Abu Ali Al-Hadrami: the shadowy figure who controlled Hadramaut, then vanished

Abu Ali Al-Hadrami preferred the alias Abu Mohammed. His true identity — Saleh bin Al-Sheikh Abu Bakr — remained hidden until roughly a year ago, a testament to a man who deliberately operated from the shadows. (Supplied)
Short Url
Updated 27 January 2026
Follow

Abu Ali Al-Hadrami: the shadowy figure who controlled Hadramaut, then vanished

  • Uncovering the details behind his mysterious profile, and how he built a security force beyond state control

HADRAMAUT, Yemen: Throughout Hadramaut in Yemen, the mere mention of Abu Ali Al-Hadrami conjures images of secrecy and fear.

Some dubbed him “Hadramaut’s Qassem Soleimani,” though he preferred the alias Abu Mohammed. His true identity — Saleh bin Al-Sheikh Abu Bakr — remained hidden until roughly a year ago, a testament to a man who deliberately operated from the shadows.

Abu Ali Al-Hadrami emerged on Hadramaut’s landscape without warning, carrying no visible credentials or traceable past, cloaked in an impenetrable aura of mystery. His exit proved equally abrupt: he boarded an Emirati plane at Mukalla’s Al-Rayyan Airport without saying goodbye to anyone.

Once, he described himself — according to multiple witnesses — as “a world-class intelligence operative.” This self-characterization matched the impression he cultivated among those in his orbit.

BACKGROUND

Al-Hadrami practiced extreme operational security in every aspect. He avoided conventional phones and refused proximity to anyone during communications. When using Emirati communication lines, he insisted on complete privacy.

One former associate of Al-Hadrami who agreed to share unprecedented details about a figure whose name alone inspired widespread apprehension across the region emphasized that this man was accustomed to working in the shadows, specializing in leaving minimal footprints.

The source, speaking on condition of anonymity, characterized Al-Hadrami as “extraordinarily secretive, calculating, and ruthless — you could barely extract any personal information from him.”

He added: “His full name only surfaced about a year ago. We knew him solely as Abu Mohammed until individuals from Dhale arrived who recognized him from earlier encounters, and his interactions with them displayed unusual warmth.”

According to the source, Al-Hadrami practiced extreme operational security in every aspect. He avoided conventional phones and refused proximity to anyone during communications. When using Emirati communication lines, he insisted on complete privacy. “His secrecy extended even to family,” the source noted. “He once told us: ‘Even my relatives remain unaware of my whereabouts.’”

Al-Hadrami first surfaced in Hadramaut around 2022, when the Security Support Brigade was formed — a military unit operating under Emirati forces based at Al-Rayyan with a stated counterterrorism mandate.

According to the source, the brigade consisted of approximately 1,200 personnel, with Hadramaut locals representing about 90 percent of the force, though the elite strike units came from Dhale and surrounding provinces.

Al-Hadrami immediately implemented an iron-fisted management approach marked by severe discipline and unconventional regulations. Most notably, he completely prohibited khat chewing.

The source confirmed: “Anyone discovered with khat, even a single leaf, faced immediate dismissal and detention pending execution of the termination.” This policy drove away many who found the restrictions intolerable.

When asked about the “Hadramout’s Qassem Soleimani” moniker, the source replied: “Yes, we heard that label, along with ‘Abu Ali the ruler.’ His background remained unknown to us, and we were not even certain he was Hadrami. Many assumed he was Emirati, particularly given their use of cover names, and nothing about his demeanor or dialect suggested Hadramaut origins.”

Though publicly tasked with counterterrorism, the Security Support Brigade’s reputation within Hadramaut soon nosedived, as confirmed by the official with close ties to Al-Hadrami.

“Public perception of the Security Support forces turned predominantly negative,” the source explained, noting that several locals working with Emirati forces “seriously contemplated resignation due to the organization’s tarnished reputation.”

He added: “We eventually requested that the Emiratis moderate his tactics and adopt a gentler approach, but these appeals went ignored.” This indifference reflected the extensive latitude granted to him for managing security operations by his own methods, disregarding social or community concerns.

The source discloses that the Emiratis specifically sought Security Support Brigade recruits aged 18 to 24, “because molding young minds at that stage proves simpler.”

Among the stringent requirements was rejecting applicants with family members in “Shield of the Nation” forces. Al-Hadrami personally interviewed every candidate, never delegating this responsibility regardless of circumstances. “Even when Emiratis nominated someone for enrollment, he personally vetted them — either accepting or finding grounds for exclusion. He placed absolute trust in no one.”

The vetting process gained additional layers through a specialized Emirati officer dedicated to personality assessment who remained silent throughout, simply observing facial expressions and behavioral patterns.

According to the source, “acceptance rates barely reach 7 percent of total candidates,” noting that roughly 6,000 people underwent screening, with only about 300 ultimately selected.

According to the source, the Emirati forces in Hadramaut created a parallel structure comprising local intellectuals operating under the “External Projects” designation, reportedly numbering 19 academics who served as a civilian facade for developmental and service programs ostensibly planned for the region.

However, the source confirms these civilian initiatives never materialized, suggesting this entity existed primarily as camouflage for security operations rather than genuine development work. “In my assessment, this group was assembled to buy time, create appearances and exploit their credentials to demonstrate representation from diverse Hadramaut communities, without delivering tangible outcomes.”

This evaluation corresponds with earlier public statements by Sheikh Amr bin Habrish, first deputy governor of Hadramaut and commander of Hadramaut Protection Forces, who expressed to Asharq Al-Awsat his confusion over Al-Hadrami’s name appearing “from nowhere” without legitimate official standing, discussing development and stability while controlling the security landscape through command of unofficial forces.

He went further, suggesting these activities indicated “an agenda more extensive than visible,” confirming they “undermine southern interests and the broader southern cause.”

According to the source, Al-Hadrami maintained direct communication with Emirati committees while cultivating connections within Southern Transitional Council circles, including individuals close to council leadership such as Munif Al-Zubaidi, secretary to Aidarous Al-Zubaidi.

During one instance, the source recalled, Al-Hadrami revealed a statement encapsulating the persona he cultivated: “I am a world-class intelligence operative.” Those present interpreted this not as an inadvertent disclosure but as calculated confirmation of an identity he intended to establish — a veiled warning that what remained unsaid about him posed greater danger than what was known.

The source referenced substantial quantities of new motorcycles with unusual specifications warehoused inside Al-Rayyan Airport, formerly an Emirati military base, observing they were “entirely unlike motorcycles commonly seen on Mukalla streets.” He refrained from speculating about their purpose, offering only: “Maybe they were brought for service-related uses.” Local sources, however, view these motorcycles as preparation for a wave of assassinations to come in the governorate.”

The withdrawal unfolded not in one night but across several nights in Al-Mukalla, with Emirati forces and Southern Transitional Council units retreating as legitimate Yemeni government forces, backed by Saudi air support, advanced toward Seiyun and subsequently Al-Mukalla.

“The night Saudi Royal Air Force launched strikes against Emirati vehicles at Al-Mukalla port, Abu Ali Al-Hadrami vanished and failed to appear at his Al-Rayyan Airport office the following morning, though he returned that evening. He ate dinner, then left.”

The source continued: “We encountered him again entering the airport before boarding an Emirati aircraft. He offered no farewells or conversation with us — we were conducting equipment inventory. He exited the vehicle and proceeded to the terminal with a group, clearly departing, carrying a backpack and dressed in civilian attire.

“Subsequently, we observed Emiratis removing photographs from offices. They similarly withheld notification of their departure plans, and the night following Abu Ali Al-Hadrami’s exit, Abu Taher Al-Shuaibi, Southern Ground Forces commander, arrived and stated plainly: ‘I am in charge now.’”

The source described confusion over how Al-Shuaibi’s forces handled airport personnel at Al-Rayyan before Emirati forces withdrew, portraying the situation as severely disorganized and chaotic.

“If you questioned one of them, he would immediately discharge his weapon overhead as intimidation, and they branded anyone not following their directives a traitor,” he explained.

“Everyone moved about armed, some displaying signs of intoxication. We witnessed them loading weapons while facing each other, and during this period, vehicle thefts occurred within Al-Rayyan.”

According to his testimony, these hours reflected a total security breakdown where coherent command disappeared and armed force became an immediate danger to everyone present — the “most perilous” situation since events commenced.

According to the source, as the final Emirati aircraft departed Al-Rayyan, Al-Shuaibi’s forces began sealing gates and allocating vehicles, a process that rapidly devolved into heated conflicts over distribution procedures with the Command and Control Center operated by Faisal Badabis.

“Abu Taher and his contingent commandeered numerous vehicles. Approximately 200 vehicles were designated for their distribution, 20 for personnel inside the airport, and 47 for Faisal Badabis, head of the Command and Control Center.

“The confrontation erupted between them regarding this allocation, culminating in complete closure of all gates and access points.”

 


How activists are bearing witness to the erasure of Palestinian communities in the West Bank

Updated 7 sec ago
Follow

How activists are bearing witness to the erasure of Palestinian communities in the West Bank

  • Activists say intimidation and attacks, often backed by Israeli forces, are forcing Palestinians off their land
  • International volunteers describe watching villages unravel amid settler pressure and official inaction

LONDON: Two years ago, a young independent activist known only to his 367,000 Instagram followers as “the.andrey.x” moved to the Palestinian community of Ras Ein Al-Auja in the West Bank.

His mission was to provide what he called a “24/7 protective presence in the village.” But, as his final post from the village attested on Jan. 27, his ultimate role was to bear witness to a sustained campaign of settler violence, ethnic cleansing and the destruction of a community.

Over the past two years, he wrote, “I watched the settlers invade the community 4-5 times every single day, often supported by the army and the police. I watched assault, theft, property destruction, arrests, every type of harassment imaginable.”

Ras Ein Al-Auja has joined the growing list of communities driven from their ancestral homeland by a campaign of terror, which appears to have the open support of Israel’s government.

“Today, the last houses were dismantled,” the young activist wrote. “Ras Ein Al-Auja is gone — 1,000 people ethnically cleansed by Israel. This is Zionism.”

Settlers began establishing outposts in the area more than two years ago. Since then, many Palestinian communities have left. Ras Ein Al-Auja held out longer than most.

One man who finally left the village with his family last week told Israeli newspaper Haaretz that it had become impossible for intimidated residents to graze their sheep and goats.

Villagers say hundreds of animals were stolen, water supplies and power lines sabotaged, armed gangs attacked people and property, land was plowed by settlers, and children playing outside their homes or returning from school were harassed by masked men.

When police or the security forces did intervene, it was usually to arrest Palestinians rather than their tormentors.

Activists such as “the.andrey.x” are not alone. Volunteers from the Israeli activist group “Looking the Occupation in the Eye” have stood by the villagers for the past two years, until last week the organization issued a statement headlined “The Ras Ein Al-Auja community gives in.”

It read: “After standing for two years against an onslaught by the settler leadership and its agents — who were aided by the inaction and support of the army and the police — the last large community in the southern Jordan Valley is giving up. Dozens of families are abandoning land they have lived on for 50 years.”

It added: “The establishment of outposts and daily incursions by youths and herds into the residential compounds of Palestinian residents, alongside the imposition of a siege on the village, broke the resilience of the herding community.”

Ras Ein Al-Auja is just one among countless villages that have been threatened and abandoned. On Jan. 27, settlers reportedly raided a series of communities in Masafer Yatta, attacking residents and setting fire to homes.

The Palestinian Red Cross Society said its medics were pelted with stones when they tried to aid a man with a head wound and a teenage girl with a broken limb in the village of Khirbet Al-Fakhit.

According to Israeli human rights monitor B’Tselem, since the Hamas-led Oct. 7, 2023, attack on southern Israel triggered the war in Gaza, “military attacks and violence by settlers and the military in the West Bank have led to the displacement of Palestinians on a scale not seen since Israel’s occupation of the West Bank in 1967.”

By November last year, it said, at least 44 communities and more than 2,700 people had been driven out, and that tally continues to rise as settlers step up their campaign of intimidation and attacks in 2026.

“The Israeli government, with the help of its settler proxies, is carrying out ethnic cleansing in the West Bank territories,” Looking the Occupation in the Eye added in a statement.

“More and more outposts are being established in the heart of Palestinian communities deliberately, making the peaceful lives of marginalized communities impossible. Ethnic cleansing is a crime against humanity — and it is happening now.”

Around the world, people have been shocked into action on behalf of the Palestinians in the West Bank.

Some have found a way to translate their anger into action through schemes organized by Israeli organizations such as Achvat Amim, which, since 2014, has offered opportunities for concerned Jews to take part in “solidarity visits.”

“The program emerged from a recognition that many people — especially Jews from abroad — were seeking meaningful ways to engage with the reality on the ground beyond short visits, abstract advocacy or distant political debate,” said Elly Oltersdorf, director of outreach and communications for Achvat Amim, which means “solidarity of nations.”

“There were many Israeli and Palestinian organizations doing excellent frontline work, but very few long-term educational frameworks for the international Jewish community that combined political analysis, sustained presence and accountable solidarity.”

Since 2014, several hundred people have taken part in programs ranging from “long-term immersives” lasting three to five months to shorter visits of three to six weeks.

Many participants are in their 20s and 30s, but the programs are not limited to young people and participants have ranged from university students to mid-career professionals, educators, artists and rabbis.

“What unites them,” said Oltersdorf, “is not age, but a willingness to learn, unlearn, and take political responsibility for their relationship to Israel-Palestine.”

The majority come from abroad, mainly North America, Europe and Australia, although up to 10 percent are from Israel. Not everyone who takes part is Jewish.

“While Achvat Amim’s programs are rooted in Jewish community and political responsibility — particularly given global Jewish relationships to Israel — the programs have never been exclusively Jewish,” said Oltersdorf.

“Participants have included people from Christian, Muslim and secular backgrounds, as well as people who do not identify religiously at all.

“What matters is not identity, but a shared commitment to liberation for all, accountability and learning from our Palestinian partners.

“At the same time, Achvat Amim is explicit that much of its work is about engaging Jews, especially diaspora Jews, with the realities carried out in their name. That focus is intentional, not exclusionary.”

Participants in Achvat Amim’s programs “typically arrive with a combination of moral urgency, political confusion and a desire for grounded engagement,” said Oltersdorf.

“Many feel disillusioned with mainstream narratives they were taught, frustrated by distant advocacy that feels disconnected from reality, or compelled by a sense that silence or neutrality is no longer possible.”

For Lila Macbeth, a 43-year-old craniosacral therapist from Minneapolis in the US, taking part in Achvat Amim’s recent three-week Winter Solidarity Visit program, organized in collaboration with Rabbis for Human Rights, was an opportunity to build on her two decades of pro-Palestinian activism, while at the same time learning more about her own faith.

“For the past 20 years, I had a commitment to never come to Israel, to not contribute to the violence that is the occupation of the West Bank and Gaza,” she said.

“Then recently I’ve really connected to Judaism as a very central part of my life. For the first time, I wanted to come here, feel the history and do some Jewish learning.

“But I knew that if I was going to come and be on this land, I really wanted to go to the West Bank and be a protective presence.”

Achvat Amim, she said, really helped her to “understand the history, understand the risks and understand how to show up respectfully as collaborators with Palestinians.”

Macbeth and her fellow volunteers toured Jerusalem, attended workshops on subjects including the Nakba, visited Lifta, the village near Jerusalem that has remained deserted since the Arab community was driven out by Israeli soldiers in 1948, and spent time with Palestinian communities in Masafer Yatta and the Jordan Valley.

From the Palestinians she met, “I have experienced an overwhelming amount of gratitude and hospitality,” she said. “They wanted us to feel so welcome.”

She refuses to accept that the situation in the West Bank is hopeless.

“It feels so easy to think that it’s a lost cause. Even in the very short time that I’ve been in Israel, there have been some really big losses, there have been communities I have visited that have decided to pack up and leave their lands, which feels just tragic.

“But even in situations like that, so many of the Palestinians I’ve interacted with have expressed so much resilience and so much determination and dedication to the bigger fight. So who am I to be hopeless in the face of that?”

She was, she said, “absolutely devastated and heartbroken” when she heard about the Oct. 7, 2023, attack.

“But in the very same moment, I knew with all certainty that what was going to happen to Palestinians in Gaza as retribution was going to be horrific. And it was so much more horrific than I could have imagined.”

Two years on, “the interesting thing about being here in Jerusalem and spending time in the West Bank over the past month, is that during the time when I was watching the news every day about what was happening in Gaza, I had no idea about the escalation of violence that was also happening in the West Bank, which I didn’t learn about until the last month.

Another first-timer on Achvat Amim’s recent three-week Winter Solidarity program was Andrea Burns, a 29-year-old tech worker from New York.

“I was looking to do on-the-ground work and some type of activism,” she said. “I wanted to take personal action on my values and my political beliefs. I’m based in the US, and it’s an understatement to say I’m frustrated about how my tax money is being spent supporting Israel militarily.”

The Jewish environment she grew up in was “pro-Israel, and there wasn’t a lot of education, either in school or in my family or circle of friends. When I was younger, Israel was just viewed positively as a state for the Jewish people.”

It was only when she started graduate school, in about 2018, that she began to learn more about the reality on the ground from international students.

“It was a learning process for me, finding out about the dynamics of the power imbalance, and opening my eyes to the occupation and the apartheid.”

Andrea had visited Israel before. Because she was not raised religiously and wanted to learn more about Judaism, in 2015 she went on a “birthright” visit — free, state- and donor-funded trips for Jews aged 18 to 26, designed to “ensure a vibrant future for the Jewish people by strengthening Jewish identity, Jewish communities, and connection with Israel,” which, she said, “in retrospect is kind of comical, given my current stance on things.”

During the program, “a lot of the time we spent there was just getting to know Palestinian people, seeing and participating in their daily life, getting to know the kids, and also hearing stories of continual settler harassment and violence from outposts that have been set up.”

One visit she made, to Umm Al-Khair in Masafer Yatta, was especially poignant for her. A friend from New York had been in the village in July 2025 when a settler shot dead the popular Palestinian community leader and father of three Odeh Hadalin.

The killing happened when settlers reportedly drove a bulldozer into the village and one of them began firing a handgun.

Yinon Levi, a known extremist and founder of the illegal Meitarim Farm outpost, was placed under house arrest but released after three days when a court accepted his claim that he had acted in self-defense.

Levi had been sanctioned by the US under the Biden administration as a person “undermining peace, security and stability in the West Bank.” The sanctions on Levi, and dozens of other extremist settlers and related organizations, were removed in January last year.

“Many volunteers had spent time in the village and met Odeh over the years,” said Andrea.

“For me, being in the village and meeting his family, who I had learned so much about through friends, felt really special. It was really nice to be there and say, you know, ‘My friend says hi,’ like he was sending his love.”