Taiz, Yemen’s third-largest city, is a place where history whispers through bullet-riddled walls and resilience echoes in the voices of its people. Nestled in the southwestern highlands, Taiz has long been a cultural and economic hub, but its modern story is one of survival amid relentless conflict. As the world grapples with humanitarian crises, geopolitical rivalries, and the fallout of proxy wars, Taiz stands as a microcosm of Yemen’s broader tragedy—and its unyielding spirit.
Taiz’s history stretches back millennia, with roots in the Himyarite Kingdom (110 BCE–525 CE), a civilization that thrived on trade and agriculture. The city’s strategic location along ancient spice routes made it a melting pot of cultures, religions, and languages. By the 16th century, the Ottomans recognized its value, fortifying Taiz as a military and administrative center. Their influence is still visible in the city’s architecture, from the iconic Al-Qahira Castle to the labyrinthine old souks.
In the 19th and early 20th centuries, Taiz became a flashpoint in the struggle between the Ottoman Empire and British-backed Imams. The 1918 collapse of Ottoman rule gave way to the Mutawakkilite Kingdom, with Taiz serving as a temporary capital under Imam Ahmad. His reign, though repressive, laid the groundwork for Yemen’s modernization—schools, hospitals, and roads began to dot the landscape.
The overthrow of the monarchy in 1962 plunged Yemen into a brutal civil war, with Taiz caught between republican forces (backed by Egypt) and royalists (supported by Saudi Arabia). The city’s intellectuals and merchants largely sided with the republicans, but the conflict left deep scars. By the 1970s, Taiz emerged as a center of dissent against the authoritarian rule of Ali Abdullah Saleh, whose 33-year reign would later unravel in the Arab Spring.
When protests erupted across Yemen in 2011, Taiz was at the forefront. Its activists, many of them young and idealistic, demanded democracy and an end to corruption. But the revolution’s promise was short-lived. By 2014, Houthi rebels—a Zaidi Shia movement backed by Iran—seized control of Sanaa and eventually Taiz, triggering a Saudi-led military intervention in 2015. The city became a battleground, its streets divided between Houthi-held areas and resistance forces loyal to the internationally recognized government.
For nearly a decade, Taiz has endured one of the world’s worst humanitarian crises. Saudi airstrikes and Houthi blockades have collapsed the economy, leaving 80% of the population reliant on aid. Hospitals lack medicine, schools are shuttered, and cholera runs rampant. The UN estimates that over 20 million Yemenis are food insecure—Taiz’s residents are among the hardest hit.
Taiz’s historic landmarks, once symbols of its rich past, now bear the scars of war. The 13th-century Ashrafiya Mosque, a masterpiece of Islamic architecture, has been damaged by shelling. The National Museum, home to priceless Himyarite artifacts, lies in ruins. Yet amid the devastation, local archivists risk their lives to preserve manuscripts and oral histories, determined to salvage Taiz’s identity.
The conflict in Taiz is not just a local tragedy—it’s a proxy war between regional powers. Saudi Arabia and Iran vie for influence, while the U.S. and Europe arm opposing factions. The UAE, once part of the Saudi coalition, now backs separatist groups in southern Yemen, further fracturing the country. For Taiz’s civilians, this geopolitical maneuvering translates into endless suffering.
Over 4 million Yemenis have been displaced, many fleeing Taiz for overcrowded camps in Aden or neighboring countries. Yet the world’s attention has wavered, overshadowed by Ukraine, Gaza, and other crises. Western aid cuts and donor fatigue have left organizations like the UNHCR struggling to keep pace with the needs.
Despite everything, Taiz’s people refuse to surrender. Underground schools operate in basements, teachers using chalkboards salvaged from rubble. Women-led NGOs distribute food and medical supplies, defying gender norms in a conservative society. Poets and musicians turn bomb sites into stages, their art a testament to defiance.
Taiz’s story is far from over. Whether it becomes a symbol of Yemen’s collapse or its rebirth depends on forces beyond its control. But if history is any guide, this city—steeped in resilience—will outlast its tormentors. The world would do well to listen.