On the morning of 23 November, dozens gathered in the basement of Sana'a's Specialised Criminal Court; a room that had evolved from a hall of justice into a theatre where some of Yemen's most sensitive cases are decided. Judge Yahya Al-Mansour presided over thick case files bearing the names of defendants accused of forming a sprawling spy network for US, Israeli, and Saudi intelligence services.
Within minutes, one of the most controversial verdicts in recent Yemeni legal history was announced: eighteen people were to death by firing squad in a public place.
The courtroom had barely settled before a second session began under Judge Rabie Al-Zabieri, where seven more death sentences were handed down. One defendant was acquitted. As judges declared that the accused had planted hidden cameras, used encrypted communications, and engaged in espionage, Sana'a braced for a storm far more turbulent than any typical indictment.
Hours later, a member of parliament, Abdo Basher, posted an unprecedented addressed to Ali Hasan Al-Houthi. His words, from within the Houthi-controlled legislative authority, pierced the usual silence: "Death sentences issued under your watch, especially against the innocent, are a trap you should not fall into. Everyone will drink from the same cup".
Days later, on 29 November, nine new defendants were referred for trial on charges of "collaborating with Britain". According to legal experts, this was a clear signal that these accusations were not isolated from politics and were part of a series of cases engineered within the security apparatus, then handed to courts as completed files.
Restructuring justice
Political analyst Dr Adel Al-Shajaa explains that the Houthis did not stop at military or administrative control of state institutions. They placed "control of the judiciary" at the top of their priorities after entering Sana'a in late 2014.
"The first thing they did was seize the Supreme Judicial Council, which they restructured into an institution completely subordinate to them," al-Shajaa told The New Arab. "They removed professional judges and inserted figures loyal to the group in sensitive positions to ensure the judicial system's allegiance above all else".
The group made no secret of its intentions, al-Shajaa noted. They used terms like "administrative purification" or "revolutionary replacement", expressions typically deployed during coups or radical shifts, to justify removing experienced judicial cadres who had spent years building careers.
"But the real goal," he said, "was to strip the judiciary of its independence and build an administrative and judicial apparatus that operates within a closed political framework, one that offers loyalty—what they call 'loyalty verification'".
Under this new doctrine, dozens of judges deemed insufficiently loyal were removed. Others had their salaries frozen to force resignations. Those who remained were kept under strict surveillance or gradually marginalised.
Among those caught in this machinery of repression is Dr Mujahid Rajeh, 58, a laboratory doctor imprisoned on espionage charges. His son recounts a journey that mirrors countless others.
"The situation didn't seem dangerous at first," his son, Abdo Rajeh, 30, explained. "Everything suggested it was routine questioning, two or three days at most, then my father would come home. They arrested my uncle and cousins in the same sweep, and they all came back. All except my father".
When authorities took Dr Rajeh, they seized 1.5 million rials and his car. The real trigger, however, was his political independence.
"My father had always opposed them openly, in councils, everywhere. They never forgot that. My father is a laboratory doctor. Our entire family is mostly doctors, and none of us has any connection to the Houthis or their ideology. This alone was enough to raise their suspicions," Abdo Rajeh said to TNA.
In detention, torture became interrogation, the son further claimed. "The torture started in every form imaginable. And they began threatening what he held most dear: 'Confess, or we'll kill your children.' My father could endure any physical pain, but not threats to his children. So they told him: 'Confess to what we want you to confess, not what you actually did".
The video confession became evidence. "Every word is false. It's all their words, forced confessions", he argued.
When the family appealed to officials, they encountered indifference. Officials promised his release but refused to name his accuser. Today, Dr Rajeh awaits trial for crimes he did not commit.
His son reflected: "My father remains in prison. A victim of a false report. A victim of taking an honourable stand against them. This is the story of a man who committed no crime, a man who taught me that truth is a blessing, but it comes at a terrible price in a country ruled by injustice".
'Military battalion' in judicial robes
Tawfiq Al-Hamidi, director of SAM for Rights and Freedoms, provides a more detailed account of how the Houthis dismantled Yemen's judicial structure.
"After they entered Sana'a in 2014, their first target was the judiciary," he explained. "They seized the Justice Ministry completely, then began restructuring the Supreme Judicial Council, the judicial inspection authority, and the High Institute for Judges, the backbone of the entire system. Once they controlled these institutions, they could control everything".
But the Houthis didn't stop at administrative control. "They brought former military supervisors from the front lines directly into the judiciary," al-Hamidi added. "Men who carried weapons just years before suddenly became judges. This was the most dangerous step because it transformed the judge into part of a military system rather than a justice system".
The movement directives from the Criminal Court are now entirely controlled by the group, al-Hamidi noted. Many of today's judges in death penalty cases are hardliners who previously engaged in military or security operations.
These trials violate the Yemeni constitution and international conventions, al-Hamidi stressed. The defendant's right to be informed of charges within 24 hours, his right to legal representation, his right to family visits, and his right to access case files were all crushed.
"What's happening is political killing, not judicial verdicts. The judiciary in Houthi-controlled areas today is not an independent authority, it's a military battalion wearing judicial robes", he said.
Weaponisation "espionage"
Within this context, the charge of "espionage" has become the cornerstone of a machinery of fear. Al-Shajaa pointed out that it's a flexible charge that requires no concrete evidence and imposes no obligation on courts to present any public documents. The security apparatus simply needs to claim the defendant collaborated with a foreign state, and the case becomes closed to public scrutiny, open only to sentencing appeals.
"The espionage charge closes the door to public debate and traps any dissenting voice within a frame of national betrayal. It criminalises journalists, activists, academics, even government employees who don't display complete loyalty," al-Hamidi added.
The charge enables the group to portray a permanent external enemy that justifies internal repression, part of the Houthis' narrative of revolutionary struggle against a constant threat.
In a new phase of mass trials, Sana'a's Criminal Court began proceedings on 6 December against thirteen detainees on collaboration charges, including three former US embassy employees and six United Nations agency workers.
According to the Yemeni Network for Rights and Freedoms, the detainees have been held for months and some of them for years, without legal justification or access to fundamental rights.
The same judges who issued the mass death sentences on 23 November are presiding.
"The scenes that repeat before Sana'a's Criminal Court, mothers screaming, men collapsing, children grieving their fathers, are not mere human details. They are a direct reflection of a larger truth: the judiciary itself stands accused in Houthi-controlled areas. Justice itself is accused of absence. The real defendants don't stand in the dock—they stand behind it," al-Hamidi remarked.
"Until the state is restored, Yemen's judiciary will remain, at least in Houthi territory, imprisoned. And that cage is far larger than any cage in a courtroom," he concluded.
This piece was published in collaboration with Egab.