Meanwhile, Saleh seemed to send a signal by replacing Ma’rib’s corrupt governor. To me, it appeared as if he were addressing the “good governance” arc of the vicious circle. I determined to respond tangibly and asked my staff to plan a trip to Yemen’s “wild, wild east.”
No ambassador moved outside Sanaa without permission from the Yemeni government.11 The embassy sent a diplomatic note that detailed the trip’s purpose, itinerary, and proposed meetings, and received formal permission to proceed. The embassy security officer then coordinated security with the Ministry of Interior, which usually consisted of two dishkas (pick-up trucks with a heavy machine gun mounted in the bed and about ten security troops) to lead and follow the convoy. Often additional arrangements were made with the prominent sheikhs of the region, in this case with Sheikh Rabish, whose town of Madghil sat just off the main road two-thirds of the distance to Ma’rib. Substantively, the embassy development team coordinated with the Social Fund and the Public Works Project.12
We launched in early morning of February 20, skirting the airport and traveling quickly through Sanaa’s hinterland graced with grapevines but also littered by the multicolored plastic bags in which a day’s chew of khat was sold. 13 Soon we could see on our right Noah’s Ark, a dramatic rock formation. A path, supposedly marked by the prophet himself, led halfway up to the top before the climber penetrated a natural doorway and then scaled a perilous route the rest of the way.14 Farther down the road, our convoy passed through a natural pass on which Sanaa’s military had emplaced a tank with its turret pointing eastward as a caution to any force of tribesmen approaching the capital.
In about two hours, we reached Ma’rib and met briefly with the deputy governor. He welcomed us profusely, provided refreshments, and then proposed tourism. His ideas focused on Ma’rib’s archaeological treasures. Our priorities differed. We were there not to sightsee, but to assess our potential role in Ma’rib’s development. Guided by the Social Fund and the Public Works Project experts, we visited a dilapidated school first, then toured the Sun Temple (or Bar’an Temple) restored by German archaeologists, and drove by the even larger archaeological project of the American Foundation for the Study of Man to excavate the Moon Temple (or Mahram Bilqis).15
We also saw the small military hospital where the Yemeni casualties of the December 18 operations had been treated. It was the district’s only functioning hospital and treated civilians as well. Finally, the local officials took us to the vast, new civilian hospital. It was an ambitious project but risked being Ma’rib’s white elephant. Ma’rib was rich in oil, and a small part of those revenues had gone to construct the building. There was unfortunately no money for equipment or for training a staff. As such, the Ma’rib hospital appeared a potential monument to bad governance and neglect of its region’s basic needs.
On the way back, we saw one more proposed project. We stopped in Madghil where Sheikh Rabish had some forty rugged tribesmen, each armed with a jambiyya and a Kalashnikov, arrayed in a crescent for our welcome. I moved along the half-moon shaking hands and greeting each: Salaam alikum (Peace be with you), Masa’ al khir (Good afternoon), Kif halkum (How are you?), Sharafna (We are honored). We were then taken to a pathetic, ill-equipped building, which served as the town clinic. As Sheikh Abdullah al-Ahmar had advised me, health care ranked high on the tribe’s list. The Social Fund was proposing a new clinic and living accommodations for permanent staff, both of which I told Sheikh Rabish we would fund. We returned to Sanaa.
The Madghil clinic turned out to cost only $250,000, and past 416b revenues were more than adequate. Our more ambitious development plans, however, were in serious jeopardy. The incoming Bush administration had agreed that the off-budget 416b program should be phased out and all development assistance put on budget. It was perfectly rational but also a potential disaster for our objective of promoting counterterrorism in Yemen.
President Bush had stated America’s counterterrorism strategy in his remarks on the six-month anniversary of 9/11. In Afghanistan, where we had fought a war, that strategy specifically included development, namely “clearing mine fields, rebuilding roads and improving health care.”16 In Yemen, which featured prominently in the president’s remarks, our commitment was focused solely on security. Earlier, in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, he had spoken of using all instruments of power,17 but on the frontlines in Yemen there appeared to be a gap between words and deeds.
On relatively frequent consultations in Washington, I did my best to close the gap. At the annual meeting of Middle East ambassadors in February, which gave Secretary Powell’s “battalion commanders” access to State’s policymakers, I pressed the point. In return, I received sympathy and general commitments to include requests for development assistance in the post-9/11 supplemental request being prepared for Congress. My initial proposal for Plan Ma’rib had included a figure of $200 million. Of the $27.1 billion supplemental, Yemen’s share was pegged at just $25 million of which $20 million was for military support and only $5 million for economic development.18
The overall problem was not lack of resources. The problem was “old think” in State and particularly its NEA bureau. State proposed that the vast majority of resources continue to go to three countries: Israel, Egypt, and Jordan. In the pre-9/11 world, both the administration and Congress had given priority to supporting the Arab-Israeli peace process. In NEA’s bureaucratic mind-set, 9/1l had not significantly altered that calculus.19
The embassy was left to scrounge resources from various pots of money. Most important was the 416b pipeline. Sales from excess agricultural commodities would provide $63 million in fiscal years 2001 and 2002. In contrast, Economic Support Funds—the traditional source for economic assistance—totaled only $12 million for those years. Even that $12 million was going nowhere, since USAID was administering it from USAID Cairo, which was preoccupied by Egypt’s own program and burgeoning new responsibilities in Afghanistan.
Ambassador Bodine had again proved enterprising in her pursuit of funds for mine clearance in Yemen. Here, too, Yemen’s program was another international best practice. I had initially underestimated the program’s significance, but my deputy Brad Hanson and an early trip to Aden changed my mind. When I witnessed the demining activity and the enthusiastic praise America received for its pioneering support, I became a convert.20
Assistant Secretary Bill Burns provided another potentially important funding source in MEPI. Long before the White House identified as a primary U.S. goal promoting democracy in the Middle East,21 Bill had focused on developing a “positive agenda” for the United States to use in its relations with the Arab world. It concentrated on advocating indigenous reform efforts in four areas, or “pillars”: education, economic development, good governance, and women’s rights. It drew from the Arabs’ own analysis of their societies’ problems as articulated in the UN Human Development Report.22 Management of the program was located in the NEA bureau, marginalizing the bureaucratically muscle-bound USAID. Finally, Deputy Assistant Secretary Liz Cheney was to be its CEO.
From the outset, the U.S. embassy in Sanaa enjoyed an advantage in competing for MEPI resources despite its lack of staff. For the U.S. embassy in Cairo or in Amman, MEPI moneys were relatively insignificant in comparison with existing aid programs. In places such as Riyadh and other Gulf capitals, government resources were generally adequate, and embassy staffs were not oriented to development work. We were “hungry,” and we found among Yemeni nongovernmental organizations many reformers willing to engage on MEPI terms. From first-year resources (FY 2002) of $29 million, the U.S. embassy in Sanaa obtained more than any other single country: $3.8 million.
In a sense, America’s most remarkable contribution to Yemen’s economy was Hunt Oil Company’s pioneering work in discovering oil near Ma’rib in 1984 and its subsequent development of hydrocarbon resources.23 In preparing for my duty, I traveled to Houston and met the oil company’s chairman, Ray Hunt, and some of his key associates. I found Ray modest, considerate, and appealing. I found the entire Hunt team extraordinarily knowledgeable about Yemen’s geology, geography, and politics. In Abdulkarim Abu Hamad, Ray had tapped an extremely competent and charming Arab American to manage Hunt’s activities and watch over Hunt’s interests in Yemen.24 Those interests stretched from its production facility just east of Ma’rib, across Yemen in the form of its pipeline, to the Saafir, a venerable supertanker in the Red Sea where Yemen’s oil was stored and loaded onto transport tankers. To facilitate travel across this distance, Hunt operated a Bell/Agusta helicopter out of Sanaa’s airport. Abdulkarim and I had twice used this helicopter: on my initial tour of the Saafir in February and a later tour of Hunt’s processing unit near Ma’rib. Al Qaeda had taken note.
In mid-October, the international donors to Yemen gathered under World Bank auspices in Paris. The venue did not appeal to me. It seemed odd for government and international officials to meet in the luxurious surroundings of a European capital to discuss poverty in Yemen. However, the Yemenis, particularly Ahmed Sufan, took a dim view of travel to the World Bank headquarters in Washington given the stringent and often embarrassing security checks imposed after 9/11 on foreigners, particularly Yemenis, upon entry to the United States. For their part, the Europeans and other donors did not relish travel to Sanaa, a “war zone” in the war on terror.
I had an additional problem with Paris. General Franks was scheduled to visit Sanaa on October 17, and I could attend only the first day of the two-day meeting. Bill Burns agreed to represent the United States on day two. In my opening statement, I stressed the connections between development and security. I defended expendi tures on counterterrorism (although not a recently announced extravagant purchase of MiG-29 fighters25) as cost effective and necessary to create an environment in which development efforts could go forward. I pushed for more effort in the deprived areas. Then I left. Bill’s participation won praise as he was one of the most senior government representatives in attendance. The Yemenis appreciated his travel from Washington and his encouraging words on U.S. assistance.
After some creative accounting, the World Bank organizers announced that international donors had pledged $2.3 billion to help Yemen.26 Little of it was new; it stretched over several years. I understood the Yemeni perception that the international community was lagging in its support. The United States needed to lead, I felt, especially in the critical areas of Ma’rib, Al Jawf, and Shabwah. I asked my staff to prepare a second trip to Ma’rib. We scheduled it for November 3 and 4.