The United States has waged a drone war in Yemen for 16 years, trying to suppress al-Qaeda‘s branch here. But the campaign has had a hidden cost: civilians cut down by the drones‘ missiles.

There is no comprehensive count of civilian deaths because of the difficulty of confirming identities and allegiances of those killed. But in an examination of drone attacks this year alone, The Associated Press (AP) found that at least 30 of the dead likely did not belong to al-Qaeda.

That is around a third of all those killed in drone attacks so far in 2018. The Pentagon does not release its assessment of the death toll, but an independent database considered one of the most credible in tracking violence in Yemen counted 88 people – fighters and non-fighters – killed by drones this year.

We live in fear. Drones don’t leave the sky

Brother of a slain Yemeni man

The AP count gives a glimpse, even if incomplete, into how often civilians are mistakenly hit by drone attacks, at a time when US President Donald Trump administration has dramatically ramped up the use of armed drones.

It has carried out 176 attacks during its nearly two years in office, compared with the 154 attacks during the entire eight years of the Obama administration, according to a count by the Bureau of Investigative Journalism.

The AP based its count on interviews with witnesses, families, tribal leaders and activists. Most of those killed, 24, were civilians; at least 6 others were fighters in pro-government forces – meaning ostensibly on the same side as the US – who were hit in attacks away from the front lines while engaged in civilian life.

This story was produced in partnership with the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting.

The drone toll goes almost unnoticed in the region’s conflicts. Immensely greater destruction has been wreaked by US allies in the Saudi-led coalition’s air campaign against Iranian-linked Shia rebels known as Houthis.

More than 57,000 civilians and combatants have been killed in Yemen’s civil war, by some estimates, and thousands more may have died of starvation caused by the conflict.

Yet the killing of a single man – Saudi journalist Jamal Khashoggi, slain by Saudi operatives in his own country’s consulate – has raised more international uproar than any of those deaths in a war waged by a coalition led by Saudi Arabia and backed by the US.

In comparison, the toll from US drones in Yemen runs in the hundreds, including both fighters and civilians. Several databases are trying to track the deaths, with varying results.

The Bureau for Investigative Journalism counted up to 1,020 killed by attacks from 2009 to 2016, under President Barack Obama, compared with up to 205 killed in 2017 and 2018. Another database, by the Armed Conflict Location & Event Data Project, counted 331 killed the past two years.

Counting civilians among those numbers is complicated by the difficulty in determining who belongs to al-Qaeda in a country of multiple warring militias. Al-Qaeda has joined the battle against the Houthis, and many of its fighters are incorporated into militias armed and funded by the US-backed coalition.

The campaign has scored some military successes. In 2015, US attacks took out Nasser al-Wahishi, the top leader of al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula, or AQAP as the Yemeni branch is known, and several senior lieutenants.

But drones have been most effective in forcing al-Qaeda to limit its movements and hide in the mountains, avoid large gatherings and restrict mobile phone use.

The group withdrew from areas it controlled in the south but was allowed to keep weapons and money under secret deals it struck with the United Arab Emirates, a coalition member.

‘Simple farmers who don’t know how to read’

Over the years, the cost of the pursuit of senior leadership has been high.

For example, the US has killed at least 66 civilians, 31 of them children, in the unsuccessful hunt for one man, Qassim al-Rimi, one of AQAP’s founders who in 2015 succeeded al-Wahishi as the group’s chief.

Those deaths came in two raids reportedly targeting al-Rimi. The first was in 2009 in the southern village of al-Majalah. The second came on January 27, 2017, only days after Trump’s inauguration, in a US special forces assault on a village in Bayda province.

The civilian deaths come in a war conducted from a vast distance.

Drone pilots work remotely at American bases, most often in the US, sometimes on 11- to 14-hour shifts housed in rooms like shipping containers lined with electronics.

They operate based on intelligence from informants but they also carry out so-called “signature strikes,” based on observing suspicious patterns of behaviour.

They have a list of characteristics, and if a subject on the ground shows a number of them, he could be targeted, a former participant to the drone programme told the AP, speaking on condition of anonymity to discuss the operations. Mistakes happen from bad intel or misjudging behaviour, he said.

Rights groups have expressed concern that some of the intelligence may come from prisoners held in jails run by Emirati-backed militias where torture is widespread.

Some of the attacks from 2018 that the AP examined appeared to be mistaken.

On January 1, a drone missile slammed into a farm in Bayda province where 70-year-old Mohammed Mansar Abu Sarima sat with a younger relative, killing both, according to a relative, Mohammed Abu Sarima.

The slain men had just returned from mediating a local dispute. In a country where tribal links are powerful and the justice system nearly non-existent, such mediations are common to resolve conflicts over land or deaths.

They involve large gatherings of tribesmen who are often armed, potentially raising drone operators’ suspicions.

“We don’t have any affiliation. They are simple farmers who don’t know how to read or write,” said the brother. “We live in fear. Drones don’t leave the sky.”

Several weeks later, a 14-year-old shepherd, Yahia al-Hassbi, was struck by a drone as he tended goats several kilometres from a checkpoint that al-Qaeda had tried recently to seize.

He was killed along with a construction worker passing by at the time, according to relatives and three local human rights workers, who spoke on condition of anonymity for fear of reprisals.

‘Lost hope’ 

Further east, in Hadramawt province, drones carried out several consecutive days of attacks in March, targeting vehicles on a main highway. Some of the attacks killed al-Qaeda fighters, according to rights activists in the area.

But others struck down cars carrying people who had fled to the area from a nearby province, Jawf, to escape fighting.

A drone’s missile on March 5 killed a 10-year-old boy, Ammer al-Mahshami, and wounded the driver, according to three relatives. Four days later, another car was hit, killing six men and boys, including a 14-year-old and an 18-year-old, travelling to a funeral.

Saleh al-Wahir, the brother of one of the dead, was in a car behind them. “I saw it before my eyes,” he said of the blast. “Bodies were ripped apart.” A report from the Jawf Human Rights office concluded the men were civilians.

Survivors are rare. Adel al-Mandhari recounted how his car was thrown through the air by the blast of a drone’s missile. He lost his legs and an arm and was burned all over his body.

The four others in the car – his brother, uncle, cousin and another relative – were all killed. None were connected to al-Qaeda, said al-Mandhari, a civil servant. Two other relatives and the three rights workers in Bayda confirmed his account.

Since the attack, al-Mandhari has spoken to the media and rights groups, seeking ways to get compensation and an apology from the US “I lost hope,” he said. “Nothing is going to happen.”

Even some attacks that the AP did not include in its count may have killed civilians, though there is some dispute over them.

On May 14, two men, Hussein al-Dayani and Abdullah al-Karbi, were killed when a drone struck their pick-up truck truck in an area of Shabwa province where al-Qaeda is known to have a presence.

Al-Dayani’s brother, Khaled, denied they were fighters. He said his brother was a fighter in a militia battling the Houthis. “We are against those people,” Khaled said of al-Qaeda.

Two weeks later, a 17-year-old, Mahdar Hussein al-Hag, died in a raid while driving his motorcycle in the same area. Mahdar’s father said he was a high school student and was returning from buying vegetables. “He might have been mistaken for al-Qaeda youth who are active in this area.”

A Yemeni security official said the dead in those attacks were all al-Qaeda members, though he did not provide evidence. The official spoke on condition of anonymity because he was not authorised to talk to the press.

Harare, Zimbabwe – A year since a trio of army generals held former Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe under house arrest as part of a 10-day military operation that enabled his protege, Emmerson Mnangagwa, to take power there are mixed feelings as to how different the proclaimed “new dispensation” is from Mugabe’s autocracy.

In an unprecedented show of support for the de facto coup, on November 18, 2017, hundreds of thousands of Zimbabweans marched the streets, demanding the veteran ruler step down.

Days later, just moments after a parliamentary impeachment hearing began, the then 93-year-old resigned after nearly four decades in power. But a year since President Mnangagwa’s inception, the hope some citizens had in the liberation fighter nicknamed “the Crocodile” now seems jaded.

Takudzwa Tawenga, 32, a self-employed artisan who participated in a mass anti-Mugabe protest on November 18, 2017, told Al Jazeera he was disappointed by the new regime.

“The day we marched, I really felt like Mnangagwa was the hope of the people, but it seems like the suffering we experienced under Mugabe hasn’t changed.

“It’s like the army just kicked out a dictator so they could enjoy power for themselves. There is nothing for us in this new dispensation,” he said.

Bitterness over the worsening state of the economy and the contentious aftermath of the July polls risks creating a rift between the people, the Crocodile, and the military they once hailed for ousting Mugabe.

Gun between people and the state 

On July 30, millions of Zimbabweans cast their ballots in the first election without Mugabe as a candidate. Mnangagwa won by a narrow and disputed margin of 50.6 percent against his younger rival Nelson Chamisa of the MDC Alliance.

An independent commission of inquiry led by former South African President Kgalema Motlanthe is currently looking into the post-election violence that saw the military deployed onto the streets of the capital.

At least six people were shot dead and dozens more were wounded, but army commander Phillip Valerio Sibanda denied troops killed civilians and said the firing of “warning shots” was constitutional.

“They fired in the air but I do not believe any could have aimed shots at the civilians.

“We would have been very foolish as the defence forces to give orders to the troops to open fire on the civilians with all these people [election observers and foreign journalists] in the country,” Sibanda told the Motlanthe Commission on Monday.

Human rights observers have dismissed the army chief of staff’s testimony. Dewa Mavhinga, southern Africa director for Human Rights Watch, told Al Jazeera the commander’s claims were false.

“The blatant denials on the documented and video-recorded role of soldiers on 1 August is an insult to Zimbabweans. It is a blatant attempt to hide the truth and sweep things under the carpet,” he said.

Although Mnangagwa initiated the Motlanthe Commission and put a stagnant national peace body into motion in an attempt to chart a different path from Mugabe’s closed authoritarian style, he has struggled to break with the past.

According to Mavhinga the general approach of the security forces in the post-Mugabe era has been one of “arrogance, continued impunity, and lack of sincerity”. 

Despite promises of a new era, the blurred role of the military in state governance and party affairs continues to raise concern.

Piers Pigou, senior consultant for the International Crisis Group, told Al Jazeera although Mugabe was gone, the system of non-separation of powers between the state, the ruling party and the executive was still in place.

“There is still no effective civilian oversight of Zimbabwe’s military and intelligence community, which both retain in practice partisan loyalties to [ruling] Zanu-PF. Notwithstanding provisions in the constitution setting out non-partisan responsibilities, no significant action has been taken to alter this reality.

“Although there is a new sheriff in town, Mnangagwa, like Mugabe, must navigate around both security sector and ruling party interests,” he said.

But as Mnanagagwa struggles to balance the desires of those who helped him into power with his own, he also grapples with the dilemma of preventing the economy from collapsing. 

Nation on the brink

A recently introduced tax on all electronic transactions above $10 has sparked a wave of price rises in basic commodities such as bread, sugar and cooking oil and spurred fuel shortages.

The two percent levy aroused fears of a return to the hyperinflation era under Mugabe, when the Zimbabwe dollar rapidly devalued and price increases became uncontrollable. 

Under a multiple currency regime adopted in 2009, the US dollar is used in daily transactions. However, because of cash shortages a local surrogate currency known as bond notes are more commonly used, but even this is in extremely short supply and of lesser value.

On the black market the coveted US dollar currently trades at an average of US$1: $3,20 although the official rate is 1:1.

For Margaret Moyo, 47, a shopkeeper, keeping up with the price increases has made life difficult.

“I can’t keep up with the cost of things anymore. When I go out to order my goods some suppliers now demand US or they say the price is double if you are paying with bonds.

“This money is worthless, we are back to the Zim [Zimbabwe] dollar days again,” she said.

Despite a public outcry against the rising cost of living and the devaluing of the local surrogate currency, the government is pressing ahead with its reforms to widen the tax base.

President Mnangagwa has urged citizens to grit through a Transitional Stabilization Programme, which is part of his long-term vision to transform Zimbabwe into a middle-income country by 2030.

“[T]here are pains to be borne and sacrifices to be made before things start looking up for the ordinary man in the street.

“We must all gird for belt-tightening measures, leaders and ordinary citizens alike,” he wrote in a Sunday column in the state press. 

Hope in re-engagement

After years of isolation under Mugabe, Zimbabwe’s hope for a lifeline may lie in re-engagement with the international community. However, following the election controversy, the US renewed targeted sanctions urging the post-Mugabe regime to demonstrate greater efforts towards reform.

Pigou told Al Jazeera that Mnangawa’s efforts to change from the authoritarian order of the past will be under close scrutiny if relations with the West are to improve.

“[T]he international community is primarily interested in an economic dispensation that actively promotes fiscal transparency and accountability, and that upholds the rule of law and protection of property rights… With some form of electoral mandate, the months ahead will be crucial for seeing how the Mnangagwa administration translate promises into action,” he said.

Follow Tendai Marima on Twitter and Instagram: @i_amten

Phnom Penh, Cambodia – Vang Tam, 65, is in little doubt over what he would do if he ever encountered the Khmer Rouge responsible for the death of his parents and four siblings in the 1970s.

“Even if I died, I would take his head off. I’d do whatever,” he shouts, dragging on a cigarette inside his floating home on Cambodia’s Tonle Sap river.

“Our ancestors were executed near the mountains, I was the only one not killed.”

Tam is an ethnic Vietnamese fisherman who was born in Cambodia. Like hundreds of thousands of others, he was evacuated to Vietnam soon after the Maoists under Pol Pot took control of Cambodia, but many of his family stayed behind.

When he returned home in 1980, after the Vietnamese had overthrown the Khmer Rouge, he discovered about 40 of his family were dead.

Those who hadn’t been executed had died from overwork or starvation.

On Friday, the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC), better known as the Khmer Rouge Tribunal, will hand down its verdict on whether the regime’s “Brother Number Two,” Nuon Chea, 92, and its head of state, Khieu Samphan, 87, committed genocide against ethnic Vietnamese and Cham Muslims, another minority.

Former Khmer Rouge head of state Khieu Samphan on screen in the media centre at the Khmer Rouge Tribunal [Pring Samrang/Reuters]

Judges will also rule on whether the two men are guilty of crimes against humanity related to prisons, worksites, forced marriages and sexual violence.

The court sentenced both men to life terms in 2014 for crimes against humanity for their role in the forced evacuation of cities soon after the Khmer Rouge took power.

Accountability

Friday’s decision comes with the tribunal facing widespread criticism for lengthy delays, government interference, and corruption.

While some argue the court has delivered long-awaited justice for victims, others have labelled the process a waste of time and money with convictions against only three people in 12 years.

Opinion was split among Cham and ethnic Vietnamese survivors of the regime interviewed by Al Jazeera. Many know nothing about the tribunal.

Sa Rom Ly, 62, a Cham who managed to survive mass purges in Kampong Cham by pretending he was ethnically Khmer, said he was sure the Khmer Rouge attempted to wipe out his people – something prosecutors have been attempting to prove.

“The Khmer Rouge wanted to get rid of Cham because of our religion,” he said, adding he supported the tribunal.

“We are happy that the ECCC held a trial of the senior leaders of the Khmer Rouge because it can help hold them accountable for their actions,” he said.

“They deserve to be punished because they were the ones who ordered the regional chiefs to execute people and they followed their orders. If not, they would be killed too.”

Talking after prayers at a mosque in Phnom Penh’s Russei Keo district, Kop Math, 64, recounted similar brutality meted out to Chams in Battambang after they had been evacuated from the capital.

“My father sneaked away to pray but they spotted him and took him away to be killed,” said Math, who lost 16 of his 20 close family members.

Math, who visited the tribunal twice during the genocide segment, said he believed the court was delivering true justice to the victims, but he wanted to see more people in the dock.

“I think they should bring regional commanders to justice … but we don’t want the lower levels. If we demand [the lower levels] to be brought to justice this could result in confrontation,” he said.

Kop Math sits outside a mosque in Phnom Penh [George Wright/Al Jazeera]

Looking for justice

Down a winding alley that runs alongside the Mekong River, El Los, 72, explained how he lost all his parents and siblings after being told they had been taken away on a boat and executed in Kampong Cham.

Los said he knew nothing of the tribunal but that all Khmer Rouge, from top to bottom, should be made to pay for their crimes.

“We really want to find justice but where are they? We are suffering but what can we do?” he said. “The lower levels point and say they were following orders – but all should be held accountable.”

Prime Minister Hun Sen, a former Khmer Rouge commander who helped overthrow Pol Pot after defecting to Vietnam, has been vocal in his opposition to further trials, claiming it could plunge Cambodia back into civil war.

Both Cambodian and international judges sit in the court and both sides have to agree on decisions. Local judges and prosecutors have been accused of being under the influence of the government, especially in ongoing investigations of mid-ranking former Khmer Rouge.

The fact such a small number from the regime have been brought to justice is a common frustration among many Cham survivors, explained Farina So, principal deputy director of the Documentation Center of Cambodia and author of The Hijab of Cambodia.

The Cham researcher said although the tribunal – particularly the genocide case – was important to many Cham, creating public forums for dialogue between victims and perpetrators and their children was vital in helping communities reconcile.

“It’s also effective because you need to get things out of the court and into the community. Then they can discuss openly without fear,” So said.

‘Just a show’

Back on the Tonle Sap river, barely any of the 15 ethnic Vietnamese interviewed said they knew about the tribunal.

“Nobody talks about it. I have no idea what this court is,” said Chroeng Yan, whose father was clubbed to death by a Khmer Rouge soldier.

Vang Tam, one of the few who was aware of the court, was scathing in his analysis.

“It’s just a show, it’s meaningless,” he said.

His friend sitting next to him, Veeng Thhan Yoeng, 65, interjected.

“About 40 of my relatives were killed… I don’t think we can get justice,” he said. “We want to see more on trial.”