After the Sheikhs

by Davidson, Christopher

  For the minority of expatriates who remain in the Gulf monarchies longer, the formula needs to be a little different. There are communities of Palestinians in Kuwait, communities of Iranians and Indians in Dubai, and other substantial foreign populations in the region that have spent decades living and working there, sometimes even having been born and brought up in its cities. A tiny minority can expect naturalisation, but this is controversial with the genuine indigenous populations and—as discussed later—has now become a major issue for some opposition movements. Instead, the governments prefer to create an atmosphere of sanctuary or unofficial asylum for these communities, even if it is illusory. Very often these expatriates are from underdeveloped or war-torn regions, many of whom either cannot return home or—in the case of Kuwait’s hundreds of thousands of Palestinians (or at least those who were not expelled following the emirate’s liberation in 1991)41—have no valid travel documentation. While most are aware that their livelihoods are at the whim of their hosts (many other nationalities apart from Palestinians also have been deported from Gulf monarchies due to political disputes), there is a general acceptance of the status quo. Thus, as with the more temporary migrants, most of these expatriates prefer to keep their heads down or try to save up enough to buy citizenship elsewhere.

  Much international media attention focuses on the plight of the huge population of unskilled expatriates. In particular, the appalling living conditions in some of the workers’ camps—some of which have no basic facilities or even sewerage—are routinely portrayed as a manifestation of evil, immoral, slave-based economies. There is certainly much truth to this, with ‘workers’ often viewed as somehow sub-human by citizens and skilled expatriates alike, and usually discriminated against by apartheid-like regulations (for example, not being allowed to enter shopping malls, parks, or museums). But in many ways the outrage is the result of having a First World society occupying the same uncomfortably small spaces as a developing world society. Very few of the workers can be considered slaves, as most have not made a step into the unknown. In many cases these men have followed their fathers, brothers, or other male relatives who have worked there before, usually with the same conditions. Most are still separated from their passports upon arrival, driven around on cattle trucks, and work punishingly long hours. Sometimes they do not return home for two or three years at a time. But this is usually expected and known to the new arrivals, and most are there—just like the skilled expatriates—to make more money than they could at home. Indeed, an independent survey published in 2009 claimed that the majority of foreign construction workers in the Gulf monarchies considered their current conditions to be better than those in their native countries.42

  In this light the workers are best viewed as the dark side of a tragic, remittance-based economic system where South and East Asian countries sell their labour in exchange for salary transfers and investments from the Gulf states into their impoverished communities. When riots do break out in the worker camps the roots causes are only very occasionally political,43 and the disturbances pose little threat to the survival of the Gulf monarchies. Usually, they are the result of workers not having been paid by an unscrupulous employer or perhaps an unsafe workplace or some other labour-specific complaint. Sometimes the government will move fast to address the problem and deport a few of the ringleaders. But not always, as the workers’ embassies usually remain silent in the Gulf monarchies—unwilling to champion the interests of their countrymen lest they jeopardise the flow of remittance wealth.

  The region’s most violent labour camp episodes have taken place in Saudi Arabia and the UAE, in the latter’s case especially since 2009 following the collapse of many property developers and construction companies in the wake of Dubai’s real estate slowdown. In May 2010, for example, at the same time that over 500 Syrian and Egyptian labourers went on strike in Mecca due to unpaid wages,44 over 100 Vietnamese construction workers were arrested in and deported from Dubai. Apparently owed several months’ wages—totalling less than $1,400 each—the men had marched to the UAE Ministry for Labour to demand their rights.45 In early January 2011 it was the turn of Nepalese labourers, this time striking over the assault of one of their number by five Egyptian security guards—a confrontation which had apparently been sparked by complaints about the absence of sanitary facilities.46 And later that month more than seventy Bangladeshi workers were deported from Dubai—part of a bigger strike of about 5,000 men. The protestors claimed they had not been paid their overtime, and were asking for an increase in their weekly wage of barely $55. When asked for a response, the Bangladeshi consul-general in Dubai was unsurprisingly cautious, agreeing that the UAE authorities had the right to break up the strike because it was ‘illegal’ and stating that the company in question ‘…had not breached the contract in paying the salaries… if the workers had problems, they should have solved it through a dialogue with the employer’.47 Overall, Pakistani construction workers are most likely to face imprisonment, followed by deportation from the Gulf monarchies, not least because they outnumber other nationalities in most worker camps. In early 2011 the Pakistani minister of state for foreign affairs estimated that over 4,000 Pakistani nationals were being detained in Middle East states, almost all of them in the Gulf monarchies with nearly 1,800 in Saudi Arabia and over 1,600 in the UAE. He also clarified that a special government department had been set up to provide one-way tickets home for these destitute prisoners.48

  The most unfortunate cases seem to be those workers who have simply become marooned in the Gulf monarchies. With bankrupt or nonexistent sponsors, they are often unable to leave their host countries and have remained in a state of limbo, often having to take out loans in order to survive until they can afford their return flights. As a spokesperson for Human Rights Watch described in 2010 ‘…because of the layoffs and the fact that some of these workers are stranded, we are seeing an increase in suicides, where some workers feel the only way out is to kill themselves, hoping that the people who have lent them money will avoid going after their families or their houses back in India and other locations in South Asia… unfortunately, that is not the case; the creditors still go after the families even after the death of migrant workers’. Furthermore, he claimed that the governments involved have not ‘…committed to fundamentally changing the way that migrant workers are brought in and the way that migrant workers are treated, so I think it is a problem that is going to be here for a while, especially given the economic downturn’. Similarly, the founder of a rare, Sharjah-based NGO committed to helping such labourers—Adopt-a-Camp49—described how her work used to be ‘…heart-warming—it used to be English classes for labourers, hygiene workshops … and care packages, and seeing wonderful stuff and doing wonderful stuff and the men’s smiles’. But then her work changed, becoming ‘…heartbreaking because rather than teaching men and enlightening them and expanding their horizons here, and trying to give them a good experience, it becomes like a man who is starving. The top priority for me becomes getting him food, getting him water, and seeing men in those conditions is heartbreaking’.50

  Cults of personality

  Of the non-economic components of the Gulf monarchies’ ruling bargains, the most visible is the extensive personal image-building undertaken by select members of the ruling families. Much like other Arab authoritarian regimes, large portraits of rulers and their key brothers or crown princes adorn street corners, the walls of government departments, banks, and even most private sector companies. The aim is usually to portray the men in question in a soft or flattering manner. As such, most portraits feature beaming smiles, wrinkle-free faces, white teeth, and generally avuncular expressions. Almost all depict national dress, helping observers make the visual connection between their rulers and the country’s history and heritage. A few portraits, however, also display the rulers as ‘hard men’, with more serious expressions and often sporting large sunglasses or occasionally military uniforms. Crucially, these are a mino
rity, and are always in close proximity to more gentle portraits. The aim here, it seems is to demonstrate to the population that the rulers should be both loved and feared, and certainly never crossed. Further to this, in many Gulf monarchies rumours and urban legends of rulers and their sons’ involvement in violent acts also abound—often connected to familial disputes or business deals that have turned sour. These are often widely and publicly discussed, but rarely with any substance, and never suppressed—likely because they provide the subjects with a certain cachet and machismo.

  In most Gulf monarchies the public portraits are usually triptychs, often with the centre figure’s portrait being raised slightly higher than those on the left and right. In Kuwait, for example, the emir is at the centre, with his crown prince to the left, and the prime minister to the right. The recently deposed Nasser bin Muhammad Al-Sabah’s prime ministerial portrait, for example, usually depicted him as laughing or grinning. Similarly in Bahrain, the triptych usually follows the same pattern, albeit with a king instead of an emir. For many years it has also been common to see solo portraits of Bahrain’s powerful unelected prime minister, Khalifa bin Salman Al-Khalifa, clearly reflecting his centrality to the regime. In Qatar the three portraits are again those of the emir, his crown prince, and the unelected prime minister. Recently, however, the emir has often been depicted on his own, wearing western dress and usually representing some historic achievement or victory for Qatar. In 2011–12, for example, large pictures of him holding aloft the soccer World Cup appeared on billboards in recognition of Qatar’s 2010 announcement that it would stage the 2022 World Cup. Portrait politics are a little more complicated in the UAE, given the federation and the relationships between and within the various ruling families. In Abu Dhabi, the triptych’s centre figure is still usually the once popular and handsome Zayed bin Sultan Al-Nahyan, despite his death over seven years ago. The current ruler—an unassuming-looking character—is displayed on his left, with his image being either heavily enhanced or badly out of date. The powerful crown prince is always on the right. In some cases Zayed is still portrayed on his own, as a younger man on horseback, or sometimes holding a falcon or some other symbol of the country’s heritage. The other emirates usually feature their current ruler in the centre, with their crown prince and either a powerful brother or ‘deputy crown prince’ at their sides. Exceptions include Sharjah, where the ruler is often depicted on his own—likely due to his crown prince not being a son, and a long history of internecine disputes in the emirate. In Dubai there are occasionally solo portraits of Rashid bin Said Al-Maktoum—the father of the current ruler and the man credited with building up Dubai over much of the twentieth century. On major highways and sometimes in federal government buildings it is now common to see dual portraits of the rulers of Abu Dhabi and Dubai, or perhaps a triumvirate of these two along with the crown prince of Abu Dhabi. In Oman and Saudi Arabia triptychs and other public portraits are less common. In the former, as described, the sultan reserved most authority for himself, being reluctant to elevate other ruling family members. As such, where portraits do exist, they are usually of the sultan alone. In Saudi Arabia, despite power being more evenly shared among ruling family members, the king is also usually depicted alone. This is likely due to the large number of similarly aged relatives who rival each other in the succession process, thus allowing the king to be visually depicted as the ‘linchpin of the political system’,51 symbolising unity, and taking on the role of supreme mediator.

  Titles as well as portraits also matter in terms of personal image-building in the region. Over the years the various ruling families and their principal members have taken on increasingly grandiose titles—usually ones that have no connection to the region’s history and which, in some cases, are sacrilegious. Given Saudi Arabia’s more autonomous state formation process, the Al-Saud family quickly took on the guise of royalty, adopting a system of titles in the 1940s not dissimilar from Britain’s. Notwithstanding a clear emphasis on egalitarianism in Islam, the male descendants of the king became ‘His Royal Highness’ or ‘HRH’, while other, lesser, ruling family males became ‘His Highness’ or ‘HH’. Similarly in Oman, it appears that the sultan has taken on the full-blown ‘HRH’—a title which no previous sultans have used. The other Gulf monarchies—ruled simply by ‘sheikhs’ until Britain’s departure—also quickly upgraded their titles upon independence. Though most were careful not to antagonise Saudi Arabia or embarrass Britain, with their various rulers settling on the title of emir rather than king, they nonetheless took on the title of ‘HH’ while lesser members of their families adopted ‘His Excellency’ or ‘HE’, despite the title usually being reserved for government ministers or ambassadors. More recently, there have been efforts by these smaller monarchies to further glorify their leaders. Most notably, the aforementioned 2002 Bahraini constitution upgraded the emir to a king, despite the tiny size of the kingdom. While more subtly in the UAE the state-backed media has started to refer to the rulers of Abu Dhabi and Dubai (but not the other emirates) as being HRH, with their families being ‘royal’ as opposed to merely ‘ruling’.

  Another interesting phenomenon has been the celebrity status desired and cultivated at great expense by some ruling family members, especially in those states where political mobilisation is most limited—such as Qatar and the UAE.52 For many years young sheikhs, often those associated with horse-riding, falconry, or other manifestations of sporting prowess or activity linked to tribal heritage have been celebrated and venerated by younger sections of the indigenous populations. With the advent of new internet technologies and communications, this celebrity culture has been taken to an even higher level. No longer are images just built up by the state-backed media or by appearances at large weddings and other traditional events. Instead many ruling family members now have their own websites, Facebook fan pages, and even Twitter feeds. Most put modesty to one side and are dedicated to highlighting their various personal accomplishments, often with extensive accompanying photographs and videos. For many years the best example was the crown prince of Dubai—who became ruler in early 2006. Indeed, Muhammad bin Rashid Al-Maktoum was the first prominent Gulf sheikh to have his own website,53 and this was used extensively to demonstrate that he was not only an active politician, but also a prolific poet, a rifleman, and a champion horse-rider (winning medals at several international events).

  Today, the current crown prince of Dubai—Hamdan bin Muhammad Al-Maktoum—has adopted much the same strategy, although in many ways he—or rather the ruling family’s advisors—has taken personal image-building even further. Most of his activities still resonate with tribal heritage, such as horse-riding, falconry, and the writing and reciting of Bedouin-style poetry. But other activities are also featured to demonstrate his relative modernity (such as appearing in rap music videos), his fearlessness, and the tougher side to the personality.54 In a rare personal interview conducted in 2011 the twenty-nine year-old Hamdan stated that he ‘learned to be an effective leader through hobbies from skydiving to poetry’ and that ‘the hobbies exercised by the Crown Prince of Dubai are the hobbies of leadership in the foundation’. The interviewer summed these up as ‘…the hobby of parachute-jumping from aircraft to learn the courage and bravery and self-confidence, and the hobby of horse riding to learn leadership and a major focus, along with scuba diving, to learn patience and the search for secrets’, before concluding that ‘all of these hobbies give Hamdan bin Muhammad a major role in formulation of the outlook for the Emirate of Dubai, and paving the way for development plans in the emirate’. While on the subject of poetry, Hamdan also made clear references to taking on the role of ‘philosopher king’ having stated that ‘I have lived childhood delighted, along with my father and my mother and my brothers and I grew up in an environment that allowed me to get to know the true meaning of life, and meditate on the greatness of the Creator and the natural beauty of the desert, which gives a sense of harmony and consistency with nature, a
ll contributed in building my character poetry since childhood, [and] on the other hand taught me and my father Sheikh Muhammad bin Rashid, from a young age that hard work guarantees conquering the impossible’.55

  Heritage and history

  Helping remind citizens why hereditary monarchies still exist, why some individuals are entitled to build cults of personality and promote localised nationalism, and why these monarchies enjoy special characteristics that somehow exempt them from democratic development, the Gulf ruling families and their governments have expended considerable effort and expense at creating museums, restoring old buildings, and funding other projects connected to tribal heritage and the region’s history. While such activities in themselves are not unusual, what is remarkable is the central role they often play in government planning and the vast resources assigned to them—at least compared to elsewhere in the developing world where other priorities usually loom higher. In many cases government authorities responsible for heritage have been set up in Gulf monarchies before even departments for tourism or the environment. And in Oman, the only full minister (apart from the deputy prime minister)56 who is actually a member of the ruling family is the minister for heritage and culture.57

  Although there are a few exceptions—especially in Qatar and Abu Dhabi, where more broadly focused museums are being established—most of the museums and cultural projects in the region tend to be quite narrowly focused on the pre-oil past. There is usually an emphasis on the background and history of the ruling families themselves, and it is commonplace to see giant ruling family trees adorning walls in the region’s museums. In most cases these provide a quick visual link between centuries-old founding fathers and whoever the current ruler is—the latter usually having his name printed in bold, circled, or with a larger picture than his ancestors. In the case of Qatar, this has been described as ‘heritage and history [being] mythologised to support the ruling family. It is in appearing to preserve Qatari heritage… that the legitimacy of the Al-Thani, especially the emir, is assured’.58