Understanding Modernity: A Review of the Kuwait Pavilion at the Venice Biennale

 [The Kuwait Pavilion in the Arsenale during the public opening on 7 June 2014. Photo by Roberto Fabbri.] [The Kuwait Pavilion in the Arsenale during the public opening on 7 June 2014. Photo by Roberto Fabbri.]

Understanding Modernity: A Review of the Kuwait Pavilion at the Venice Biennale

By : Farah al-Nakib

On 6 June 2014, the Kuwait pavilion at La Biennale di Venezia’s 14th International Architecture Exhibition opened with a restaging of an event that took place three decades earlier: the ceremonial opening of the Kuwait National Museum. Under the heading “Acquiring Modernity” (responding to the overall Biennale theme “Absorbing Modernity”), the Kuwait pavilion seeks to “articulate the nation’s history of modernization” by focusing its participation on the history of the national museum, first established in 1957 and then re-opened in 1983 in a structure designed by French architect Michel Ecochard (figure 1).

According to the curator, Alia Farid, the team’s objective is to “[investigate] the repercussions of commissioning architectural works towards the formation of the State.” After the launch of Kuwait’s oil industry in 1946, the old port town was systematically demolished to make way for a new modern city. Throughout the ensuing decades, and particularly after the 1973 oil boom, the Kuwaiti government commissioned world famous architects to transform their new capital city into a symbol of the country’s prosperity and progress (what I have elsewhere called “Kuwait’s Modern Spectacle”). All of this was done with next to no public input or participation, and with little concern over how top-down urbanization would impact the everyday lives of the population.
 

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[Figure 1: Michel Ecochard’s Kuwait National Museum. Source: Aga Khan Trust for Culture (photo by Michel Ecochard, with permission).]


The Pavilion

The aim of the Kuwait pavilion is to assess the impact of this planning paradigm by critically appropriating the themes of the Kuwait National Museum. Ecochard’s museum compound was divided into five main buildings: Administration and Cultural Section, Land of Kuwait, Man of Kuwait, Kuwait of Today and Tomorrow, and Planetarium. The pavilion team arranged the information they compiled after nearly a year of research around these five themes in an Acquiring Modernity pavilion booklet. According to the curator’s statement, “Ambiguous in what they are meant to convey, the themes are testament that any attempt to establish order without the involvement of the communities being served can only ever succeed as a folly. The reclamation of the themes is an effort to generate meaning and restore a sense of ownership and feelings of responsibility over Kuwait’s built environment.”

Restoring a sense of ownership over Kuwait’s built environment is a tremendous endeavor in a country, and a region, where urban planning and development are entirely the purview of the state and commercial elite. The research the team did in the months leading up to the opening was substantial. They uncovered a plethora of documents, plans, photos, and information that piece together the story of Kuwait City’s spatial transformation since the advent of oil. Nonetheless, several missed opportunities can be identified in the pavilion’s interpretation and showcasing of the nation-state’s experience of modernity.

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[Figure 2: The Kuwait Pavilion in the Arsenale during the public opening on 7 June 2014. Photo by Roberto Fabbri.]

The pavilion space was transformed into a quasi-replica of the museum compound (figure 2). Aside from a brief introductory statement on the wall, there is little information or explanation within the space itself. The pavilion publication is where all the research and analysis is provided (but if you do not know the booklet is there, you may miss it). Though it is a pleasantly serene space in an exhibition that hits you with an overwhelming amount of information at every turn, after spending time there during the opening I could not help but feel like something was missing. The architecture biennale is not just about aesthetics, it is about sharing information, history, research, and analysis. A minimalistic approach can certainly be effective, but not to the point of emptiness. The Kuwait pavilion is situated on a corner of the Arsenale, with one entry opening onto a main corridor of country pavilions and another onto an outdoor courtyard area (and a café). Foot traffic is therefore guaranteed. And yet, except during the opening ceremony, the pavilion barely had any people in it during the otherwise crowded opening weekend (figure 3).

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[Figure 3: The Kuwait Pavilion on 8 June 2014. Photo by Sharon Lawrence.]

But I am not an architect, nor am I a curator. Putting aside any misgivings I had about the execution, my main reaction to the Kuwait pavilion relates to the overall discourse associated with it (discourse that my own writing contributes to, as I wrote the introduction to the Acquiring Modernity booklet). My first concern (and this may sound bizarre considering the subject matter) is the team’s sole focus on architecture in unpacking Kuwait’s modernity. The second is the tension between the call to preserve Kuwait’s modern era and the nostalgic narrative of loss for Kuwait’s pre-oil past that permeates the publication essays.

Modernity Beyond Architecture

The Kuwait pavilion is above all a critique of state planning practices; as Farid puts it, “It is about questioning direction from those positioned above us.” Another of the team’s stated goals is to “[investigate] the impact of modernity on local culture.” However, there is very little in “Acquiring Modernity” that goes beyond defining Kuwait’s modernity and culture by its early oil landscape (Arne Jacobsen’s Central Bank, Malene Bjørn’s Kuwait Towers, and so on). Modernity was never just a physical landscape; it was an experience and a way of life. Kuwait’s modern era was not only defined by its iconic buildings, or by the negative effects of its modern planning practices (which were largely universal). As discussed during Art Dubai’s Global Art Forum 8 in March 2014, this was a period of excitement, flux, confidence, and change. It was a time when Kuwait’s education system was one of the best in the region, when women were burning their abayas to demand equality, when local arts, music, and theater were thriving, and when Kuwait’s democratic institutions were established. All of these were reflected in the landscape produced at the time (figure 4), but few of these markers of Kuwait’s modernity made it into the “Acquiring Modernity” discourse. Indeed, the phrase “acquiring modernity” implies that modernity was bought, imported, foreign (I will come back to this later).

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[Figure 4: Fahad al-Salem Street in the early 1960s, showing Kuwait’s new modernist architecture. Source: Kuwait Oil Company.]

Yes, this is an architecture exhibition. However, the cleverly-appropriated themes of the museum compound gave the team opportunities to link Kuwait’s modernist architecture with the society, politics, and culture of that era: the realms where a country’s “modernity” (or lack thereof) is negotiated. Even the essays on “Administration and Cultural Section,” “Man of Kuwait,” and “Kuwait of Today and Tomorrow” focus predominantly on architecture and urban planning. In so doing, the pavilion, perhaps inadvertently, echoes state discourse and ideas about modernity in the early oil era which it is meant to be critiquing: that modernity was fundamentally something to be created/found within the bricks and mortar of the built environment. There is little critical analysis of what this urban landscape represented or how it impacted socio-political dynamics, nor of what it meant to “be modern,” for good or for bad, in Kuwait (and around the world) during this period. The only discussion of modernity’s impact on local culture beyond architecture is how oil transformed Kuwaitis from producers to consumers, or suburban shoppers. But suburbia and consumerism were both considered universal symbols of the modern ideal in the 1950s, so where did this fit within Kuwait’s own interpretation of what it meant to “be modern”? By restaging the opening of the Kuwait National Museum, the pavilion recreated the spectacle of Kuwait’s modernity without really saying much about it.

The reason I see this as a lost opportunity is because, as I discuss in the publication’s introduction, that era is all but forgotten in Kuwait today, where Islamic conservatism, intolerance, and xenophobia have stamped out all traces of what once made Kuwait “modern.” I do not mean to glance back at that era with rose-tinted glasses. Many of the seeds of today’s problems were indeed sown during Kuwait’s so-called “Golden Era:” the nationality law of 1959 which severely limited access to Kuwaiti citizenship; state crack-downs on political freedoms that same year in response to the pro-Nasser stance of Kuwait’s Arab nationalists (the first of many political crack-downs to come); the government’s mass naturalization of tribes from Saudi Arabia in the late 1960s in exchange for political loyalty; and so on. However, these are the aspects of Kuwait’s early oil decades that are most often remembered in present-day political discourse. The more exciting cultural traits I mentioned earlier are largely forgotten.

As a parallel process, the modernist landscape that represented in spatial form the excitement and confidence of that era is also being systematically demolished. In fact, the Kuwait pavilion constitutes part of a growing call to preserve the country’s modernist architecture; as Zahra Ali Baba of the National Council for Culture, Arts, and Letters wrote in the Acquiring Modernity commissioner’s statement, there is an “urgency of keeping alive evidence of Kuwait’s early modern era expressed through the physical landscape.” The pavilion thus aims to “raise awareness concerning the value of the modern city.” The reassessment, documentation, and preservation of modernist architecture is not unique to Kuwait; it is of course the theme of this year’s entire Biennale, and has also been spearheaded by groups like Docomomo internationally, and the Arab Center for Architecture regionally. The movement has been gaining momentum in Kuwait thanks to the initiatives of local architects like Zahra Ali Baba and Deema al-Ghunaim, among others. Just one month prior to the exhibition, Kuwait witnessed its first ever anti-demolition demonstration, protesting against the razing of the iconic modernist Chamber of Commerce building (which is now gone, figure 5). I have personally championed the call to stop the destruction of Kuwait’s modernist landscape since this process began in earnest in the mid-2000s. However, as I wrote in the introduction, “It is not just about the actual spaces, nor about fetishizing the past as we do with heritage [sites]. It is about remembering what those spaces once stood for, and what they signify about us as a society.”

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[Figure 5: Architect Deema al-Ghunaim speaking at the protest against the demolition of the historic Chamber of Commerce building on 7 April 2014. Photo by Farah Al-Nakib.]

Modernity’s Paradoxes

This leads to my second observation about Acquiring Modernity. There is an underlying paradox running through the publication. On the one hand, there is a clear call to protect and safeguard Kuwait’s modern architecture. Hassan Hayat, in his essay on “Kuwait of Today and Tomorrow,” says, “It would cause great remorse to see the buildings of this era demolished; as artefacts of Kuwait’s ‘Golden Age,’ an effort must be made to preserve them before they too, are replaced.” On the other hand, much of the language that describes Kuwait’s modernization in the publication is one of loss. Some examples: “Acquiring Modernity is . . . an examination of the devastating side of affluence: it is a critical commentary on how, with the advent of oil, sensitivity and all sense of urgency was lost” (Farid). “Rapid change fragmented the social fabric as the normal associations, subcultures, and memories that formed the old city were erased” (Hayat). And finally, “[Kuwaitis] embraced modernity and welcomed a massive destruction [sic] of the old town without fully understanding its meaning” (Sara Saragoça Soares). Like many critiques of modern urban life, these sentiments, as Ash Amin and Nigel Thrift put it, “tell a story of an authentic city held together by face-to-face interaction whose coherence is now gone. If the authentic city exists, it is as a mere shadow of itself, one that serves only to underline what has been lost. In the great accounts of history, the modern city is more loss than gain.”[1] It is difficult to therefore ascertain what the pavilion is saying about Kuwait’s modernity: is it something positive worth protecting and remembering, or something negative that “destroyed” Kuwait’s more “sensitive” and “normal” pre-oil past (to use the publication’s own aforementioned language)? The reality is that modernity embodies this contradiction and is, of course, a bit of both. But again, there is little critical analysis of this. Instead, the pervasive narrative of loss inadvertently echoes present-day forces that have no qualms about demolishing Kuwait’s modernist landscape because, as one man working in the heritage industry told me in 2009, “They don’t represent our heritage.”

Interestingly enough, this tension of simultaneously reifying and vilifying the past is inherent in the Kuwait National Museum itself. When it was established in 1957, the museum’s aim was to capture snapshots of a life rapidly disappearing outside its doors. At the same time, Ecochard’s 1983 building was one of the symbolic structures meant to deliberately replace Kuwait’s pre-oil past with a spectacle of modernity. The building was therefore complicit in erasing the past it was designed to exhibit. Furthermore, by their very nature museums are tools of modernity, insofar as they bring rationality, order, and function to the everyday chaos of history. The museum was therefore an excellent choice of structure on which to base the pavilion, as it perfectly represents the inherent contradictions of modernity and its relationship to the past (and, through the team’s present-day intervention, the future). But it was also a curious choice of structure for the pavilion to “keep alive evidence of Kuwait’s early modern era,” seeing it was built to house memories of Kuwait’s pre-oil past. Either way, there is little discussion anywhere in the literature surrounding the pavilion as to why the team focused on the museum, once again reflecting a lost opportunity for critical discourse.

It is undeniable that modernity had a destructive side in Kuwait—as everywhere else in the world—wiping out much of what came before (figure 6). But, as already discussed, that is not all that Kuwait’s modern era was about. Nor was modernity entirely brought in by foreign consultants. In her essay “Monologues with Bureaucracy” (which falls under the “Administrative and Cultural Section”), Dana al-Jouder claims that, “Kuwait sought foreign consultants to tell us how to be modern: what we had to display, how we had to behave, live, and function.” In continuing her aforementioned explanation of “Acquiring Modernity” as an examination of the devastating side of affluence, Farid goes on to say that the theme also “suggests a learning curve . . . acquiring an understanding.” Though offering a more sympathetic side to the story, this suggests that Kuwaitis had to learn how to be modern. This idea, coupled with the narrative of loss just described, too easily, albeit unintentionally, plays into the hands of present-day critics who argue that modernity was a foreign (read: Western) concept that should be erased, and that Kuwait should go back to its more traditional (read: Islamic) roots.

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[Figure 6: The destructive side of modernity: demolishing old Kuwait Town in the 1950s. Source: Kuwait Oil Company.]

In terms of architecture and planning, the work of one of Kuwait’s most significant early oil planners, the Palestinian-American Saba George Shiber, challenges the local/foreign and tradition/modernity dichotomies emphasized in present-day discourse. When he joined the Kuwait Municipality in 1960, Shiber was immediately critical of the Western planning experts he felt had disrupted Kuwait’s historic urbanism in the first decade of oil. However, as an architect and planner he did not fetishize the past or aim to excavate a “traditional” Arab identity stamped out by European modernity. Rather, in planning Kuwait City’s central business district in the heart of the historic commercial center, Shiber reached into Kuwait’s past to show that the pre-oil city had a logical organization that could be relevant to the present and serve as a suitable inspiration for a modern urban order. For instance, he promoted the practical rather than decorative application of local architectural styles like shaded and colonnaded liwāns and mashrabiyya window coverings, which were then used to create some of Kuwait’s most iconic modernist structures in the CBD like Dar al-Handasah’s now-demolished Chamber of Commerce building mentioned above. Shiber’s CBD shows us that Kuwait’s modernity was not just an imported foreign concept but something that could also be derived from its own pre-oil past.

Being “Modern” in Kuwait

Being modern in Kuwait in the early oil decades did not just mean being a pantheon of modernist architecture, or being a society of suburban consumers. Above all, it meant being open to the world and to new ideas, new influences, and new ways of living. This was a modernity that was not acquired: it had its roots in Kuwait’s port city past. Kuwait had always been a tolerant, hybrid, and cosmopolitan society that picked up cultural influences from the Indian Ocean port towns it came into contact with through shipping and commerce. After oil those cultural influences shifted west to the Arab world, Europe, and the United States. Under the guise of change, this reflects continuity with Kuwait’s pre-oil past. Again, there was a lost opportunity to unpack this a bit more: to examine Kuwait’s modernity as continuity rather than solely as rupture, in order to give it greater legitimacy in present-day discourse. This, more than anything, could help raise awareness on the value of the modern city and of Kuwait’s modern era more generally.

Despite these shortcomings in the execution and discourse of the Kuwait pavilion, there are ways in which the team itself vividly captures and represents Kuwait’s “modernity.” First and foremost, it was a hybrid team, consisting of twenty-three Kuwaitis and non-Kuwaitis of mixed backgrounds, reflecting the cosmopolitanism that the country’s modern era was so famous for and that in the post-invasion decades has been replaced by rampant xenophobia (figure 7). It was also a young team, with an average age of thirty-one. They remind us of the pioneers of the early oil era: the young men and women who felt they had a real stake in Kuwait’s modern development. Active youth participation in all areas of development has been missing in Kuwait for decades but slowly seems to be returning, and the Biennale team certainly reflects this.

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[Figure 7: Part of the “Acquiring Modernity” team during the opening ceremony on 6 June 2014. Photo by Farah Al-Nakib.]

Finally, “Acquiring Modernity” is fundamentally a bottom-up critique of Kuwait’s decision-makers, a questioning of authority that has been an inherent part of Kuwait’s political landscape since well before the coming of oil, formalized in the early 1960s in those modern symbols of democracy: the Constitution and Parliament. Freedom of expression and a relative balance of power between the rulers and the ruled have always set Kuwait apart from its Gulf neighbors. At the peak of Kuwait’s early oil era, its press was described as one of the freest in the world. It is not surprising, then, that the pavilion is a thoughtful critique of Kuwait’s modernization rather than a celebratory display of the country’s achievements. This also sets it apart from the nearby United Arab Emirates and Bahrain pavilions.

The latter spaces were actually two of my favorites in the entire Biennale. They contain what the Kuwait pavilion is missing: interesting and informative displays that make you spend time interacting in and with the space. But they lack what, to me, best defines the Kuwait pavilion: critique combined with locality. The UAE pavilion, entitled “Lest We Forget: Structures of Memory in the United Arab Emirates,” is curated by Dr. Michele Bambling, assistant professor of art history at Zayed University, along with three colleagues. The pavilion is an archival display of the United Arab Emirates’ architectural and urban development, with little critical assessment of this development. The Bahrain pavilion, titled “Fundamentalists and Other Arab Modernisms,” actually has nothing to do with Bahrain specifically and is curated by two of the Arab world’s most prominent figures in architecture: Bernard Khoury and George Arbid, both from Lebanon. Kuwait’s pavilion, by contrast, is an “obsessively local” (as Farid puts it) project put together by an eclectic group of Kuwait’s “urban citizens”—city users of all nationalities—to generate a critical, interdisciplinary discussion on Kuwait’s urban development practices: the good (the beautiful water towers that puncture the Kuwaiti landscape), the bad (the “bureaucratic orgy” of the state planning apparatus that results in delayed construction), and the downright bizarre (a woman’s bathroom door in Jacobsen’s bastardized Central Bank “with a handwritten sign that protrudes awkwardly into the banking hall”). In this, the Kuwait pavilion takes a significant step in achieving one of its goals: restoring a sense of ownership and responsibility over Kuwait’s built environment.

“Acquiring Modernity” is not over yet. While the Biennale remains open until late November, the Kuwait team is also currently working on a film project in conjunction with the pavilion. Most importantly, the team has made a substantial contribution to an emerging national dialogue about Kuwait’s urbanization, modernity, and modern heritage that will continue even after these particular projects end. The missed opportunities mentioned above may therefore be realized soon enough.

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[1] Ash Amin and Nigel Thrift, Cities: Reimagining the Urban (Malden: Blackwell Publishing Ltd., 2007), 32.

New Texts Out Now: Claire Beaugrand, Amélie Le Renard, Roman Stadnicki, Villes et dynamiques urbaines en péninsule Arabique / Cities and Urban Dynamics in the Arabian Peninsula

Claire Beaugrand, Amélie Le Renard, and Roman Stadnicki (eds.), "Villes et dynamiques urbaines en péninsule Arabique / Cities and Urban Dynamics in the Arabian Peninsula." Special issue of Arabian Humanities 2 (2013).

Jadaliyya (J): Can you first tell us about Arabian Humanities, and why you chose to publish this collection of essays in this particular journal?

Claire Beaugrand, Amélie Le Renard, and Roman Stadnicki (CB, ALR, and RS): Arabian Humanities is a newly launched, peer-reviewed online journal covering academic research on the Gulf and the Arabian Peninsula, in all disciplines of the social sciences (ranging from archaeology to contemporary studies). It builds on the legacy of the Yemeni Chronicles, the journal of the French Center for Archaeology and Social Sciences in Sanaa (CEFAS). However, Arabian Humanities seeks to widen its readership to an international audience. Published in English, French, and Arabic, the journal releases two thematic issues per year and is available through open access. The launching of Arabian Humanities created a new dynamic in the publishing world, as it added a French-based journal dedicated to analyzing this fast-changing region. We wanted to both take part in this momentum and to support it.

(J): Why did you decide to put this special thematic issue together? How did you select the contributing authors?

(CB, ALR, and RS): This special issue resulted from an intellectually fruitful encounter between the three of us at a crucial moment in our research, with each of us coming from a different academic background (i.e., geography, sociology, and political science) and training in France and the United Kingdom. Roman Stadnicki comes from urban studies, with in-depth experience in Yemen. Amélie Le Renard worked on the transformation of hierarchies of gender, class, and nationality in Riyadh through women`s access to public spaces. Claire Beaugrand looked at political dynamics of inclusion and exclusion in Kuwait through the lens of the bidun [stateless persons]. Noting that special issues investigating cities have been scarce during the past years, we decided to share our perspectives and open bridges between French and Anglo-Saxon scholars as well as between various disciplines. We sought to do so through publishing a multi-disciplinary and diverse speical issue on cities.

The process of selecting authors was a rigorous one. We first issued a call for papers, and then selected the most promising abstracts based on their original contribution and anchoring in the field. In addition to the three editors, two external reviewers also participating in assessing the quality of the final papers.  “Boom Cities,” a conference that the editors organized in December 2012 along with NYU-Abu Dhabi`s Pascal Ménoret, was crucial to the selection process.  Some of the contributors to Arabian Humanities presented their draft papers at the conference, sharing their findings with other scholars in the field as well as getting feedback from the audience. Another collection of articles, drawn from presentations at the conference, will be published in a forthcoming special (2014) issue of City, edited by Pascal Ménoret.

(J): What particular topics, issues, and literatures does the special issue address?

(CB, ALR, and RS): The issue, titled "Cities and Urban Dynamics in the Arabian Peninsula," aims at comprehensively approaching urban dynamics such as town hierarchy, inter-city relations, changing urban policies, and spatial appropriation. It seeks to show the diversity and complexity of these phenomena. The issue distances itself from binary conceptions, such as modernity versus tradition, and/or wealthy nationals versus poor immigrants, in order to concentrate on processes that blur and challenge the boundaries of these simple analytical categories. The purpose is to give a more dynamic and nuanced picture of the urban landscape. We thus prominenatly highlight three processes. First, the demiurgic notion of a boundless urban sprawl in an uninhabited desert environment does not hold true in the region. On the contrary, cities in the Arabian Peninsula are affected by global slowdowns, economic changes, and relocations. As a result, over the past half-century or so, one sees the hierarchy between cities in this region fluctuating and evolving, with previously prominent cities declining and new regional centers developing rapidly. Moving beyond the booming Gulf cities of international standing that are too often in the academic spotlight, the special issue also underscores the so‐called “declining” cities, like Unayza in the heartland of Saudi Arabia (al-Qasim), and emerging middle‐sized cities, like Salalah in Oman and Ras al-Khayma in the United Arab Emirates. Second, urban policies have also shifted away from mega-projects toward environment, heritage, and culture-driven projects, albeit without drastically changing the ways in which regimes in the peninsula differentiate among the population based on class and nationality. Finally, the different categories of city dwellers all contribute to shaping these cities in ways that elude urban policies through their complex belongings, experiences, and social relations.

(J): How do the contributions to this special issue connect to and/or depart from the existing literature on Gulf and Arabian Peninsula cities? 

(CB, ALR, and RS): The special issue builds on—much more than in departs—from the fast-growing and fascinating field of urban studies on the Arabian Peninsula. It is indebted to the field’s pioneers, whether in the discipline of history (namely Nelida Fuccaro and Ulrike Freitag), contemporary studies, or those who have used innovative methodologies focusing on the puzzling case of Dubai (like Yasser Elsheshtawy[1], who mixed architecture with social sciences, and Ahmed Kanna). It also owes a great deal to the recent anthropological works that have contributed to highlighting social hierarchies and differentiated appropriations of fragmented spaces. It thus clearly connects to the works of Andrew Gardner on Manama and Doha, as well as Neha Vora and Pardis Mahdavi on Dubai, to mention only a few. While most of the literature tends to focus on a single case study, our special issue brings together a plurality of contexts. Moreover, it discusses urban issues in capital cities as well as less-known urban issues relevant to so-called peripheral cities. This juxtaposition of several case studies  gives a unique regional perspective.

(J): Who do you hope will read this special issue, and what sort of impact would you like it to have?

(CB, ALR, and RS): We are aiming to achieve two objectives. First, within the field of Middle Eastern studies, the Gulf and Arabian Peninsula are only recently emerging as places of interest. So we wanted to fully integrate this region within the broader, better-researched areas. We found that the dynamics at work in this cash-rich part of the world has a lot to offer in terms of renewing the study of cities in the Middle East, particularly as their urban models, but also their short- or long-term inhabitants, travel in the region. Moreover, the largely diverse population of these cities and the way this demographic variety is conceived, regulated, and experienced seems to be of particular interest to a wide audience concerned with global cities.

Second, we hope that providing open access to all articles will help reach a broader academic and professional audience interested in the cities of the Arabian Peninsula. It is a great opportunity for us to highlight the special issue on Jadaliyya, as the portal hosting Arabian Humanities, revues.org, is mostly known in French-speaking academic contexts. We hope that translating the introduction in both languages and combining articles in both English and French will facilitate greater accessibility for many readers.

(J): How do you see this special issue contributing to the field of urban studies in the Arab world and beyond?

(CB, ALR, and RS): Until recently, scholars have often studied the cities of the Arabian Peninsula as exceptional cases in the Arab and wider world. They have emphasized their eccentricity and, in polemic fashion, they have portrayed them as evil centres of unbridled capitalism and speculation, doomed to fail. In reality, many of the phenomena at work in the region—whether land speculation, increasing inequality within and between cities, social marginalization, and urban fragmentation—are rather comparable to what is happening in other global cities, cities that, by virtue of international competition and mimicry, they end up resembling. Our intention was to reinsert the Arabian Peninsula and the Gulf in particular into the wider field of urban studies and to avoid falling into the trap of an idiosyncratic analysis, partially constructed by national governments for marketing purposes. However big the hype, the uniqueness of Gulf cities needs to be qualified.

(J): The articles are either in French or in English, and the authors stem from various nationalities. Do you see different “national” schools of thinking and studying Gulf and Arab cities, and if so, how do they complement each other?

(CB, ALR, and RS): Though it is expanding, the field of urban studies in the Arabian Peninsula is not yet large enough to discuss emerging “schools of thought.” Yet, what interested us was the pooling together of various resources, ranging from the heirs of Paul Bonnenfant in French academia, to the well-established German scholarship led by Fred Scholz, to a new generation of promising researchers working not only in European and North American universities but also in the region itself. The latter are united in their ability and will to experience these cities` transformations, and to stay very close to their subjects of study. 

(J): What other projects are you working on now?

ALR: I have begun a new research project on multinational professional worlds in Riyadh, Dubai, and Abu Dhabi. I am mainly interested in hierarchies of gender, class, and nationality in private firms there, interviewing many expatriates self-defined as "Westerners." I have an article that will be published in French on competing masculinities in a multinational firm in Riyadh. At the same time, I am currently finishing working on my monograph (Femmes et espaces publics en Arabie Saoudite, Paris: Dalloz, 2011) in English, focused on gender and urban transformations in Riyadh and entitled, A Society of Young Women: Opportunities of Place, Power, and Reform in Saudi Arabia (Stanford University Press, forthcoming).

CB: I am in the process of publishing my research on the bidun in Kuwait titled, Stateless in the Gulf: Migration, Nationality, and Society in Kuwait (I. B. Tauris, forthcoming). This initial work is substantially complemented with a reflection on new “acts of citizenship,” understood as a mode of belonging to alternative forms of making politics that transcend top-down political rights. These acts contributed to redefining relations between nationals and stateless in the aftermath of the 2011 political turmoil in Kuwait. I will be publishing those findings in an article in the Middle East Law and Governance journal. Finally I am embarking on a new research project, very much in its infancy, looking at the role of Gulf investments and policies in the perpetuation of the political landscape in Palestine.

RS: I am currently looking at the overhaul of urban policy incorporating bottom-up urban planning proposals  emanating from civil society organizations, in the context of revolutionary Egypt. I am also editing two journals’ special issues on urban studies: one with Built Environment, co-edited with Leïla Vignal and Pierre-Arnaud Barthel, entitled “Arab Cities after the ‘Spring’.” The second, in Egypte-Monde Arabe, is dedicated to “Urbanism and Revolution in Egypt: Decision-Makers, Urban Planners, and City-Dwellers after January 25th.”

Excerpts from Cities and Urban Dynamics in the Arabian Peninsula

From “Beyond the Skyline: Cities in Transformation in the Arabian Peninsula,” by Claire Beaugrand, Amélie Le Renard, and Roman Stadnicki.

Slowdowns, decline, loss of status and reclassification are thus also part of urban dynamics in the Peninsula which are too often seen only through the only prism of "growth." Sebastian Maisel’s contribution highlights the case of a medium sized town in Central Arabia, ‛Unayza, which is struggling for survival in this era of global cities. Despite the plethora of state services, the city exhibits a profound urban monotony and looks to its past to maintain its identity; the case of ‛Unayza is certainly not an isolated one: the same conclusions could apply to other cities of the Saudi Interior marginalised by new trade routes, such as Abhā or other cities in Oman, like Nizwā or Jahrā in Kuwait. Maisel points out that “although the population has grown, the city [of ‛Unayza] has remained on the sidelines of economic growth and failed to become a strategic location in the country’s development.” Thus, what seemed to be unbridled urban growth instead follows different trajectories

[. . .]

The limits of urban development go beyond hierarchies and the shifting relationships between cities. They also appear in the details of the neighbourhoods, the urban fabric and in the daytoday experience of their inhabitants. Thus, in ‛Unayza, just as in Bahrain and Kuwait, inhabitants complain about the delay in accessing statesubsidised housing. Sebastian Maisel notes that according to the Saudi “National Housing Strategy Plan,” the central region of Qāsim would require 50,000 housing units. This is in line with the work of ‛Umar al-Shihābī in his analysis of the social tensions between nationals and nonnationals seen through the specific prism of the development of housing projects intended for foreigners who, in addition to having access to real estate, obtain longterm resident permits.[2] Aside from housing capacity, the infrastructure and services of cities are being put to the test by demographic pressure, such as the water supply to Riyadh, the electricity supply in Kuwait and issues of traffic jams in Medina. In Bahrain, where population density is amongst the highest in the world, with urban settlement concentrated on the north coast even though it requires land reclamation, awareness of limited resources, such as the lack of public access to the seafront, contributes to political tension centred on issues of redistribution.[3] Indeed, in the fastgrowing suburbs of sprawling conurbations, some neighbourhoods give the impression of relative or even deliberate neglect: the areas of buyūt sha‘biyya (popular housing) housing the bidūns ("paperless") in Jahrâ in Kuwait, or the Shiite "villages" in northeastern Bahrain, which, in spite of the name, form part of the continuous urban fabric, are thus also prey to urban degradation. It is in these marginalized zones that the bidūns rose up in February 2011 and continue to do so. It is also in such areas that, in Bahrain, the youth, claiming an affiliation to the "villages" where they are from (shabāb Bilād al-Qadīm, taḥāluf shabāb Sitra, Ḥarakat shabāb Sanābīs—“the Youth of Bilād al-Qadīm,” “the Alliance of the Youth of Sitra,” “Youth Movement of Sanābīs”), have been clashing with police forces almost daily since the clearing of the Pearl Roundabout in the city center pushed the protest movement into the "suburbs."

[. . .]

Three main strategies emerged from the urban policies currently advocated in the region: the development of an environmental approach to urbanism (Masdar City in Abu Dhabi) as Gulf cities are often singled out because of their high energy consumption; the invention of an urban heritage based on a reconstruction, often ex nihilo, of parts of the ‘traditional’ Arab-Islamic city (creation of the "Heritage Villages" in Doha, Dubai etc.); and finally, the multiplication of urban projects with significant cultural emphasis, like the “Saadiyat island museum” project in Abu Dhabi. Elizabeth Harrington shows that the search for growth opportunities through sophisticated activities has guided the Emir of Abu Dhabi towards choosing culture. But more than a simple architectural challenge, the author reveals that the government is looking to create swiftly a new urban identity, as well as a reputation aimed at foreigners, based on a cosmopolitan outlook and access to international culture.

[. . .]

Governments thus demonstrate the need to fashion a new urban model for the region. Nonetheless, this change of direction in urbanism in no way hinders the mechanisms of social and spatial division that are at work in the towns of the Arabian Peninsula, contrary to what would suggest the urban marketing developed by the municipalities and chambers of commerce and industry, in charge of the international promotion of each city at the local level. In other words, although new urban concepts are appearing, the ways in which urban spaces are treated seem unchanged. Thus, the regeneration of the center of Doha, Nadine Scharfenort tells us, is happening through the expropriation and relocation without compensation of its nonnational inhabitants who had been living in this cosmopolitan neighbourhood for two generations. Similarly, Elizabeth Harrington explains that apart from the principle of select access to the island of Sa‛diyāt excluding lower social classes, its development introduces another principle of segregation between various categories of visitors whose paths are not meant to cross. Steffen Wippel shows that the realisation of the first stages of the new development plan for Ṣalālah (new neighbourhoods and extensive transport infrastructure) contributed to the fragmentation of the second town of the Sultanate of Oman. It created new sociospatial differentiations at the heart of a territory, characterised by its relative homogeneity in the Dhofar regional setting and by the fact that the city has not been at the centre of modernisation policies.

[. . .]

Going beyond centralised approaches to urban policies, some studies show how the different categories of inhabitants contribute to shaping these cities, through their lifestyles, their experiences and their social relations. Whether through anthropology, sociology or geography, these studies demolish the idea that the Peninsula cities are mirages or tricks. Several important pointers emerge from these studies.

Firstly, the ideology of transience does not prevent the emergence of forms of belonging. Although the Gulf States are founded on the exclusion of the majority of immigrants, to ignore all the forms of attachment and anchoring that have emerged over the decades would be to reproduce and reinforce their discourse. In this regard, the work of Neha Vora, devoted to the Indian diaspora in Dubai,[3] opens some interesting avenues by describing types of "urban citizenship" (consumerist, or in terms of belonging to a diaspora group, amongst others) despite the impossibility of obtaining citizenship. Laure Assaf’s analysis, in her article on the corniche of Abu Dhabi, would seem to concur. She describes families of Palestinian, Syrian, Lebanese and Jordanian origin who, by picnicking on the corniche, recreate their own intimate space within the public space, thereby appropriating it. In this way, these families, whose presence in the Emirates often dates back twenty or thirty years, demonstrate their belonging both to the city—to an urban community much larger than that of the nationals—and to a particular group of its inhabitants, the ahl al-Shām (people from Lebanon, Syria and the Palestinian territories). The article also addresses the stimulating but littlestudied question of the memory of places that are in a state of constant transformation. The article by Amin Moghadam looks at another dimension in terms of living in these cities, by describing the transnational spaces through which the "Iranians of Dubai" reinvent an imaginary Iran. The history of migrations and exchanges between the two shores of the Gulf predates by far the beginning of the petrol boom, contrary to a widespread idea that the "cosmopolitanism" of these towns is something recent.

Secondly, urban society in the Gulf and in some cities of the Arabian Peninsula cannot be described simply in terms of conflicts between ultra-rich nationals and extremely poor immigrants, contrary to the caricature. The articles in this issue explore in detail some of the models of interaction between class and nationality based on the use of different types of space. On the one hand, within each national group there are diverse and complex situations, as Andrew Gardner has shown in the case of the Indian community in Bahrain, which is divided between the proletariat and entrepreneurs.[5] Thus the status of "Iranian from Dubai" can apply equally to someone who is a national of one of the Emirates or who has European or American nationality, as to someone who has arrived directly from Iran (Amin Moghadam). Recent studies have highlighted the emergence of middle classes composed of nonnational residents,[6] on the one hand, and shown that class relationships also structure the urban society of the "nationals"[7], be they passport holders or stateless, on the other hand.[8] The people who enjoy privileged access to urban space, such as being able to drive around or enter leisure areas, are not only "nationals" but also the "Western" expatriates (Laure Assaf). Studying urban spaces through the uses that shape them makes it possible to determine the way in which large projects are recomposing hierarchies. Thus, whilst being part of urban transformations in terms of privatisation and security, the shopping malls of Riyadh are some of the few spaces accessible to women in the city, all the while continuing to accentuate consumerist norms and contributing to the reinforcement of class hierarchy.[9] The corniche of Abu Dhabi, a public space frequented by very varied categories of inhabitants, is marked by the contrast between its two ends, the Mīnā (port) where labourers from the Indian subcontinent live, and the Marina, with its luxury hotels and shopping malls. These groups cross each others’ ways, but do not develop the same activities and do not socialise together; the poorest are, implicitly or explicitly, excluded from certain spaces: migrant workers, for example are forbidden to enter public beaches in Abu Dhabi (Laure Assaf).

NOTES

[1] See, for instance and among others, Yasser Elsheshatwy, Dubai: Behind an Urban Spectacle (London: Routledge, 2010).

[2] Al-Shihābī, Iqtilā‘ al-Juzūr: al-Mashārī‘ al-‘Aqāriyyah wa Tafāqum al-Khallal al-Sakānī fī Majlis al-Ta‘āwun li-Duwal al-Khalīj al-‘Arabiyyah [Pulling Up the Roots: Real Estate Projects and Understanding the Population Anomaly in the GCC] (Beirut: Markaz Dirāsāt al-Waḥda al-‘Arabiyyah, 2012).

[3] John Burt, "The Environmental Costs of Coastal Urbanization in the Gulf," paper presented at the Boom Cities Conference, New York University Abu Dhabi, December 2012; Fuad Al Ansar, Public Open Space on the Transforming Urban Waterfronts of Bahrain: The Case of Manama City, (PhD Thesis: Newcastle University, 2008).

[4] Neha Vora, Impossible Citizens: Dubai`s Indian Diaspora, Durham (Durham: Duke University Press, 2013).

[5] Andrew Gadner, City of Strangers: Gulf Migration and the Indian Community in Bahrain, (Ithaca: Cornell/ILR Press, 2010).

[6] Hélène Thiollet, « Nationalisme d`État et nationalisme ordinaire en Arabie Saoudite: la nation saoudienne et ses immigrés», Raisons politiques 37 (2010), 89-101; Neha  Vora, Impossible Citizens: Dubai`s Indian Diaspora (Durham: Duke University Press, 2013); Brigitte  Dumortier (ed.), «Changement démographique et changement social dans les États du golfe Arabo-persique», special issue of Espaces, populations, sociétés 2 (2012).

[7] Pascal Ménoret, Racailles et dévots: la politisation de la jeunesse saoudienne 1965-2007, (PhD Thesis in History: Université Paris 1 Pathéon-Sorbonne, 2008); Pascal Ménoret, Joyriding in Riyadh: Oil, Urbanism, and Road Revolt (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014); Amélie Le Renard, Femmes et espaces publics en Arabie Saoudite (Paris: Dalloz, 2011); Amélie Le Renard, A Society of Young Women: Opportunities of Place, Power and Reform in Saudi Arabia (Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 2014).

[8] Claire Beaugrand., Statelessness and Transnationalism in Northern Arabia: Biduns and State Building in Kuwait, 1959-2009 (PhD Thesis: London School of Economics and Political Science, 2011); Claire  Beaugrand, Stateless in the Gulf: Migration, Nationality and Society in Kuwait (London: I. B. Tauris, 2014).

[9] Amélie Le Renard, Femmes et espaces publics en Arabie Saoudite (Paris: Dalloz, 2011).