As Yemen’s courts collapse, ancient tribal justice makes a comeback

When nine-year-old Yazan Abd Saif was killed by a stray bullet during a land dispute near his family’s home in Taiz, his grieving father, Jamil, knew the country’s non-functional courts would offer no recourse. 

“When Yazan was hit, we rushed him to the hospital, but he died there from the chest wound,” he recalled with a trembling voice. “We buried him, and the police arrested the perpetrator.” 

But the case, he tells TRT World, would have taken “years and years” to reach a judge. In war-torn Yemen, where judges go unpaid and courthouses lie in ruins, centuries-old tribal rituals are stepping in to deliver justice once more.

The ritual, known as Al-Hijr, is Yemen’s ancient form of tribal reconciliation — a public ceremony in which the perpetrator’s tribe offers apology, restitution, and symbolic sacrifice to the victim’s family.

It begins with the appointment of a neutral sheikh and an agreement by both sides to arbitration. Tribes pledge their commitment by surrendering valuables — often Kalashnikov rifles or ornate daggers — to the mediator as guarantees of peace. These items remain in the sheikh’s custody throughout the reconciliation.

The offending tribe then visits the victim’s home, bringing bulls for sacrifice, qat for sharing, and reciting verses of apology. In murder cases, blood money, or diya, is paid according to custom. The ritual ends with the families exchanging greetings and Quranic verses of forgiveness — a public act meant to restore honor and end cycles of revenge.

Ten days after he contacted tribal leaders, mediators arrived at Saif’s door. The killer’s tribe had come to perform the ritual. Saif chose forgiveness.

“Those who forgive and make peace, their reward is with God,” he said, quoting scripture.

In today’s Yemen, such ceremonies have become more than tradition; they are a parallel justice system. According to Naaman Qaed Mohammed, a member of the National Dialogue Conference, Al-Hijr now resolves between 75 and 120 disputes annually, ranging from land conflicts to homicides.

The revival of Al-Hijr reflects the vacuum left by Yemen’s collapsed judiciary. More than a decade of war has dismantled state institutions, and justice — like electricity, salaries, and security — has become another absent service.

Taiz, Yemen's third-largest city, experienced complete judicial paralysis between 2015 and 2017 when intense urban warfare split the city between government and Houthi control.

When judicial operations resumed, courts functioned from cramped apartments with barely any staff.

Thousands of cases are stalled indefinitely. Judges, unpaid and politically pressured, abandoned their posts. In that void, people like Jamil Abd Saif found themselves turning to the only system still standing, their tribes.

Tribal justice revived

“Before the conflict broke out in 2015, Al-Hijr was fading into history. The republican system established in 1962 had gradually replaced tribal law with formal courts, especially in more urbanized areas like Taiz,” says Jamil Al-Musaadi, a Yemeni social researcher.

After the 1962 revolution, the new state sought to centralise justice under a modern judiciary, but tribal customs persisted in remote regions where state reach was limited.

Other southern governorates such as Aden, Lahj, and Abyan had also turned their back on the ritual, he adds.

“The systemic collapse Yemen suffered after the war saw the judicial system split along conflict lines,” he tells TRT World. “Yemenis had no option but to turn to their tribal structures and ancient customs.

Ghassan Saeed Al-Murshid, a 38-year-old tribal sheikh in Taiz, mediated the case of young Yazan. He brought both parties together, and the boy’s father ultimately agreed to settle the matter through Al-Hijr, a restoration of honour carried out by the perpetrator’s tribe, Murshid, and a group of local notables.

“Seeking reconciliation between people is a great good,” Al-Murshid tells TRT World. “When there is a possibility for rapprochement, we rule for Hijr to mend hearts and restore peace.”

While thousands of cases remain unresolved in Yemen’s stalled courts, many filed before the war began, he adds, tribal reconciliation succeeds in resolving “nearly every case it takes on.”

The process can cost as much as 2 million Yemeni rials (about $8,300), a significant sum in an economy battered by war. 

“Many families accept the cost for the certainty of resolution, rather than face years of delay or escalating violence,” he adds.

In local terms, $8,300 represents several months’ income for an average public employee — a daunting sum for many, yet some communities often pool together in pursuit of peace, viewing the cost as an investment in social stability.

A nation divided by tradition

As Al-Hijr fills the justice vacuum left by Yemen's collapsed state, society finds itself deeply divided on whether this revival represents pragmatic adaptation or dangerous regression. 

Sheikh Adham Ghalib Qasim, 39, head of the Hilali tribe in Taiz governorate, and a proponent of the ritual, views Al-Hijr as essential in today’s Yemen. 

“It is a recognised tribal custom with a major role in resolving conflicts and ending disputes,” he says. “Violence over land, tribal vendettas, and personal assaults have pushed people back to tribal arbitration as a way to prevent further bloodshed.”

Supporters say Al-Hijr offers a lifeline where the state has collapsed. Mutahar Saeed Al-Sharjabi, 54, secretary-general of the Sama Organization for Studies, calls it a pragmatic tool in wartime Yemen. 

“In areas governed by tribal customs, arbitration and Hijr help reduce violence where the state and legal system no longer function,” he says. “Preserving a human life is more important than debating how justice is achieved.”

But he warns the practice can be misused. 

“In cities like Taiz and Aden, under the control of armed militias, Hijr can become a tool of coercion, pressuring citizens with no tribal backing to accept unfair outcomes in the absence of real law.”

The gendered impact of tribal justice has also drawn particular criticism. According to Al-Sharjabi, Hijr is often unjust, especially toward women as well as ethnic and religious minorities, due to entrenched societal discrimination, inherited biases, and the perception of their inferiority.

According to UN Women, women are frequently excluded from tribal mediation councils, relying on male relatives to represent their cases — a practice that often marginalises their voices in disputes over inheritance, marriage, or violence.

Lawyer Ghaza Al-Samei, 29, says young Yemenis are divided over the resurgence of tribal customs like Al-Hijr. Some regard it as a valuable social tradition that helps maintain peace in the absence of state authority. 

Others, particularly among educated and urban populations, view it as a step backwards, “entrenching injustice, especially toward vulnerable groups like women,” and obstructing efforts to build a modern legal system.

One case she mentioned was that of the assault and harassment of the child Rasayel Abdul Jalil seven years ago by five individuals in the Al-Ma’afer area, rural Taiz. She was never granted tribal recognition or justice. Only one person was imprisoned, and the rest remain fugitives.

Al-Samei notes that while the tradition is not officially part of Yemen’s judiciary, it enjoys widespread social acceptance and is often facilitated by tribal elders or community leaders with the tacit approval of local authorities. 

Neither Yemen’s internationally recognised government nor Houthi authorities officially endorse Al-Hijr, but both often tolerate or rely on it where courts have ceased to function.

In areas where courts are paralysed or lack enforcement power, even judges may turn to tribal arbitration. 

“The judiciary’s weakness and political interference have pushed some judges to rely on customs like Hijr to deliver practical resolutions,” she explains, adding that in many cases, once a Hijr is carried out, the official court file is quietly closed, even if no formal ruling was ever issued.

The price of peace

Observers note that the system’s effectiveness is rooted in cultural legitimacy. According to Mohammed, all cases resolved through Hijr tend to be successful because tribal custom holds significant respect and authority within Yemeni society. 

The system also includes mechanisms for enforcement: in instances where a party refuses to participate in arbitration, the case is referred to the prosecution and subsequently to the formal court system until a judicial ruling is issued.

"When I resolve any dispute and implement Hijr from the aggressor party to the victim party, I feel a deep personal satisfaction…that I was able to end the case, extinguish discord between the conflicting parties," Qasim said.

Still, shifts in public sentiment are emerging. Al-Samei observes that more Yemenis are increasingly advocating for reforms to the formal justice system, aiming to create an effective alternative to tribal customs while still honouring valuable aspects of the social heritage.

Similar trends have appeared in other post-conflict societies, from Somalia’s xeer to Afghanistan’s jirga, where traditional systems step in to fill institutional voids but risk perpetuating inequality if left unregulated.

For now, in a country where the choice often lies between imperfect tribal justice and no justice at all, thousands of Yemenis like Saif continue to choose reconciliation over revenge. 

In his small home in Taiz, where his son once played, he holds no bitterness. The tribe that took his child came to his door, slaughtered their bulls, spoke their apologies in ancient verse, and asked for forgiveness. 

He gave it, finding solace in faith rather than fury, in an old tradition that offers what his broken country cannot – closure, peace, and a path forward.

This article is published in collaboration with Egab.