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Worldnews

Philippines Election Results: Who Won, Who Lost And Whats Next?

Currently behind bars at The Hague, former President Rodrigo Duterte is set to win the mayoral seat for Davao City. Former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte, detained at the International Criminal Court (ICC), is on course to win the mayoral election in his home Davao City, and five candidates backed by his family are leading the Senate race as midterm election results appear to show the Duterte political dynasty’s continued grip on power. The results are a big boost for Vice President Sara Duterte, Rodrigo Duterte’s daughter, who faces impeachment by the Senate in July. A two-thirds majority is required to remove her from office and bar her from running in future elections, including the 2028 presidential one. Twelve out of 24 Senate seats and all 317 seats in the House of Representatives were among the 18,320 elective positions up for grabs in the key election. Nearly 69 million people were registered to vote in the Asia Pacific country. With 97 percent of the votes reported, candidates backed by President Marcos Jr are on course to win six of the 12 seats in the Senate. Duterte’s supporters, including staunch ally Christopher “Bong” Go are set to win five seats. One candidate who is winning a seat has been affiliated with both political families. Rodrigo Duterte is set to win the mayoral seat in Davao after receiving more than 65 percent of the votes. Duterte was the mayor of the southern city thrice, serving a total of 22 years. If he wins, it is likely that the role would be assumed by the city’s vice mayor, a position currently held by his son, Sebastian Duterte. In the Philippines, candidates facing criminal charges, including those in detention, can run for office unless they are convicted. While President Marcos Jr and Vice President Sara Duterte were not on the poll, their candidates were vying for positions from the Senate to municipal offices. Sara Duterte is a strong contender for the 2028 presidential election. Her political future can be decided by the 24-member Senate. She requires support of nine Senate members to avoid conviction. The 12 elected Senators will form half of the jury in her impeachment trial, which is tentatively set for July. If found guilty, she will be removed from office and barred from contesting future elections. She was impeached by the House of Representatives in February after being accused of crimes ranging from the misuse of public funds to plotting Marcos’s assassination. Sara Duterte says the impeachment is part of a political vendetta as the two families battle for power. The fate of hundreds of governors and thousands of seats for city mayor and municipal mayors were also decided in this election. The official results will be out within a week. Sara Duterte is the daughter of former President Duterte, who was arrested and flown to the ICC at The Hague on March 11 by the Marcos Jr administration. The elder Duterte was accused of “crimes against humanity” for the estimated deaths of 30,000 people during his tenures as mayor and president. More than 7,000 people were killed during anti-drug operations while he was in power between 2016 and 2022, according to police records. Human rights advocates suggest the actual death toll was higher. Marcos Jr allied with the Duterte family, which enjoyed popularity, during his successful 2022 presidential campaign, with Sara Duterte as his running mate. But the ties soon soured over policy differences and Marcos’s rejection of the war on drugs launched by Sara Duterte’s father, Rodrigo Duterte. Finally, the alliance crumbled due to faltering support for Marcos Jr among supporters of the Duterte family after the arrest of Apollo Quiboloy, who was the spiritual adviser of former President Duterte. Quibology, an influential pastor, was charged with sex trafficking. The arrest of Rodrigo Duterte on a warrant issued by the ICC further inflamed tension between the two political dynasties. Until Rodrigo Duterte’s arrest, Marcos Jr repeatedly rejected the International Criminal Court’s (ICC) jurisdiction over his country, deeming the ICC “a threat” to the country’s sovereignty. Marcos Jr had held he would not assist the ICC in the elder Duterte’s arrest. “Let me say this for the 100th time. I do not recognise the jurisdiction of ICC in the Philippines. The Philippine government will not lift a finger to help any investigation that the ICC conducts,” Marcos Jr said in early 2024. In 2019, (Rodrigo) Duterte had removed the Philippines from the ICC, meaning the country was not required to detain someone with an ICC warrant against their name. The political tensions between the Duterte family and Marcos Jr reached a crescendo when the younger Duterte was impeached this February. She remains VP, but a Senate trial hangs like the sword of Damocles over her head. Follow Al Jazeera English:...

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Worldnews

Resistance And Extractivism: Inside Carrara, Home Of White Marble

In a place where natural beauty and industrial extraction collide, people are fighting for an Italian town threatened by decline. Carrara, Italy - At dawn, the jagged peaks of the Apuan Alps can be seen rising steeply above the Tyrrhenian Sea, their sharp silhouettes mirrored in the still water below. Shaped over millennia by wind and rain - and in recent centuries by mining - these mountains have a deeply scarred appearance. For more than 2,000 years, marble has been extracted from these hills. But today, the damage this has caused is more visible than ever. Aquifers polluted by industrial products used for the mining process, a near-constant procession of heavy trucks pumping fumes into the air and a high number of workplace accidents in the quarries - the last fatal accident happened on April 28 - are the daily reality of a territory in flux, a place where natural beauty and industrial transformation collide. Carrara, a small town nestled at the foot of the Apuan Alps in northwestern Tuscany, is one of the world’s most important white marble extraction districts, with more than 100 quarries on its doorstep. Marble has been quarried in this area since Roman times, when it became the stone of the empire. Used for decoration, construction and sculpture, it was a symbol of prestige and high status. Later, it was used by the Catholic Church in much the same way - to adorn important palaces and cathedrals and to create religious sculptures. During the Renaissance, Carrara marble gained fame through sculptures by artists like Michelangelo, Donatello, Bernini and others. Over the past two centuries, however, the process has changed dramatically - shifting from artisanal methods to industrial extraction. Today, marble still carries the aura of global luxury. It’s celebrated in architecture magazines, interior design trends, and films like The Brutalist. But beneath the polished surface lies a far more complex story. Over the past 30 years, more marble has been extracted than during the previous two millennia. From the port of Marina di Carrara, a few kilometres from the quarries, it is shipped across the globe. According to municipal data, Carrara’s marble industry produces between 4 million and 5 million tonnes of marble each year, generating 130 million euros ($148m) in profits, driven largely by exports: Raw blocks go mainly to China (51 percent), while carved marble items head mostly to the United States, United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia. The historical centre of Carrara is a maze of narrow, medieval streets lined with pastel-coloured facades, artisan workshops and quiet courtyards. The Carrione stream, which flows down from the Apuan Alps, cuts through the downtown area where 14th- to 18th-century stone houses with shuttered windows stand alongside ornate church portals and marble sculptures - carved from stone extracted just a few kilometres away in the mountains that are clearly visible from the city. Since the 2012 opening of the Strada dei Marmi - a 119-million euro ($135m) bypass stretching 6km (4 miles) between the quarries and the local industrial area, diverting heavy traffic away from the town - marble trucks no longer barrel through the town centre. At one point, as many as 600 trucks each day brought dust, noise and diesel fumes into town. Today, the air is cleaner, the streets are calmer. But the silence also reflects a broader decline. Carrara’s population has fallen below 60,000 - its lowest since World War II - and more than 200 small businesses have shut down in the past 10 years. As young people have left in search of work elsewhere and automation has replaced many jobs in the quarries, the bakeries, butchers, fishmongers - everyday life in the town - are disappearing. The quarries are also changing. Today, less than 1 percent of the marble extracted in Carrara is used for sculpture - a stark departure from the region’s traditional legacy. That included the romanticised myth around the men who worked in the quarries. For centuries, men extracted marble from the rugged Apuan Alps with limited means, facing immense risks and frequent accidents. They were seen by Italians as conquering the mountains through grit and sheer determination and were considered a symbol of strength and sacrifice. The marble mined was used primarily for the construction and decoration of temples, public monuments, churches, palaces and fine sculpture, as well as locally for furnishing homes. Only scraps and lower-grade stone were diverted for use as lime or aggregate for construction. These days, much of the marble mined here is turned into calcium carbonate, a key ingredient used to make everyday products including toothpaste, paper and paint. Since the 1980s, the calcium carbonate market has made it possible to transform waste - marble blocks not suitable for other uses - into profit by grinding it into marble powder for use in various industrial goods. Meanwhile, large marble blocks are shipped abroad, where cheaper labour is used to produce tiles, furniture and luxury finishes. Carrara, once the beating heart of marble craftsmanship, therefore, has lost nearly all of its artisanal industry. “Carrara has changed,” says Matteo Procuranti, an artist and activist whose father was once a quarry director. “Back in the day, we had three cinemas and two theatres,” recalls the former quarry worker. “Now it’s all closed. People leave. Carrara has become a dormitory beneath the quarries.” Matteo’s father, like many others, switched from extracting marble blocks to working for Omya, a multinational company that, starting in the 1980s, began grinding marble waste into calcium carbonate. Eventually, he was laid off during a round of job cuts. That experience triggered a deep awakening for Matteo, gradually changing his life and perspective. “It wasn’t just about the quarries,” he says. “Over time, I realised the problem was much bigger - it had to do with the entire economic and production model.” He believes the region has been overtaken by what he calls “extractivism”, a system driven by profits. “It consumes resources, drains communities, and concentrates power and wealth elsewhere,” he says. “It has become a political struggle [for us], a collective one, rooted in our territory but looking far beyond it.” Matteo is an actor and theatre educator and has spent his life in Carrara. He says he mounts his resistance to extractivism through cultural and political action. Together with others, he co-founded Fuoriluogo, an independent cultural group that produces satire, music and counter-narratives, rejecting corporate values and promoting alternative visions for Carrara’s future. It is part of a small creative scene that has taken root in Carrara. Some artists have come here from elsewhere in Italy, as well as from other European countries and even as far afield as China, to join this artistic renaissance. Others have chosen to stay here after studying at the local Fine Arts Academy, drawn by the town’s ancient sculptural legacy and its peculiar mix of decay and enchantment. Rosmunda moved to Carrara more than a decade ago to attend the Academy and never left. Today, she creates visual art in a studio next door to an old anarchist print shop. The autonomous print shop “La Cooperativa Tipolitografica”, which the space taken up by her studio was originally part of, was founded in 1974 as a place where the anarchist movement could publish its books, newspapers, posters, pamphlets and flyers. Carrara’s connection to anarchism began nearly 150 years ago, when anarchist ideals found fertile ground among the downtrodden workers in the marble quarries. Led by Alberto Meschi, Carrara’s quarrymen became the first in Italy to win a six-and-a-half-hour workday in the early 20th century. Anarchist circles and collectives emerged in nearly every town and neighbourhood across the Carrara region. In Gragnana, a village in the Apuan Alps, Italy’s oldest anarchist circle, “Errico Malatesta”, founded in 1885, still operates to this day. “I’m one of those who love this town and want it to thrive,” says Rosmunda, who believes the town has been hard-hit by years of austerity policies, introduced by the government following the global financial crisis of 2008, and underinvestment. Only a small part of marble-extraction profits now flow back to the municipality, and Carrara and surrounding villages have been left with inadequate social housing, stripped-down health and childcare services and failing public transport. “It’s hard - there’s no social welfare, public services are falling apart,” Rosmunda says. “The wealth [from marble] stays in very few hands.” Sculptor Chantal Stropeni adds: “Carrara is a paradox. There’s immense wealth - marble - and yet deep poverty, even among artists. To resist, we’ve formed a collective sculpture studio called Ponte di Ferro. There are 14 of us. We want to approach art differently - collectively. Carrara is a workshop: It’s easy to create here, but incredibly hard to see. The town is falling apart, and maybe that works in its favour: No one pays attention, no one asks questions.” In the meantime, the mountains are disappearing - at a rate of 4 million to 5 million tonnes per year. The town is growing poorer. Automation has replaced many quarry jobs such as block cutting, drilling, splitting, chiselling and materials removal. Local jobs have dropped from 800 to about 600 in recent years. But resistance in this region has a long legacy. “We’ve been fighting to reduce the impact of the extractive system - organising events, protests, talks and legal actions - for more than 30 years,” says Paola Antonioli, president of Legambiente Carrara, an Italian environmental nonprofit organisation. “Sure, the road is long. But something is shifting. Collective consciousness is beginning to awaken.” This took on new strength in 2019 with the formation of Fridays for Future Carrara, which followed the example set by environmental campaigner Greta Thunberg and holds protests on Fridays in the town. Alongside Legambiente, a network of local environmental organisations and grassroots groups are working in this same direction. Together, they organise hikes, events, protests and awareness campaigns against marble extraction, calling for community control over common resources such as water, transparency over quarry concessions and stronger environmental and labour protections. Some have taken legal action against individual companies and government administrative departments over the private commercial use of what they see as public land. Today, Carrara is a battleground. “Carrara is like this,” Chantal says. “But it won’t always be. Not if we keep creating. Keep resisting. Keep living here, in this paradox.” Follow Al Jazeera English:...

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A Deep Love: The Nabatieh Monday Market Rises After Israeli Destruction

Nabatieh’s weekly market was destroyed in Israel’s war on Lebanon, but vendors and customers are returning to breathe life back into its alleys. Nabatieh, Lebanon – It is a bitterly cold February morning, and Sanaa Khreiss tugs her cardigan tighter as she begins unloading her van. The sharp bite of early spring has kept most people away from the Nabatieh souk, but not Sanaa and her husband, Youssef. The market is quiet as the sun breaks through the grey clouds, except for a few vendors setting up. Sanaa, who has sold at this spot for the past four years, moves with the calm precision of someone who has perfected her craft over time. She arranges the lingerie she sells, piece by piece, carefully lining them up, each addition bringing a touch of colour and vibrancy to her stall. The soft murmur of voices grows as more vendors arrive, helping each other set up canopies to shield their stalls from potential rain. The task is far from easy. The wind tugs at the fabric, and some canopies still hold water from the recent rainfall. But they press on, and slowly, the white shapes pop up, and Nabatieh’s Monday Market has started. Sanaa smiles at the occasional passer-by, her warmth never fading. She has come to know many by name and can anticipate their requests. Her voice is quiet but inviting. “I choose the Monday Market because there’s always a lot of movement, and it’s a historic, popular spot in the south,” Sanaa tells Al Jazeera, her fingers brushing over lace and satin as she unpacks more items from the van. In the stall next door, her husband Youssef (commonly known as Abu Ali) works in silence. His movements are precise, almost meditative, but there is a hint of tension in how he arranges the containers and cookware. Youssef has never imagined himself here; he used to be a driver for the Khiam municipality, but lost his job when the municipality ceased operations after the outbreak of the Israeli war on Lebanon in 2023, which particularly devastated Lebanon’s south, including Nabatieh, one of the region’s biggest cities. Since then, Youssef has quietly adapted to the life of a vendor beside Sanaa. Youssef is quiet and reserved, a stark contrast to Sanaa’s extroverted warmth. He focuses intently on his tasks, but when approached by a customer, his blue eyes shine with welcome, and his voice is friendly. At first glance, no one would guess the weight those eyes carry – war, displacement, losing his livelihood and their home in Khiam. But at the market, it is business as usual. Shoes, toys, spices, clothing, books, food, electronics, and accessories – the Monday Market sells all that and more. The Monday Market in Nabatieh has its roots in the late Mamluk era (1250–1517 AD) and continued to thrive under Ottoman rule. Along with the Souk of Bint Jbeil and the Khan Market in Hasbaiyya, it is one of the oldest weekly markets in south Lebanon, established as part of efforts to extend trade routes across the region. Back then, traders moved between Palestine and Lebanon, transporting goods by mule and donkey over rough, slow roads. Nabatieh’s location made it a natural stop – a bustling centre where merchants from nearby villages would gather to buy, sell and rest before continuing their journeys. The market also sat along a wider network of internal pilgrimage routes, connecting Jerusalem to Damascus, Mecca and Najaf. Nabatieh Mayor Khodor Kodeih recounts that merchants travelling between Palestine and Lebanon would stop at a “khan” – an inn that also served as a trading centre – on the current market site. A khan typically featured a square courtyard surrounded by rooms on two levels, with open arcades. Merchants would rest, trade and display their goods there, gradually transforming the site into the bustling Monday Market. Over time, the market has become more than just a place to buy and sell – it is a ritual that stitches together the social and economic fabric of southern Lebanon. The area around the old khans expanded into a larger open-air souk. Israeli air strikes during the last war destroyed the original khans, but traces of the market’s past still remain. Today, the Monday Market spans three to four city blocks in central Nabatieh, surrounded by remnants of Ottoman-era architecture. While shops remain open throughout the week, the market itself is made up of temporary stalls and stands that operate only on Mondays. Before Israel’s recent war on Lebanon, the market filled the streets, framed by Ottoman-era buildings with wooden shutters and iron balconies. Merchants packed the narrow alleys with vibrant goods, their calls for business filling the air. But on November 13, 2024, Israeli air strikes reduced the historic market to rubble. Stone arches crumbled, shopfronts burned, and what was once a bustling hub was left in ruins. Arriving at Sultan Square, the usual site of the old market, one is left confused. All that remains is a vast, empty space at the heart of the city. The famous Al-Sultan sweet shop, after which the square was named, is gone. Nearby, other sweet shops – including al-Dimassi, established in 1949 and central to Nabatieh’s culinary identity and reputation – are also missing. They once sold staples of Lebanese dessert culture: baklava, nammoura, maamoul, and during Ramadan, seasonal treats like kallaj and an all-time favourite, halawet el-jibn. Every market morning, merchants sweep the streets, using only brooms to push the debris to the sides and clear space for their stalls. Even as the wind blows rubble back towards their stand, they keep sweeping, determined to maintain a neat and orderly market. Sanaa remembers the high-end lingerie shops that once competed with her; they’re gone too, reduced to debris amid which vendors have set up their tents as they wait for the municipality to clear the area. There should be more vendors on that cold morning, but the rain and war have changed things. “The good thing about rainy days,” Sanaa jokes, “is that there are fewer merchants, so customers have limited options.” Before the war, she sold in bulk – new brides buying trousseaus, women stocking up. Now, purchases are small and careful – with homes and livelihoods lost, shopping is for necessity, not luxuries or impulse buys. On a typical Monday, the market runs from 5am to 5pm. Merchants arrive early, making their way to their designated spots, some on the pavement, others against a backdrop of a collapsed building. Vegetable vendors lay their produce out in large sacks and plastic crates. Normally, the market is so crowded with people that cars can’t pass and visitors have to squeeze past each other from one stall to the next. Though profits aren’t what they used to be, Sanaa is just happy to be back. She’s kept her prices the same, hoping the market will rebound. “This is the most important market in the south,” she says. “And we need to follow the source of our livelihood.” Next to Sanaa’s stall is Jihad Abdallah’s, where he has rigged up several racks to hang his collection of women’s sports clothes. Yesterday’s snow is melting as the sun comes out, but Jihad keeps his hoodie up, still feeling the lingering cold. Customers have started trickling over, but it isn’t enough to shake the frustrated, tired look on his face. Jihad, from the border village of Bint Jbeil, spends his week travelling between different town markets in southern Lebanon to make ends meet. He was among the first to set up in Bint Jbeil’s Thursday Market as soon as the ceasefire with Israel was announced on November 27, 2024. Jihad didn’t have many options. Bint Jbeil was the market he knew best – he memorised the rhythms, understood customer demands, and recognised how to turn profit. Still, business was slow. “In Bint Jbeil, the market needs time to recover because many residents from nearby villages, like Blida, Aitaroun and Maroun al-Ras, haven’t returned yet,” Abdallah tells Al Jazeera. “However, in Nabatieh, nearby towns have seen more returnees.” Jihad was also among the first to return to the Nabatieh market, joining the very first band of merchants in clearing as much debris as they could manage. “The Israelis want to make this land unlivable, but we’re here. We’re staying,” Jihad says. “They destroyed everything out of spite, but they can’t take our will.” Further down the road, Abbas Sbeity has set up his stand of clothes for the day, a collection of children’s winter clothes he couldn’t sell because of the war. “I had to empty my van to make room for mattresses for my kids to sleep on when we first escaped Qaaqaait al-Jisr [a village near Nabatieh],” he tells Al Jazeera, pointing to the van behind him, now packed with clothes. Abbas is trying to make a profit, however small, from clothes that were meant to be sold when children returned to school last fall. He’s been coming to the Monday Market for 30 years, a job passed down from his father, who inherited it from his grandfather. “My grandfather used to bring me here on a mule!” he says with a nostalgic smile. For a moment, he stares off, lost in thought. His smile stays, but his voice holds a trace of sadness. “There’s a deep love story with the Monday Market,” he adds. “But now, there’s a sadness in the air. People’s spirits are still heavy, and the destruction around us really affects their morale.” Abbas remembers how people came not only to buy but to hang out for a weekly outing they could count on for fun, no matter the weather. Even if they didn’t buy anything, they’d enjoy the crowds or grab a bite, whether from the small shops selling manouches, shawarma, kaak or falafel sandwiches, or from a restaurant nearby, from local favourites like Al-Bohsasa to Western chains. Many would also stop by Al-Sultan and Al-Dimassi, which were the closest to the market, to enjoy a sweet treat, a perfect way to top off their visit. By noon, the rain had stopped, leaving behind a gloomy day as the sun struggled to break through the clouds, casting a faint light over the market. People haggled over prices, searched for specific sizes, and despite the changes brought by war, the Monday Market pressed on, determined to hold on to its place. At one end of the Sultan Square, near the upper right corner, a half-destroyed building still stands where vendors used to set up shop before the war. Now, produce vendors arrange their stalls beneath it as if nothing had changed. The remnants of the structure loom above them – fragments of walls hanging precariously, held together by stray wires that look ready to snap. Yet the vendors paid no mind, too absorbed in tending to customers. The building’s arched openings and ornate details, though battered, still hinted at the city’s rich past. Its verandas, standing like silent witnesses to the souk below, bore testament to both the scars of war and a culture that refused to disappear. At the far end of the market, by the main road leading out of Nabatieh to nearby villages, one cart stands alone, piled high with nuts and dried fruits. Its owner adds more, making the stacks look like they might spill over at any second. Roasted corn, chickpeas, and almonds sit next to raw almonds, hazelnuts, cashews and walnuts. Dried fruits are displayed front and centre, dates and apricots taking the spotlight. At the back of the cart, Rachid Dennawi arranges candies – gummy bears and marshmallows in all shapes and flavours. It’s his first day back at the Monday Market since the war began. Abir Badran, a customer dressed in a dark cardigan and a long black scarf that gently frames her face, is the first to reach Rachid’s cart while he’s still setting up. Her face lights up as she leans in to examine the dates, carefully picking through them. “Finally, you’re back!” she says, reaching for the dates – they’re bigger and better than what she can find at other places, she says. Rachid, originally from Tripoli in Lebanon’s north, makes the three-hour journey to Nabatieh because he believes the market is livelier, has more customers. Over time, Rachid has built a loyal clientele, and people like Abir swear by his dried fruit and nut mix. “The people here are different,” he tells Al Jazeera, handing Abir a handful of almonds to taste. “They don’t just buy from you – they welcome you and want you to succeed.” But Abir didn’t just come to stock up – she is there because the Monday Market has become an act of resistance. “The Israelis want to sever our ties to this land,” Abir tells Al Jazeera. “But we won’t let them.” While the optimism is clear, the reality on the ground is tough. Merchants and residents are doing what they can with what they have. Some have relocated their shops or started new businesses, but some are stuck in limbo. Mayor Kodeih estimates it will take at least two years to rebuild the market and is critical of the Lebanese government’s support. “We will restore the market,” he says. “It won’t be the same, but we’ll bring it back.” The mayor was injured in the Israeli strike on the municipality in mid-October, which killed 16 people; he is one of the two survivors. It is not easy to leave the market behind – or Nabatieh. Despite the destruction, the city hums with life: Shops are open, cafes are busy, and people lean in doorways, greeting passers-by with warm smiles and easy conversation. The gravity of war has left its mark. The destruction is visible at every turn – a bookshop reduced to rubble, shops flattened to the ground – but it has not stripped away the city’s kindness or its sense of humour. In front of a lot with nothing more than a gaping hole in it, a playful banner by the shop that used to stand there reads: “We’ll be back soon … we’re just redecorating.” One of the paths out of the Sultan Square leads visitors northeast, into a quieter neighbourhood of cobbled streets, where cafes and small shops line the way. Here, people sip coffee and linger by storefronts, seemingly untouched by the devastation only steps away. Turning back at the boundary between the two, the destruction that has decimated the market is more apparent, as is the loss to Nabatieh and southern Lebanon. The market’s heyday will live on only in the memories of those who experienced it, younger generations will never have that same experience. Follow Al Jazeera English:...

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Do Israels Attacks Make A Difference To Yemens Houthis?

The US and the Houthis may have come to a ceasefire agreement, but Israel continues to trade attacks with the Yemeni group. Amid ferocious Israeli attacks on Yemen, ostensibly in response to Houthi attacks on Israel, surprising news from the United States seemed to shake matters briefly. US President Donald Trump said on Tuesday that a ceasefire had been agreed between his country and the Houthis, claiming the Houthis had bent the knee and this was a victory for the US. He also praised the Houthis for their bravery and resilience. This meant the US would no longer be bombing Yemen, and the Houthis would stop firing at ships in the Red Sea in support of the Palestinians in Gaza. There was no mention of Israel in Trump’s announcement – a sign, to many, of a possible chill between Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. The Houthis, for their part, made it clear that the deal does not extend to Israel and they would continue their attacks until Israel allowed aid into Gaza, ending the starvation it is imposing on the people there. Israel has been launching attacks on Yemen, claiming it wants to deter the Houthis, who took control of Sanaa in 2014 and already fought a years-long war against the internationally recognised Yemeni government. On Sunday, Israel’s Arabic-language spokesman made a post with eerie echoes of Israeli attacks on the trapped population of Gaza, issuing “warnings” to people in three Yemeni ports in Hodeidah governorate to flee. The attack never came. Whether these erratic actions are a reaction to the announced US ceasefire remains to be seen, but many analysts have spoken of a widening rift between Netanyahu and Trump. Netanyahu has reportedly expressed his frustration with Trump’s Middle East policy in private conversations. He has been publicly against the US administration’s talks with Iran, claiming there is no diplomatic way to resolve differences with Tehran, yet Iran and the US have continued their talks. He went on to blame Iran for the Houthis’ attacks, claiming Israel’s attacks are a message to the “Houthis’ sponsors”. Trump, for his part, has seemed unconcerned. “It’s worth noting Trump didn’t say anything about [Houthi] attacks on Israel, which seem to be continuing amid this escalation,” Nicholas Brumfield, a Yemen analyst, told Al Jazeera. “In [this] case, it’s a US drawdown because the Houthis haven’t been attacking international shipping,” Brumfield said. “They’ve been attacking Israel. The US has been doing its thing, and the Houthis have been targeting US ships.” After Israeli attacks on Monday and Tuesday, which killed at least three people and wounded 35 others and damaged Hodeidah Port and Sanaa Airport, the Houthis promised retaliation. The attacks “will not go unanswered”, the Houthi political bureau said in a statement. That kind of statement is typical of the Houthis, who have managed to weather more than a decade of attacks by forces with far superior military capabilities. Air strikes by the US and United Kingdom on Yemen in early 2024 were unable to stop the Houthis’ attacks on Red Sea traffic. Years of air strikes by a Saudi-led coalition supporting Yemen’s internationally recognised government taught the Houthis to keep their military infrastructure agile, analysts told Al Jazeera. A senior US government official, speaking on condition of anonymity, told Al Jazeera that recent US attacks on the Houthis have pushed leaders underground after the killing of some key military commanders. However, unlike under US President Joe Biden’s administration, the attacks under Trump have been indiscriminate and have led to more civilian deaths. More than 250 people have been killed by US attacks on Yemen since mid-March, including at least 68 people at a centre housing detained African refugees and migrants in late April. Experts told Al Jazeera that despite the increased ferocity of those attacks, the Houthis have not been deterred. “The Houthis aren’t going to stop,” Brumfield said. The Houthis have made their stance clear vis-à-vis the agreement with the US and the continuation of attacks on Israel, which has also made clear that it plans to keep attacking. “The stated aim is to deter [the Houthis] or deplete their military capabilities to the point that the Houthis cannot target Israel any more, but these are both very unrealistic goals,” Hannah Porter, an independent Yemen analyst, told Al Jazeera. Israel already considers that it has diminished the capabilities of two of its biggest foes, Hezbollah in Lebanon and Hamas in Gaza, over the past 19 months. But trying something like that on the Houthis would be a vastly different challenge, she said. “Israel has probably not gathered the amount of intel on the Houthis that they have on Hamas or Hezbollah, so tracking and targeting leaders will be harder,” Porter said. “More importantly, the geographic area is much larger in northern Yemen, meaning that there are far more potential targets.” “The terrain is a factor, too,” she added. “Northern Yemen is very mountainous with plenty of places to hide people and weapons.” For now, Israel and the Houthis seem intent on continuing their exchange of attacks. And the first to suffer will be the people of Yemen. Israel struck numerous targets in recent days in Yemen, including Sanaa’s airport and the port in Hodeidah, which experts said is likely to exacerbate Yemen’s dire humanitarian situation. Israel destroyed at least three civilian planes in the attacks. Yemen is already suffering one of the world’s worst humanitarian crises. More than 18.2 million people require humanitarian assistance and protection services, according to the United Nations. More than 17.1 million Yemenis suffer acute food shortages, and about five million are on the brink of famine. While analysts said Israel’s attacks on ports will not be a “knockout blow”, they are among a matrix of factors that leave many Yemenis in an increasingly precarious position. “The humanitarian situation will just get worse,” Raiman Al-Hamdani, a Yemen researcher with the international development company ARK, told Al Jazeera. “Destroying the two main ports of northern Yemen, where the majority of the population lives, coupled with the FTO [“foreign terrorist organisation”] designation with cuts to the aid system around the world and the deteriorating economy … is a recipe for [unprecedented] humanitarian disaster.” “[Israel’s attacks] are a continuation of its strategy. It’s out of spite, targets civil infrastructure and the policy of creating human suffering,” Al-Hamdani said. Both sides seem unwilling to stop, however. “I cannot see anything quite good coming out of this unless the war Israel is waging on Gaza comes to some form of truce,” Al-Hamdani said. Follow Al Jazeera English:...