With regards to ‘government charity’, much like the free housing projects, the organisations involved tend to remain very closely tied to the state and are invariably patronised or very publicly subsidised by key members of the ruling families. In the UAE for example, there exists the Khalifa bin Zayed Al-Nahyan Foundation in Abu Dhabi which donates to a wide range of causes, and the Emirates Foundation which is chaired by the crown prince and has recently focused on distributing grants for nationals with special needs. In Dubai and the other emirates there exist similar, albeit less well-endowed, bodies. Qatar also provides a good example of this strategy, with its largest domestic charitable body—Qatar Charity—providing a range of funds to help less well off Qatari families and to support Qatari orphans. Crucially, although it styles itself as a non-governmental organisation and is headed by a general manager,19 rather than a member of the Al-Thani ruling family, Qatar Charity is nonetheless inextricably linked to the establishment. It receives financial and logistical support from government bodies including the Ministries for Civil Service Affairs and for Housing, Foreign Affairs, Finance, Economy and Trade, Islamic Affairs, and Education. It is also assisted by the Supreme Council for Family Affairs and the Planning Council—both of which are key social policy vehicles for the Qatari government. As such, it has been argued that Qatar Charity’s various efforts are fully in line with state policies and objectives.20 Ironically, it is now difficult for citizens of Gulf monarchies to give money directly to the poor and thereby bypass such state-sanctioned charities. And in some cases such private charitable acts are frowned upon by the establishment. In recent years in the UAE, for example, in advance of Ramadan—the holy month during which all practising Muslims have a duty to be charitable—the Ministry for Interior has been issuing statements that beggars should not be tolerated, and that those caught would be arrested, deported, and blacklisted from returning to the UAE, meeting the cost of the deportation themselves. In 2007 it was reported that over seventy such beggars, mostly of Arab origin, were arrested and deported in this manner, with any nationals caught having been directed to official charities and threatened with punishment if they repeated their behaviour in the future.21
An important corollary of the Gulf monarchies’ allocative states is the visible lack of taxation, or at least any obvious extractive practices. It is often assumed that the region has no real history of tax, and that hydrocarbon exports and the resulting rentier structures have allowed states to avoid such unpopular measures. This is partly true, as there has never been a system of direct taxation in any of the Gulf monarchies. However, prior to the oil era there were a substantial number of indirect taxes, licence fees, and other charges levied by the old, traditional governments. Taxes were levied on the size and quality of pearls that merchants attempted to sell and sales of camels, dates, and fish were taxed too. Payments also had to be made to sheikhs for all fishing or trading vessels that were moored in their ports. In some cases these indirect taxes—or more modern variations—have been reintroduced, especially in those Gulf monarchies that have faced declining hydrocarbon resources. In Dubai there are now significant charges levied for parking cars, crossing bridges, purchasing alcohol, and waste removal. Government fees have also been added to utility bills. In the near future value added taxes may start to appear in the Gulf monarchies, but it is far from certain. In 2008 all six of the Gulf monarchies began planning to introduce a modest VAT, but despite IMF recommendations to press ahead,22 in late 2011 the plans were delayed until at least 2013 given the tense political situation in the region.23 Nevertheless, there remain no plans to introduce income tax in any of these states, as this continues to be regarded as deeply unpopular among citizens and thus politically unpalatable for the ruling families and their governments. A recent study on Saudi Arabia puts this well, describing the ‘large-scale fiscal obligations’ owed by the state to its ‘various clients in society’, and demonstrating that ‘over time this paternal largesse has proved difficult to reverse’.24
National elites
Given that most aspects of the welfare state and the various wealth distribution mechanisms in the Gulf monarchies are geared primarily towards citizens, it has become increasingly important for these states to develop carefully a sense of national identity. On a basic level, governments need to control exactly which of their residents are entitled to the many privileges and benefits of the rentier state and, especially in the more resource-scarce monarchies, there is a need to make sure that the national wealth never has to be too thinly spread. More subtly, the building of a clear social divide between citizens and expatriates, especially in those Gulf monarchies such as Qatar, the UAE, and Kuwait—where the majority of residents are now expatriates—has also created a readily identifiable elite status for nationals. Put simply, in these monarchies almost any citizen, regardless of background or education, can automatically assume a relatively high social standing, courtesy of their passport or identity papers.25 For many years—and this is often still the case—this meant in practice that citizens could queue-jump expatriates, win arguments with the police (especially if the police were expatriates), and in general enjoy preferential treatment in public. While this obvious social stratification is now becoming a little blurred—notably in those monarchies such as Bahrain and Oman that have sought foreign direct investment or have established tourism industries—there nevertheless lingers an atmosphere of favouritism and state-sponsored social inequity. Either way, from a ruling family’s perspective any awkwardness or resentfulness from expatriates is massively outweighed by the political benefits of having a national population that not only enjoys distributed wealth but also de facto elite status.
Although not an example of wealth distribution as such, the aforementioned sponsorship or kafala system is also heavily dependent on this elite status and the distinction between citizens and expatriates. While some of the more resource-scarce Gulf monarchies, notably Bahrain and Dubai, have gone to great lengths to liberalise their economies and create a more equitable competitive environment for foreign entrepreneurs and investors—either by removing the kafala requirement in the free zones or by allowing ministries rather than individuals to serve as sponsors—most Gulf states have shied away from abolishing the system, given the significant economic benefits it brings to many citizens. In the most straightforward examples, well placed nationals can essentially sell their status as a citizen to foreign partners who need to conform to existing legislation (such as having a sponsor control at least 51 per cent of the company’s stock)26 and seek a local partner. In these situations it is not uncommon to find that the local partner is effectively a ‘sleeping partner’, with the foreigner doing most of the work. As mentioned, this allows citizens to enjoy another stream of rent often above and beyond any land or property they may have acquired with the help of the state.
One important mechanism for guarding and preserving the narrow and distinct social base entitled to these privileges has been the control over citizens’ marriages by using a mixture of formal and informal methods. Although there are many exceptions, and some significant variances between the different Gulf monarchies, it is generally the case that national women must marry national men. The usual explanation for this social requirement is that women marrying foreign men will erode cultural values, religious values, and the use of Arabic by their children. However, for an increasingly vocal younger generation of Gulf national women, this is becoming harder to make sense of, as their male counterparts have always been able to marry whomsoever they wish, regardless of nationality, race, or even religion. Moreover, earlier generations of Gulf women, especially in the pre-oil era, were much freer, with many marrying Muslim Arabs from neighbouring sheikhdoms or even further afield. After all, there is no Koranic requirement for a woman to marry a man from her own country.
At the family level, a system of stigmatisation remains in place for women who marry foreigners, and many such women are effectively ostracised from their
families if they press ahead with these unions. While no laws exist in the Gulf monarchies to prevent such occurrences, there is little doubt that pressure continues to be exerted from the top—with rumours and discussion of ‘unpublished decrees’ still frequently circulating that are rarely scotched by officials. What policies are in place are highly discriminatory, with Gulf national women generally being unable to pass on their passport to any offspring from such unions or—most crucially—both their husbands and offspring being ineligible to receive any of the rentier state benefits. A recent exception to this is the UAE, which in late 2011 announced that such children could apply for passports at the age of eighteen.27 But it remained unclear exactly what benefits they would be entitled to before that age. Moreover, there is still no doubt that the offspring of UAE national men and foreign mothers—even those born and brought up in different countries, or out of wedlock—enjoy much better rights. In 2009, a UAE committee even visited Egypt and Syria to identify such children who might be eligible for UAE citizenship. A six-month Ministry for Interior programme was announced for these ‘would-be UAE citizens to go under a series of educational, social and health orientation programmes to learn UAE customs, traditions, heritage and values that will smooth their integration into UAE society’.28
Also at the policy level, for those Gulf monarchies that provide ‘marriage funds’ to young male citizens—another wealth distribution mechanism, ostensibly to defray the rising cost of wedding ceremonies—payments will only usually be made to men who are betrothed to fellow nationals. In other words, there now exists a significant financial incentive for many men to marry compatriots rather than foreigners. An oft-cited example is the Sheikh Zayed Marriage Fund which began in Abu Dhabi in 1990, before later being made accessible across the entire UAE. In its first decade over 60,000 youths benefited from the scheme, which dispensed more than $630 million in grants.29 Today, on average, it offers grants of $19,000 to each eligible applicant.30 Similarly narrow incentives exist in Qatar, where the housing allowances are doubled for Qatari men if their wives are also Qatari.31 And across the region ruling family-sponsored mass weddings for such marriages remain highly popular, often costing millions of dollars and involving giant feasts for hundreds or thousands of guests.32
Another prominent mechanism for guarding and preserving the social base of national elites in the Gulf monarchies has been the adoption of a ‘national dress’ code. There are significant variations across the region, with men and women in Oman, Saudi Arabia, and Kuwait wearing several different styles of garments, and with the younger generations in all six Gulf monarchies increasingly wearing western clothes during their leisure time. For the most part the older generations in all these countries, and most citizens—young and old—in the wealthiest of the Gulf monarchies tend to wear a fairly strict uniform of white thobes or dish-dashas (men) or black abayas (women). Such quotidian sartorial choices allow the observer to differentiate instantly between a citizen and an expatriate, which helps the former to access the aforementioned privileges associated with citizenship and the concomitant elevated social status they bring. In those monarchies such as Qatar or the UAE where the material rewards of citizenship are the greatest and where the expatriate component of the total resident population is the highest, adherence to the dress code is most prevalent. As one recent study put it, ‘it is no mere fashion that leads all Qatar national men to wear their traditional thob at all times… the emir and his government have perpetuated these neotraditional myths of authenticity, allowing the creation of a citizen autocracy’.33 Certainly, it is very important to note that this dress code is primarily a product of the oil era and the rentier state: although sometimes referred to as ‘traditional dress’ or even ‘Islamic dress’ by foreigners, the current national dress code in these Gulf monarchies has few roots in tradition or religion, with early pre-oil photographs from the region demonstrating that the indigenous populations once wore a variety of colours and styles.
Further connected to the dress code, it is also notable how in recent years some male ruling family members have increasingly adopted different colours for their dishdashas, especially when making public appearances. This often results in formal events or occasions where the most senior sheikh present is dressed in black, brown, or blue, while other nationals wear white. In this manner the patron distinguishes himself from the regular citizenry by being visibly superior. Also of interest, and reinforcing the argument that dress code marks elite status and those benefiting from distributed wealth, is the reaction to expatriates who adopt national dress. While little attention is paid to tourists buying and trying on such clothes, to Caucasian-origin western expatriates, or to prostitutes (who regularly wear national dress in order to move discreetly between locations), there is generally a negative reaction to Arab, South Asian, or African expatriates (or any person who could be confused with a citizen) who may try to wear such dress. These attempts are usually viewed as an encroachment on the entitlement of nationals, and on some occasions even lead to police intervention. From another angle, it is also interesting that some of the indigenous Gulf communities who seemingly have the least to gain from the survival of the current regimes choose not to adopt national dress. Notably, the Shia population of Bahrain (and increasingly the Shia population of Saudi Arabia’s restive Eastern Province) now infrequently wear national dress. And since the onset of the Bahrain revolution in February 2011 it has become commonplace for protestors to burn effigies of white dishdashas—representing the Al-Khalifa ruling family and their supporters—from washing lines in their back yards.
Co-opting expatriates
For decades the Gulf monarchies have relied on substantial expatriate workforces, not only because of the small size of their indigenous populations relative to the enormous development opportunities that have arisen since the first oil booms, but also because of the benefits and privileges enjoyed by citizens and their subsequent preference for public sector employment. Today, there are now several million foreigners employed in these states, working across all sectors, and from all parts of the world. While accurate figures are difficult to come by, given the obvious sensitivities of governments admitting to such demographic breakdowns, it is still possible to make useful generalisations. Most of the region’s unskilled labour force (usually housed in worker camps outside the main cities) is made up of South or East Asians, while most of the retail and service sectors are made up of South Asians, or non-Gulf Arabs. Westerners, Australians, and South Africans, along with educated non-Gulf Arabs make up a significant proportion of the region’s professional class and white collar private sector workforce.
In Saudi Arabia there are now nearly eight million expatriates—nearly a quarter of the total population.34 In the more resource-scarce Oman, where there are fewer economic opportunities, there are unsurprisingly fewer expatriates. Nevertheless, as of 2011 there were still more than 600,000 foreigners living there, accounting for 17 per cent of the total population.35 Meanwhile in Bahrain about 550,000 or nearly half of the island’s population were thought to be expatriates—at least before the 2011 uprisings began.36 The most dramatic examples are, however, in the more resource-rich small monarchies. In Kuwait, over 1.1 million expatriates account for nearly 70 per cent of the total population,37 while in the UAE expatriates now seem to make up 90 per cent of population.38 The latter figure is based on official UAE government data claiming that the total population has risen to 9 million39—this has been widely disputed and can be put down to the UAE’s historic rivalry with the much larger Saudi Arabia. Qatar, now the fastest growing Gulf economy with the smallest number of citizens—only 290,000—will soon catch up with the UAE. Already the population comprises 80 per cent expatriates, and with a staggering annual population growth rate of nearly 60 per cent their proportion will increase dramatically.40
The presence of substantial expatriate populations has profound socioeconomic consequences but in terms of political stability they may have g
reatly contributed to the survival of the Gulf monarchies. Most expatriates in the region are there to make money and eventually return to their home countries relatively better off. Indeed, most only stay in these states for two to five years, with very few regarding their host country as a real home or a retirement destination. In this regard they differ greatly from immigrants who arrive in ‘melting pot’ countries such as the US, Canada, and Australia—many of whom intend to spend their whole lives there and help shape their adopted nations. Gulf expatriates are thus better viewed as strictly temporary economic migrants. Although not entitled to the full benefits of the rentier state, they nevertheless enjoy a tax free salary which is usually better than that they could expect in their country of origin. Often they have no real interest in the politics of their host country, and certainly never revolutionary politics. In many ways they become a loyal, silent support base for the ruling families, as the latter usually portray themselves as the guardians of stable, fairly apolitical states where money can be made safely and smoothly. The Al-Maktoum ruling family of Dubai perhaps provide the best example of this. Styling his make-shift government as ‘Dubai Inc’., the ruler’s aim has been to portray himself as the chief executive officer of a corporation, rather than as an autocrat presiding over an unelected government. As the emirate’s indigenous population has continued to shrink, relative to the influx of hundreds of thousands of expatriates each year, the government has regularly announced new initiatives to hold the situation in check. But in many ways it has suited the ruler’s interests well—even if it has alarmed the citizenry—to govern over a city made up of temporary migrants.
After the Sheikhs Page 9
