A 42-year-old government worker named Saeed in Sanaa hasn’t received steady pay in years. Every morning, he looks at his cell phone not hoping for work or wages, but to check what little money he has left. What he usually finds is a text from his phone company asking him to donate 100 rials “to support the Missile and Drone Force” by texting code 180.
Throughout regions under Houthi control, millions of Yemenis face what opponents call an organized digital fundraising operation. While many families from the middle class can’t afford basic groceries, the phone industry has turned into a key funding source for military activities.
Though 100 rials might seem like a small amount, when collected from millions of phone users, it creates significant revenue that helps pay for weapons manufacturing and combat operations. For Saeed, that money could buy another loaf of bread for his family. The Houthis frame it as a “popular contribution” for missiles and drones used in battles and regional conflicts.
What officials call a “voluntary donation” appears to be much more extensive. It shows a planned approach to managing resources in Houthi-controlled areas, taking money from financially struggling Yemenis to fund military expenses while increasing the divide between humanitarian requirements and defense spending.
The problem goes beyond the text messages on Saeed’s phone. Behind the 100-rial donation request linked to code “180” and similar numbers is a daily fight 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?”
A United Nations Panel of Experts report, S/2023/833, shows these collections aren’t random but part of what the document calls a “resource extraction system” that brings in hundreds of millions of dollars each year without financial oversight or transparent government budgeting.
The document details how money from this essential industry gets redirected to weapons production, essentially making regular phone customers unwilling funders of military actions that reach beyond Yemen’s borders into the Red Sea and other areas.
Abdulwasea, a technical engineer at a mobile phone company, explained how this “money printer” works in the industry: “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 system targets millions of customers with relatively small amounts—about 100 rials each—which can create billions in available cash within hours. The engineer said this quick money flow helps fund drone programs and missile development by taking advantage of complete control over phone infrastructure and turning technology meant to connect people into a financing tool for extended conflicts.
Street conditions reflect what’s happening to mobile phone accounts.
In his retail store on a busy Sanaa street, Abdulwahid observes not only his customers but also the changes forced on his business with each new event 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.”
These actions aren’t isolated incidents by individual people, but part of a planned strategy designed to drain the private sector and reshape the economy to benefit the war authority. A report by the Sana’a Center for Strategic Studies indicates the Houthis gathered nearly $1.8 billion annually in taxes and fees from areas under their control.
This alternative system doesn’t stop at current taxation; it also goes after companies and banks retroactively, demanding financial records going back to when they were established to collect taxes supposedly unpaid for decades, with the money directed toward funding the “war effort” rather than paying government worker salaries.
The reports also show that these practices have damaged the regular business sector in favor of a new group of “war profiteers” connected to the Houthis, who use the system to expand their power. Meanwhile, independent small business owners like Abdulwahid face two harsh choices: accepting the collection system or risking financial ruin and leaving the market.
A field study conducted for this report included a random group of 50 people, including phone users and wholesale and retail merchants in markets throughout the capital.
The results showed the severity of the crisis. About 98% of participants—48 people—said the ongoing collections directly contributed to higher prices for essential goods and declining buying power, claiming that war effort fees consume money that would otherwise be spent on food and medicine for their families.
Fear also influenced the responses. Two participants refused to talk or share any views, worried that the survey team could be connected with the Houthis and assigned to watch for opposing voices. Their refusal showed widespread distrust and fear of punishment.
In the end, Saeed’s battle to get bread and Abdulwahid’s fear of losing his business meet at the same place.
After more than ten years of war that destroyed Yemen and made the “government sector salary” a distant memory from a more stable time, Yemenis now find themselves caught in a new pattern of collections that goes beyond funding domestic battle lines to supporting broader regional conflicts.
Yemen, once a nation seeking a political answer to its crisis, has increasingly become, critics say, a testing site for a “trench economy”—a financial system that thrives on crises and uses religious and nationalist feelings to justify taking citizens’ savings.
While missiles fired across the region send political and military messages, the clearest message for people like Saeed and Abdulwahid shows up on a phone screen or payment receipt: Even the fight for daily bread has become fuel for wars that ordinary Yemenis neither chose nor expect to benefit from and may lead to more poverty.
