“Give Us Back Our Oil:” Claims for Justice in Light of Algeria’s Colonial Past

[Image of a Sonatrach oilfield in Ouargla. Image from Fibiladi.] [Image of a Sonatrach oilfield in Ouargla. Image from Fibiladi.]

“Give Us Back Our Oil:” Claims for Justice in Light of Algeria’s Colonial Past

By : Thomas Serres

[This is one of six pieces in Jadaliyya`s electronic roundtable on the anniversary of the Algerian Revolution. Moderated by Muriam Haleh Davis, it features contributions from Ed McAllisterJames McDougallMalika RahalNatalya VinceSamuel Everett, and Thomas Serres.]

In this article, I aim to show how Algeria`s colonial past is used in order to express a feeling of injustice and to denounce the contempt and violence of the ruling elite. In so doing, I highlight that the meaning “colonialism” itself is highly contentious. The non-dominant discourses in Algeria use the term differently depending on their strategic objectives and their understandings of the social and political stakes involved.

The Epistemological Crisis of the Postcolonial Order 


At the heart of my argument is the claim that Algeria can be considered as an extreme example of an epistemological crisis that marks the postcolonial order.  In other words, there is the sense of disappointment with the failure of the political and economic emancipation that was promised by independence and then developmentalism. This crisis of the postcolonial order is also deeply linked to the fact that there are a number of continuities with the colonial era.[1] This may appear paradoxical since the ruling elite has based its authority on the memory of the war. As evidenced by the constitution itself, the regime has upheld independence as the founding moment that justifies its appropriation of both political power and economic wealth.[2]

Nevertheless, the founding paradox of the postcolonial order is that many of the institutions in the newly independent countries were inherited from the former colonial power. Moreover, the new state is not only incapable of fulfilling its promises of emancipation and material progress, but also actively participates in the capitalist logic behind globalization - most notably by the exportation of hydrocarbons and the exploitation of subsoil. The many corruption scandals in Algeria confirm the fact that there is no longer a leadership that can articulate a clear vision of progress. Instead non-dominant narratives denounce the treason of a ruling elite that engages in an erratic appropriation of what was once considered to be common wealth. Thus, when Ahmed Ouyahia, the former Prime Minister, visited Bouira during the race for legislative elections in 2012, he faced protesters chanting “Liars, robbers! Give us back our oil!” Many other candidates, with diverse political allegiances, were also threatened while campaigning.

This popular disappointment is also a reaction to the role that political elites play in Algeria as they seek international credibility by emulating the discourses and practices tied to the notion of “good governance” - such as security and democracy. Members of the regime often act as if they were above Algerian society, assuming that it is their role to teach their citizens how to act in a way that is consistent with “modern” ideals. Here, of course, one finds strong resemblances with older colonial discourses. This narrative of the “infantile and violent nature” of the Algerian people signals an attempt to explain political phenomenon by cultural essentialism, a trend that harkens back to colonial discourses. Consequently, the idea that there is a so-called "culture of violence" allows for the regime to make the paternalist claim that the Algerians must be “educated”/”civilized” in order to learn the acceptable ways to express their discontent. For example, after the nation-wide wave of riots in January 2011, the former head of the FLN, Abdelaziz Belkhadem, explained that the rioters were merely repeating political slogans heard during football games, which showed that the country lacked a fully developed civil conscience.[3]

While these trends in global governance are by no means specific to the postcolonial world, they assume a particular form in countries that were formerly colonized. In Algeria, for example, political protests can link the current regime with the former colonial oppressor. In the symbolic repertoire of the post-colony, memories of colonization are a central resource to explain the so-called treason of the once-revolutionary elite. Rather than questioning the fact that colonialism remains the primary reference for all that occurs in the post-colony, non-dominant narratives echo the official discourses in defining the social and political situation in Algeria through the lens of colonial rule. In the process, they often make recourse to the classic accusation of neo-colonialism in order to discredit the Algerian state.

Neocolonialism(s) and Internal Colonialism 


The idea that the Algerian revolution would be completed only when the people were economically – as well as politically – emancipated has been advanced by the Algerian state itself. As early as the Boumediene era, the dominant narrative claimed that the War of Independence would only be completed through economic development. During the eighties, growing frustration and the confiscation of national wealth popularized the idea that a “Party of France” (Hizb al-Fransa) controlled the Algerian state, joining the denunciation of corruption with the idea of national treason. Later, during the civil war, the FIS claimed that it was performing a new jihad to fulfill the liberation of the country.[4]

The notion of neocolonialism helps to make sense of the violence of the 1990s by offering a simplified vision that divides the world into neatly defined groups with clear objectives. As a number of important officers in the Algerian army during the eighties and nineties were former deserters of the French Army (known as DAF, Déserteurs de l`Armée Française), the commanding staff of the Army has often been accused of seeking to perpetuate French influence. For example, the oath taken by the Algerian Movement of the Free Officers (Mouvement Algérien des Officiers Libres, MAOL), which is a clandestine organization of former officers in exile, demonstrates the sentiment that the French has infiltrated the Algerian Army. The oath insists on the responsibility of former DAF in what is described as a “genocide” of the Algerian people during the Civil War. In this case, the use of the word “genocide” implies that an extraordinary violence has been carried out by foreign elements, inserting the Black Decade into the violent logic of neocolonialism. This narrative allows individuals to make sense of the disproportionate use of violence by the state - both in October 1988, during the civil war, as well as during the Kabyle Black Spring of 2001.

Nevertheless, presenting a simple dichotomy between “foreign” and “national” elements is much too simple in that neocolonialism has also been re-appropriated in the context of the long-term conflict between the region of Kabylie and the central power. Arezki Bakir, a former member of the Movement for the Autonomy of Kabylie (MAK), declared last year that: “After French colonialism, it is French neo-colonialism that one must fight. Indeed, if the Algerian territory was conceived and made by France, the Algerian regime was also conceived by France.” For the Berberist opposition, the state has ignored the Berber components of Algerian culture through its policy of Arabization. By identifying the state as a neocolonial power, Bakir represented the Algerian nation as a colonial construction, undermining the very legitimacy of the state. Yet Kabyle narratives themselves often draw on an older – and properly colonial – myth, that of the civilized Berber versus the savage Arab.[5]  In other words, Kabyle cultural activism, especially when expressed by members of the MAK, is rooted in the idea that Berber culture is more compatible with modernity and secularism that its Arab counterpart. Thus, while the goal of this discursive construction is to defy the nationalist claim of a unified Algerian national culture and a centralized state, it presents a paradoxical situation in which a so-called neocolonial regime is denounced through the articulation of properly colonial narratives.

The accusations of cultural and economic hegemony against the ruling elite are also expressed in terms of the exercise of an “internal colonialism.” For example, during the fiftieth anniversary of the Algerian Revolution, Tahar Belabès of the Comité National pour la défense des droits des chômeurs (CNDDC) used the fiftieth anniversary of the Algerian Revolution to denounce the regime’s mismanagement and institutionalized contempt against its people. In so doing, he accused the regime of practicing “internal colonialism.”[6] It is important to highlight that the accusation of internal colonialism does very different work from that of neocolonialism; while neocolonialism implies that the former imperial power continues to dominate the country, internal colonialism illustrates the feeling of treason that emanates from the heart of the national community itself.[7] Rather than reproducing the paranoid dominant discourse that views every injustice as the result of a foreign influence, this line of critique focuses on the responsibilities that are expected from those the community.

Finally, both the claims of neo-colonialism and internal colonialism express a perceived breach in the post-colonial contract that underlines the inability of the ruling elite to offer a coherent vision of progress with which the population can make sense of their present world. This is at the heart of what I have been calling the epistemological crisis of the postcolonial order.

Making Sense of the World 


In conclusion, while invocations of colonialism serve to clarify a political present through identifying certain entities with colonial practices, they also make it difficult to understand the actual functioning of power that cannot be elucidated through a simple dichotomy – either between foreign and local or between colonizer and colonized. More simply stated, on the one hand the invocation of colonialism clarifies the sources of political discontent. But on the other hand, it furthers the mystification of power in the country.  Referencing the colonial past in Algeria appears to be another answer to an obsessive questioning regarding the “nature of the regime.” From this perspective, the reference to the colonial past offers the opportunity to make sense of the current domination by identifying its specific forms: spatial segregation, cultural contempt and the plunder of common wealth.

References to a colonial past also express the feeling that the current Algerian rulers are somehow literally “foreign,” as accusations of politicians being Moroccans, French, or Jewish abound. This accusation is logical in that the current ruling elite tends to live abroad, generally prefers to invest outside of Algeria, and relies on the health care systems of other countries when they fall ill. The identification of certain individuals as “foreign” underscores a parallel between the governed population and the formerly colonized population. In so doing, it also enacts a dis-identification with the dominant image of a people that is intrinsically linked with its liberators. Thus, this work of identification and dis-identification permits the constitution of the autonomous individual who is no longer interpellated by the ideological construction (“le peuple” in nationalist discourse) that was the basis for the purportedly emancipatory populist discourse of the State.

These discourses are highly fluid and often depend on the political orientation of the actor as well as the targeted audience. Certainly, the question of what defines “colonialism” carries high political stakes, especially since the ruling elite in Algeria is far from being coherent or homogenous. Yet the epistemological crisis of the postcolonial order not only means that the leadership suffers a crisis of legitimacy. It also results in certain essentialist – and highly negative - views of what defines “Algerienness,” an attitude that the population often interiorized. Indeed, one can often hears that Algerian are culturally violent,[8] incompatible with modernity, prone to feudal reflexes, or even that they are natural-born thieves or lazy. 

What is particularly interesting about the current political conjecture is that the divide between colonizer and colonized is no longer stable, either in geographic or in moral terms. While the memory of past oppression remains relevant in denouncing the current regime, the epistemological crisis not only expresses a desire to discredit the ruling coalition. More profoundly, it communicates the need to make sense of Algeria’s historical trajectory as well as the current political order – both of which are viewed through the lens of a series of treasons.



[1] Here one could point to the fact that the housing initiatives under the Constantine Plan later found echoes in the independent Algerian state’s attempts to build 1000 socialist villages. One might also point out predominantly French training of the technocrats and experts who took over the country in 1962.

[2] For example, according to the current constitution, candidates in the presidential election must produce a certificate attesting to their participation in the war of liberation. In the case that a candidate was too young to serve at the time, he must prove that his parents were not involved in actions considered hostile to the national revolution.

[3] Horizons, 8 January 2011.

[4] “Hier vous avez libéré la terre. Aujourd`hui nous libérons l`honneur et la religion. Vous avez libéré les plaines et le Sahara, nous libérons les consciences et les esprits. Vous avez déterminé les frontières à l`intérieur desquelles nous allons appliquer les lois. Notre djihad est la suite du vôtre.” Quoted from  Luiz Martinez, Les causes de l’islamisme en Algérie (Paris: CERI Science Po, 2000), 2.

[5] See Patricia Lorcin, Imperial Identities: Stereotyping, Prejudice and Race in Colonial Algeria (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1995).

[6] El Watan, 5 July 2012. 

[7] It can also serve a more explicitly political purpose.  For example, when an ephemeral group self-proclaimed to be the Free Algerian Elite (l`Elite Algérienne Libre) released a statement to protest against the constitutional revision of 2008, this denouncement centered on the claim that local forces sought to preserve the privilege of the ruling caste as a form of “internal colonialism.” They explained: “since the nineties the military junta and its political takeover established an authentic colonial structure aiming to turn the people into illiterates, destroy the national identity and terrorize the population.” 

[8] Media coverage often insists on a generalized epidemic or culture of violence that affects the entire society, sometimes referred to as la maladie de la violence.  See, for example, Le Quotidien d`Oran, 13 September 2012.

***
[Click here to read the introduction or read other contributions].

Theorizing the Arabian Peninsula Roundtable: Perspectives from the Margins of Arabia

[This is one of seven contributions in Jadaliyya`s electronic roundtable on the symbolic and material practices of knowledge production on the Arabian Peninsula. Moderated by Rosie Bsheer and John Warner, it features Toby Jones, Madawi Al-Rasheed, Adam Hanieh, Neha Vora, Nathalie Peutz, John Willis, and Ahmed Kanna.]

(1) Historically, what have the dominant analytical approaches to the study of the Arabian Peninsula been? How have the difficulties of carrying out research in the Arabian Peninsula shaped the ways in which knowledge is produced for the particular country/ies in which you have worked, and in the field more generally?

When I first began studying Arabic and, subsequently, formulating a research project in Yemen in the early 2000s, I did not consider myself to be working in or on the "Arabian Peninsula," as such. Rather, what drew me to Yemen was its historical, geographical, and cultural distinctiveness, which remains even now quite remarkable, but which nevertheless often obscures the relations, connections, and shared histories and presents that do exist within the region and beyond. This oversight is born perhaps out of what Sheila Carapico identified nearly ten years ago as a pernicious "dualism" that shaped not only American research agendas, but also the stereotypical conceptions, popular and academic, of "the Gulf" (rather than the peninsula as a whole): "Yemen is kaleidoscopic; the Gulf is monochrome…The Gulf is good for business; Yemen is good for ethnography" (Carapico 2004).

This same oversight—what Adam Hanieh in his response discusses as a "methodological nationalism"—is also born out of what we may call a secondary Orientalism: a way of "knowing" that considers the majority of the Arabian Peninsula without "culture" and without "history" in comparison to the Arab states of North Africa and the Eastern Mediterranean. This fallacy has been exacerbated, of course, by the relative difficulty for short-term visitors and new scholars of actually engaging on a deeper level with the citizenry in countries like the United Arab Emirates, where it may be easier to befriend migrants from Egypt or Sri Lanka than its small minority of "nationals." As a result, although there have been notable exceptions—including recent scholarship on the political economy, political ecology, and youth and urban cultures in Saudi Arabia, in addition to an older, rich tradition of studies on kinship and its Bedouin—anthropological scholarship on Gulf-state citizens has seemed relatively flat in comparison to the "thicker" ethnographies of migrant populations in "the Gulf" and of "tribal" communities in Yemen. In both cases, these research foci emerge from the historically dominant approaches to these "two" areas: oil and security in the Gulf (and its resulting dependence on cheap, imported labor) and state-tribe relations in Yemen (and related studies on tribalism, sociality and gender). Nevertheless, they are also being productively complicated by theoretically informed analyses of space, political subjectivities, and belonging. A similar and amplified turn to non-labor migrant populations in the Gulf (as in the work of Mandana Limbert in Oman) and non-tribal populations in Yemen (such as Marina de Regt’s work on Ethiopian domestic workers or Susanne Dahlgren on the public sphere in Aden) remains welcome.

As for the difficulties in carrying out, rather than framing, research in the Arabian Peninsula, the challenges of conducting research in Yemen may be somewhat distinct. Adam Hanieh, Ahmed Kanna, Madawi Al-Rasheed and Neha Vora have touched on the lack of (Western) research institutes and networks in the Gulf, the dearth of statistical data, and the difficulty of gaining unmediated access. In Yemen, a robust network of foreign research institutes work in tandem with several Yemeni research and studies centers to house and fund scholars and to facilitate their research there. These include the American Institute for Yemeni Studies (AIYS), the French Center in Sana’a for Archaeology and Social Sciences (CEFAS), and the German Archaeological Institute (DAI). In the early 2000s, when I lived in Sanaa, these centers supported a vibrant research community of both foreign and Yemeni scholars who frequented their libraries and attended their talks. The deteriorating security situation in Yemen and the subsequent evaporation of US funding for in-country research has had an unfortunate impact on these centers, which, during my visits in recent years, have appeared particularly vacant. Still, even with this institutional support, it could be challenging to be an anthropologist in Yemen. For one, as Ahmed Kanna notes, anthropology is one of the less known and less understood of the social science disciplines. And when my Yemeni acquaintances did have an understanding of anthropology, they were also well aware and suspicious of its colonial and imperial legacy. This was made clear to me when a professor of anthropology at Sanaa University asked me in March 2003 in front of his class of students why the United States had not sent one hundred anthropologists to Iraq, instead of bombing it. Suspicion toward the discipline and a more general suspicion of foreign researchers as spies was not new. One only needs to read Steve Caton’s remarkable account of his arrest and imprisonment in 1980 to see what an effect such suspicions have had on the kind of knowledge that is produced. Indeed, in reflecting on his own encounter with the National Security in Raydah, Paul Dresch notes that it is often the most mundane of facts that are the most heavily guarded.

This was certainly true of my own experience of fieldwork in Socotra. Whereas I was made privy to various conspiracy theories, extra-marital affairs, secret religious conversions, etc.—all things I hesitated to take note of, much less write about—it was nearly impossible for me to ask my hosts quite straightforward questions about their genealogies, tribal structures, and political past. Of course, I was conducting research at a time when US presence in Iraq as well as in Yemen was acutely palpable. Moreover, it made little sense to my Socotran friends that a US student would receive funding to hang out in Socotra or anywhere else if she did not have significant ties to the political powers that be. As a result, I turned to and became more interested in Socotri poetry where people’s opinions, struggles, and contestations were more forcefully voiced. In so doing, I thus followed, or rather stumbled, in the footsteps of a group of scholars who work on poetry in Yemen, including Steve Caton, Flagg Miller, Lucine Taminian and Samuel Liebhaber, but without their expertise! Fortunately, such suspicions do ease over time. Although it has become even more difficult in the past five years for anthropologists to conduct fieldwork in Yemen, now that I live in Abu Dhabi where I am easily accessible by telephone and where my current position is more comprehensible to my Socotran interlocutors, Socotrans are more comfortable reaching out to me, calling upon me for help, and working with me. I know that if I were to have the chance to return again for a lengthy period of time, fieldwork—in terms of the questions I could ask and the answers I would receive—would be very different this time.

(2) What are some of the new and innovative ways of thinking and theorizing the Arabian Peninsula and how has your work drawn on these approaches? How do these new theoretical interventions address elisions or tensions within more traditional approaches?

In my view, one of the most useful attempts to reframe and theorize the Arabian Peninsula occurred with the 2004 publication of Counter-Narratives: History, Contemporary Society, and Politics in Saudi Arabia and Yemen (edited by Madawi al-Rasheed and Robert Vitalis). It is here that Sheila Carapico issued her "Arabia Incognita: An Invitation to Arabian Peninsula Studies" cited above. Carapico’s is a research agenda that would bridge the conventional divide between Yemeni and Gulf Studies to focus on the interconnections between the inhabitants and nations of the peninsula as a whole. Whether in direct response to Carapico’s invitation or in reaction to the region’s most recent and emblematic transnational phenomena, such as the global “war on terror,” the emergence of al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula, and the spread of the Arab uprisings, several scholars and even academic journals have now taken up this call. For example, in the past two years we have seen the 2011 launch of the Journal of Arabian Studies: Arabia, the Gulf, and the Red Sea followed by, in 2013, the conversion and expansion of the journal Chroniques yéménites into Arabian Humanities: International Journal of Archaeology and Social Sciences in the Arabian Peninsula, both focused on the Arabian Peninsula en bloc and from antiquity to present.

What is needed when it comes to theorizing the Arabian Peninsula, however, is not just an expansion of scope—a sort of micro "area studies"—but also scholarship that explicitly draws on and forwards this transnational and interdisciplinary peninsular perspective. This approach breaks with the traditional dualism described above in its recognition that one cannot adequately study migration, religious reformism, sectarian identities, state and popular (or cultural) sovereignty, youth cultures, urbanism, natural resource exploitation and conservation, gender transformations, heritage production, or class, etc., within one nation without at least recognizing the influences and entanglements of these phenomena throughout the peninsula and across its surrounding waters. New scholarship that exemplifies this approach includes, of course, Engseng Ho’s work on Hadhrami migration; Adam Hanieh’s work on transregional (Khaleeji) capital and class formation; Laurent Bonnefoy’s work on Salafism in Yemen (and yet highly contingent upon grassroots flows to and from Saudi Arabia); Steve Caton’s emerging research on water scarcity in Yemen, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates; and Andrew Gardner’s comparative studies of the kafala system in Bahrain and Qatar, among others.

Even in a relatively "remote" and off-shore location such as Socotra, this "peninsular" perspective is imperative to an understanding of the "local" and of how Socotra has been produced recently as a World Heritage Site and a "natural" biodiverse research laboratory. Yet, in the early stages of my research on the development, conservation, and heritagization of Yemen’s Soqotra Archipelago, and perhaps due to the pervasiveness of the distinctions drawn between Yemen and the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) states, I was surprised by the degree to which my Socotran friends and neighbors were oriented not toward Sanaa or Aden, but rather toward Salalah, Ras al-Khaimah, Ajman, Sharjah, Bani Yas, and Jeddah. It was the cities and representations of "the Gulf" and Saudi Arabia—not mainland Yemen—which captured their imaginations and fueled their aspirations. Indeed, I soon learned that I could not examine heritage production in Socotra—conventionally understood to be a "national" project—without first examining heritage projects and discourses in Abu Dhabi and Dubai. For example, the annual Festival of the Socotran Poet which, as I wrote about in MERIP last May, was transformed in 2012 into a platform for public debate on the viability of Socotra’s cultural and political sovereignty, was originally modeled after the United Arab Emirates’ reality television show, The Million’s Poet, created by the Abu Dhabi Authority for Culture and Heritage (now the Abu Dhabi Tourism and Culture Authority) to promote and safeguard national Emirati culture. This small example demonstrates to me the importance of seeing and understanding the peninsula holistically instead of continuing to bifurcate it into Yemen and the rest.

This is not to say, however, that the space and study of the Arabian Peninsula is any more "natural" than are the constructed borders of its nation-states. I agree with Toby Jones and John Willis’ deep reservations about area studies and about the "Arabian Peninsula" as yet another imperially produced category. As well as they state it here, these reservations are, of course, not new. And yet, as all of the contributors to this roundtable point out or imply, the Arabian Peninsula and the Gulf—Yemen, too (hence Lisa Wedeen’s book title, Peripheral Visions)—have long been treated as peripheral, geographically and conceptually, to the Middle East and to Middle East studies. One only needs to look through the bibliography of Lara Deeb and Jessica Winegar’s excellent review article, "Anthropologies of Arab-Majority Societies," to note that ethnographies and anthropological articles situated in Egypt or in Palestine far outnumber the recent scholarship produced on all of the Arabian Peninsula states combined. There is thus obviously no a priori reason to theorize the "Arabian Peninsula"—but we may still learn a lot in doing so.

Here, at New York University in Abu Dhabi (NYUAD), Pascal Ménoret, Justin Stearns, and I were hired into a nascent program named "Arab Crossroads Studies." During our first year teaching at NYUAD, we spent many hours debating both the merits and productivity of the name and the rationale for turning this then-concentration into a full-fledged undergraduate major. The legacy of US area studies’ Cold War roots was something we took seriously. What does "Arab Crossroads" even mean? And was it productive or just as flawed to move from a geographic focus, that is, Middle East studies, to a linguistic, cultural, and ethnic one: the Arab world? Even as these are questions we continue to ask, the renaming and reframing does something. If nothing else, it reminds me as a scholar and a teacher to focus more explicitly on the historical, political, economic, and social connections between the "Arab world" and its immediate surroundings (Africa, South Asia, the Indian Ocean region, and Europe) as well as on the human, material, and conceptual "crossroads" within "it." In doing so, it draws our attention away from place and toward movement across space and within various spaces.

In treating the Arabian Peninsula as a "center" rather than a periphery, we are forced to widen our geographical focus and broaden our conceptual one. That is, we cannot design classes or research projects as if the "Arab world" or the "Middle East" begins in Morocco and ends in Muscat. Nor can we ignore the capital and labor flows that link South Asia to the Arabian Peninsula to the Levant (and also to the United States). Finally, as Tom Looser has convincingly argued, it is with the export of Western universities and branch campuses to the Gulf and East Asia, for example, that area studies gains new salience. With the fashionable emphasis today on all things "global," a critical area studies approach can ground and situate an otherwise imperialist (and predominantly Western) sense of "global" knowledge and "cosmopolitan" belonging. Through the newly established "Arab Crossroads Studies" major at NYUAD, we seek to emphasize to our "global" students that their being here, in Abu Dhabi—in the Arabian Peninsula—does matter and that Abu Dhabi is not merely the "global" city it aspires to be, but that it, too, has been historically and politically produced. Included, however, among the required courses for all undergraduate majors is a "Problems and Methods in Arab Crossroads Studies" course: a course that examines area, area studies, and areas like the "Arabian Peninsula" critically, while asking what new theoretical interventions such a focus may uncover. We welcome further discussion on this!

(3) "Sectarianism" seems to have reemerged in popular and academic work on the Arabian Peninsula as both the label for and analytic of a socio-political phenomenon. What is the utility of both past and more recent formulations of "sectarianism" as an analytical tool for the study of the Arabian Peninsula? What challenges or problems have these formulations created?

This is an important question.  As I have not worked on sectarianism directly, however, I will defer here to the other roundtable participants.

(4) What is the relationship between local scholarship produced in the Arabian Peninsula and the work done by academics in the United States, Western Europe, Russia, etc.? What kind of attention has been given to local and regional knowledge production, if any?

I think it fair to say that the relationship between local scholarship produced in the Arabian Peninsula and the work done by academics from the outside is growing stronger, while still remaining contingent upon or even hampered by the hegemonic status of English as the scholarly lingua franca. We see this even in the shift from French- and German-language publications to English-language ones. Serious scholarship produced by "Western" academics does rely on local scholarship and knowledge production, but more can and should be done to translate these works to make them more widely accessible. For example, I recently assigned Ahmed Kanna’s Dubai: The City as Corporation to my students at NYUAD. Kanna draws heavily and productively on the writings of Emirati scholar Abdul-Khaleq Abdullah, thereby introducing his important work to Kanna’s English-language readership. As the majority of Abdullah’s articles have been published in Arabic, however, I am less able to assign them directly, meaning that "local" scholarship, like his, may be in danger of being presented or perceived as secondary to the English-language publications that build upon it.

Similarly, in my work on Socotra, I draw considerably on the texts written and published by the Socotran historian Ahmed al-Anbali (who resides in the United Arab Emirates), as well as on knowledge production by non-academics. The latter include Socotran guides, heritage brokers, and activists who, in response to and as a rejection of the international regime of "experts," are now fashioning themselves as what one may call "para-experts," engaged in an explicit and self-aware counter-form of knowledge production. Although I am mostly interested in the development and deployment of this parallel expertise (as opposed to the content itself), it remains a challenge to adequately present this knowledge production as scholarship and not just as ethnographic artifact. This is due in great part to what John Willis identifies as the incommensurable position of Yemeni academics in terms of their institutional and financial support and the different intellectual and political project in which they are engaged. Until recently, Socotran scholars were eager to promote a narrative of Socotran unity, stability, and exceptionalism. This has started to change, however, in the wake of the Arab uprisings, which have opened a space for more critical histories to be told.

Finally, as someone teaching at a US institution of higher education in the Gulf, I should say something about intellectual exchange and the proliferation of Western branch campuses mentioned by Al-Rasheed, Hanieh, and Vora. Madawi Al-Rasheed expresses concern that Western academic institutions (not just in the Gulf, but also in the West) may be forced through their funding sources to engage in self-censorship, if not the kind of outright censorship that occurred when Dr. Kristian Coates Ulrichsen was denied entry into the United Arab Emirates for a conference sponsored by the London School of Economics this past March. Adam Hanieh questions whether these institutions will reproduce dominant narratives about the Middle East and both Hanieh and Neha Vora raise the specter of their financial motives. It is undeniable that there are restrictions on academic freedom in these places—as there are in the United States and in Western Europe, especially when it comes to untenured faculty. Here at NYUAD we are guaranteed academic freedom in the classroom and within the institution more broadly, as long as we do not criticize the ruling families or Islam. Critics of these institutions perceive this as a profound infringement upon academic freedom and knowledge production. On the other hand, my students—Emirati, Filipino, American, and Palestinian—are reading and discussing Yasser Elsheshtawy, Andrew Gardner, Ahmed Kanna, and Neha Vora on structural violence, labor regimes, citizen-foreigner relations, and the politics of race, class, and space in the Gulf. In history classes, such as the ones taught by Pascal Ménoret, students are reading Madawi Al-Rasheed, Mamoun Fandy, Stephen Hertog, Toby Jones, Amelie Le Renard, Timothy Mitchell, and Robert Vitalis on resource extraction, corporate capitalism, imperialism, authoritarianism, political protest, and gender in the Arabian Peninsula. If our collective efforts to "theorize the Arabian Peninsula" take root, it will be in universities like NYUAD where students are eager to engage these analyses. This is only one way, but an important one, of creating a new generation of critical scholars and also of developing spaces of inquiry in which "local" scholarship is given serious attention within "Western" universities.

(5) Some argue that the Arab Uprisings changed the ways in which the Middle East can and will be studied. What has been the immediate impact of the Arab uprisings on scholarship on the Arabian Peninsula and what are likely to be the long-term effects?

The immediate impact of the uprisings on scholarship on the Arabian Peninsula has been an increased attention to both the transnational reverberations of these events and their antecedents—the politics of sectarianism in and across Arabian Peninsula states, the influence of the Muslim Brotherhood in the peninsula, the impact of social media transnationally, etc. Another result seems to be a renewed attention to various modes of sovereignty—state, popular, cultural—and its contestations. What may and hopefully will emerge with this, then, is the more thorough replacement of the Orientalist notion of "Gulf" states and societies as monolitihic and monochrome sites with a "thicker" understanding of the richness and complexities that underpins each Arabian Peninsula state individually and in relation to one another. To paraphrase Sheila Carapico, it should now become increasingly obvious that the entire Arabian Peninsula "is good for ethnography"—or, more importantly, that it deserves and requires a broader group of scholars’ critical attention.

 


Theorizing the Arabian Peninsula
electronic roundtable contributions:

Thinking Globally About Arabia by Toby C. Jones.

Knowledge in the Time of Oil by Madawi Al-Rasheed.

Capital and Labor in Gulf States: Bringing the Region Back In by Adam Hanieh.

Unpacking Knowledge Production and Consumption by Neha Vora.

Perspectives from the Margins of Arabia by Nathalie Peutz. 

Writing Histories of the Arabian Peninsula or How to Narrate the Past of a (Non)Place by John Willis.

Towards a Critical Cartography of the Political in the Arabian Peninsula by Ahmed Kanna.