These tactics have been used during Iran’s most recent wave of protests that erupted in December 2025. The Iranian government has responded with one of its most severe crackdowns yet, imposing a complete internet blackout across the country that has left the population digitally isolated from the outside world. For nearly a week, international phone lines were also severed, making it extraordinarily difficult for anyone outside Iran to reach family, friends, or sources inside the country. This communications blackout has served a dual purpose: It has prevented protesters from coordinating their activities and documenting regime violence, while simultaneously creating an information vacuum making it nearly impossible for international observers to verify reports of state brutality. The shutdown has demonstrated how digital repression has evolved into an essential tool of authoritarian survival in Iran. It has been be deployed to cut the population’s connection not just to each other but to the rest of the world.

DNS Spoofing

The Domain Name System functions as the internet’s phone book. When a user types a URL, for example “facebook.com,” into a browser, DNS servers translate the domain name into a numerical address that computers use to find a website.

When Iranian users try to visit a blocked website, Iranian authorities can configure DNS servers to redirect them to fake addresses that either show an error page or just do not work. Iranian users can bypass DNS spoofing by using virtual private networks that send DNS requests through an encrypted VPN tunnel to DNS servers outside Iran. Instead of asking Iranian DNS servers, the computer asks the VPN provider’s DNS servers for the real address.

HTTP Filtering

Hypertext Transfer Protocol is the basic protocol that computer browsers use to request web pages. When users click on a link or type a URL, the browser sends an HTTP request that includes information about which website they are trying to reach. Iran’s deep packet inspection system acts like a security guard reading every letter the users post. It examines each request by every user and checks if they are trying to access blocked content. If the system detects the browser is trying to reach blocked content, it can send an error page instead of the real website or simply cut the connection, making it look like the website is not responding.

Iranian users can bypass this with a VPN that encrypts internet traffic before it leaves a user’s system. The government deep packet inspection system can see that there is data flowing to the VPN server, but it cannot read the encrypted content inside.

TLS and SNI Filtering

Transport Layer Security is the encryption that protects users’ data. When a user first connects to a secure website, the browser sends a message that includes the website name in clear text. This is called the Server Name Indication. Even though the rest of the connection is encrypted and private, the deep packet inspection system can still read the website name in that initial message. It is like sending a sealed envelope through the mail, but the address on the outside is visible to anyone handling it.

When Iranian users try to connect to banned sites (such as Instagram, X, or Telegram) using encryption, their browser first sends a message that includes the name of the website. Iran’s internet monitoring system reads that and can immediately cut their connection.

When a user connects to a secure HTTPS website, the SNI is visible even though the rest is encrypted. But when using a VPN, the entire connection to the website – including that initial message – is wrapped in another layer of encryption to the VPN server. Iran’s system can still detect that the system is connecting to a VPN server but not which websites are accessed through it.

Protocol Whitelisting

Different internet applications use different protocols, or sets of rules for communication. Web browsing uses HTTP or HTTPS, email uses Simple Mail Transfer Protocol, and video calls and VPNs use their own specific protocols. Iran’s system uses a whitelist approach that only allows three types of traffic to pass through: DNS (to look up website addresses), HTTP (for regular websites), and HTTPS (for secure websites). Everything else is blocked. This includes Secure Shell connections for remote computer access, custom applications or gaming protocols, peer-to-peer file sharing, and most encrypted communication tools. Protocol whitelisting is also Iran’s most effective measure to disable VPNs.

Traditional VPNs are largely ineffective because of protocol whitelisting at the centralized border gateway. The government does not need to decrypt VPN traffic or identify which websites users are visiting. It simply can block all VPN protocols from connecting in the first place. This is why internet shutdowns by the Iranian government are so effective. By combining multiple filtering layers with protocol whitelisting, the government neutralizes most circumvention tools without having to break encryption.

Border Gateway Protocol Control

Instead of each internet service provider implementing blocking measures separately, Iran has a single control point that all internet traffic passes through. The state-owned Telecommunication Company of Iran designed a system through which all internet traffic must travel through one channel – owned and operated by the state – to leave Iran and reach the global internet. That point of exit is the “border gateway.”

This means every internet provider in Iran essentially blocks the same content in the same way, because it is all being filtered at one central location. The government can instantly tighten or loosen restrictions across the entire country by adjusting one system, not thousands. Even using a different internet provider doesn’t help avoid the censorship, because all traffic eventually passes through this same checkpoint.

Imagine a country with only one international airport. No matter which taxi company is used to get there, everyone has to pass through the same security checkpoint where bags are searched and certain items are confiscated. Iran’s internet works the same way, all traffic funnels through one inspection point before leaving the country.

Building Digital Repression

Iran has not developed its censorship infrastructure in isolation. The regime has received assistance from China, the world’s most experienced practitioner of internet control. Over recent decades, Iran has paid hundreds of millions of dollars to Chinese telecommunication contractors to provide monitoring of landline, mobile, and internet communications. This includes deep packet inspection technology that can track internet users, reconstruct email messages, block internet traffic, and deliver manipulated web pages. As part of their 25 year strategic partnership agreement, the two countries have committed to expand their cooperation in cyberspace. Iran has been able to turn to China’s model of information control while adapting it to local requirements. Notably, Chinese experts have assisted Iran with building its National Information Network, a domestic internet infrastructure designed to function independently of the global internet. Marketed as conforming to Islamic values, the network includes domestic alternatives to search engines, messaging services, social media platforms, email systems, and even smartphone operating systems. For the regime, it provides the technical foundation for isolating Iranian citizens from global information during crises, while simultaneously developing domestic technological expertise that can be deployed for surveillance and control.

Beyond acquiring foreign technology, the Iranian government has pursued a deliberate strategy of building indigenous digital capabilities through what is referred to by local officials as the “jihad of knowledge.” Iran’s strategy for developing the country’s knowledge-based sector and efforts toward the “purification of higher education” have helped the government advance its cyber capabilities. This strategic framework involves training ideologically loyal Iranian tech experts and scientists to advance government projects, investing heavily in developing indigenous cyber capabilities through domestic research institutions and tech companies and collaborating with like-minded authoritarian states to acquire advanced surveillance and censorship technologies.

Internet Shutdowns as Weapons Against Protest

These investments in foreign collaboration and domestic technological development have borne fruit in several internet shutdowns since 2019, deployed primarily to suppress popular uprisings and cut off protesters from organizing tools and global attention.

In 2019, authorities ordered internet service providers and mobile operators to withdraw border gateway protocol routes, which tell the internet how to reach Iranian networks. Following Mahsa Amini’s death and subsequent protests in 2022, Iran adopted a slightly different approach. Rather than a complete blackout, authorities imposed recurring “digital curfews” on mobile networks during evening protest hours. For 13 consecutive days in September and October, mobile providers, such as Irancell and the Mobile Communications Company of Iran, were repeatedly disconnected from international traffic, and then the connections were restored overnight. This targeted strategy allowed the regime to disrupt real-time protest coordination while maintaining connectivity for domestic services and reducing economic damage. It also created psychological uncertainty, as users never knew exactly when access would disappear.

In 2025, following the outbreak of the June conflict with Israel, Iran preserved its global internet presence while using centralized filtering at the national border to block actual access. This “stealth blackout” fooled traditional monitoring tools that rely on routing data. Authorities deployed multiple censorship layers simultaneously: DNS spoofing redirected requests to fake addresses, protocol whitelisting blocked all traffic except basic web browsing, and deep packet inspection examined and filtered individual data packets. The government justified these measures as necessary to protect the country’s digital infrastructure from Israeli cyberattacks. While this claim may have had some legitimacy, the timing and comprehensiveness of the restrictions also revealed fears of popular uprising at a moment when the regime was militarily and politically vulnerable.

Internet shutdowns serve multiple strategic objectives for the Iranian regime. By severing digital connections during protests, authorities prevent real-time mobilization and coordination among demonstrators, making organized resistance far more difficult. The psychological impact on protesters is equally significant. Isolated from global attention and unable to share evidence of state violence, protesters face demoralization and doubt about whether their struggles matter to the outside world. These digital blackouts also create strategic ambiguity for the international community: When journalists, human rights organizations, and policymakers cannot verify what is happening on the ground, they may – in essence be forced to – accept regime narratives that minimize atrocities or justify crackdowns as necessary security measures, given that all nonregime information is shut off. As average citizens remain cut off, senior regime officials, state-owned news agencies, and government propagandists continue to operate online with full access, bypassing the very filtering systems imposed on the population, to give interviews to international media and shape narratives on social platforms. Internet shutdowns also sever the vital connection between protesters inside Iran and opposition diaspora communities. It is useful in slowing down, or dismantling, the formation of effective international solidarity campaigns that can amplify Iranian protesters’ voices and put pressure on foreign governments to respond. The Iranian regime’s internet censorship and shutdowns, therefore, function as comprehensive weapons of political warfare, designed to isolate, demoralize, and ultimately suppress dissent by controlling not just information flows but the very possibility of collective action and international witness.

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Filipino migration to the Gulf goes back to the early 1970s, when the first large wave of workers – primarily engineers – arrived in Saudi Arabia to help build the kingdom’s oil infrastructure. The following year, the Labor Code of the Philippines was established, the first of many laws and institutions designed to support the country’s growing population of citizens working abroad. Today, nearly 11 million Filipinos are employed overseas.

While statistics on the Filipino population in the UAE are somewhat unclear, the UAE’s Philippine Consulate reported that in 1993 there were nearly 15,000 Filipinos in the country, of which about 60% were domestic workers. By the mid-2000s, the UAE’s Filipino population had soared to more than 200,000. As of 2024, 650,000 Filipino migrants reportedly resided in the UAE, constituting nearly 6% of the country’s estimated 11.5 million residents. Filipinos are the fourth most populous immigrant group after Indians, Pakistanis, and Bangladeshis, and the UAE hosts the third–largest population of Filipino migrants in the world, after Saudi Arabia and the United States.

For Filipinos in the UAE, there is a high degree of professional diversity. As of 2010, the service and sales sector employed 35% of new Filipino workers. This includes customer service positions at Abu Dhabi’s and Dubai’s international airports, hotel desks, restaurants, and retail shops. Around 30% are employed in domestic household service, 20% in production and transportation, and 15% in professional, technical, and clerical services. The number of Filipinos in administrative and managerial positions has remained less than 1% since at least 2000. Though seemingly small in number when looking at employment statistics, Filipino-owned businesses play important roles in the economy and culture of the UAE. Particularly, Filipino-owned restaurants, cafés, and specialty shops are a familiar pillar of life shaping everyday experiences for residents across the country.

Filipino Cuisine in the UAE

Filipino cuisine, marketed as “Pinoy” cuisine, using the colloquial Tagalog term for “Filipino,” cuts across ethnic, regional, and socioeconomic boundaries in the UAE. Founded in 2013, Queen Saba Cafeteria in Abu Dhabi bills itself as the home for authentic Filipino food, traditional delicacies, and desserts. In Umm al-Quwain, just over 50 miles north of Dubai, Barako Grill has catered to tourists and Filipino residents alike, its interior inspired by Manila’s vibrant nightlife and bar culture. In Dubai, Filipino-owned Chicha Bakehouse has offered coffee and desserts influenced by Filipino cuisine, incorporating ingredients including mango and ube, since it opened in 2023. At that time, founders Chin and Cha would come directly to the kitchen after working their full-time jobs, staying up until midnight experimenting with cookie and brownie recipes.

Panaderia. (Courtesy of Lauren McMillen)

While not serving Filipino cuisine in a traditional restaurant, Filipino nannies, who make up around 30% of the Filipino population in the UAE, introduce Filipino cuisine to the families who employ them. A nanny in Dubai, Cherry, told The National that, over six years with an Argentinian Brazilian family, she has introduced them to an array of Filipino dishes, with adobo, – a meat-based stew prepared with vinegar, soy sauce, and garlic – a school lunch box favorite.

One Carlo Diaz, a Filipino lifestyle writer for The National, wrote that Filipino cuisine “packs a complex history, which combines pre-colonial influences with centuries of foreign rule, from Spain to Japan.” Diaz echoed Doreen G.Fernandez’s 1985 article “Culture Ingested: Notes on the Indigenization of Philippine Food,” which explained how Filipino food is shaped by the Philippines’ history and society, composed of a “Malay matrix, into which melded and blended influences from China and India (through trade), Spain and America (through colonization), and more recently the rest of the world (through global cultural communication).” Fernandez continued that Filipino cuisine has changed through history, “absorbing influences, indigenizing, adjusting to new technology and tastes, and thus evolving.”

Panaderias: The UAE’s Quintessential Filipino Bakeries

Embodying the global and adaptive nature of Filipino cuisine are the UAE’s ubiquitous Filipino bakeries, known as panaderias. The largest chain of Filipino bakeries in the UAE, Panaderia, opened its first location in 2008 near the labor camp in Musaffah, the southeast region of Abu Dhabi, to cater to the many Filipinos living the camp. Jet, Panaderia’s marketing director, recalled: “The founder and owner of Panaderia, his dad was a baker. In the Philippines, he would be under the table sleeping while his dad was baking. When he came here, he got the idea to start a bakery.” When the labor camp moved further into the desert, the bakery relocated to Abu Dhabi city center, after which the single bakery bloomed into a recognized brand. Panaderias distinguished by its vibrant purple logo featuring a grandmother offering freshly baked bread. Panaderia’s iconic purple sign fronts became a quintessential feature of the city, with 31 locations in the UAE by 2019 and growth only slowed by the coronavirus pandemic.

Panaderia. (Courtesy of Lauren McMillen)

Other Filipino panaderias are popping up across the country. “Our brand is registered as a copyright in the UAE, but panaderia is an open word for everyone, whether it’s Spanish or Latin American – it means bakery,” explained Jet. “There are panaderias in the Philippines but not specifically the word itself,” he said, noting that the word was chosen to cater to the diverse population and culture in the UAE.

Each panaderia sells signature baked goods as well as an array of Filipino dishes. This is another departure from the concept of a panaderia in the Philippines, adapting to the needs of Filipino migrants in the UAE. “In the Philippines, a panaderia serves only bread. Now, we put it all together – cafeteria style,” Jet explained. The menu includes popular Filipino dishes, including adobo, pancit, and sopas. Adobo, which is often considered the unofficial national dish of the Philippines, has Hispanic and Chinese influences. Pancit, which also has Chinese influences, is a noodle dish cooked with vegetables and meats or seafood. Sopas is a creamy chicken macaroni soup that is a common comfort food.

Despite the availability of these popular dishes, the pride of each Panaderia is its array of baked goods, such as pan de coco, a soft coconut-filled bun, and ensaymada, a fluffy pastry topped with sugar and cheese. Benedict, Panaderia’s operations director, emphasized that, while delicious, these sweet treats cannot compare to the importance in Filipino culture of pandesal, a soft yeasted bun with a crisp breadcrumb-coated crust. “Filipinos love to have this with their coffee or tea,” he said. He mentioned they sell it for “maybe 1 dirham for two pieces, so the price is achievable for everyone. It has its own signature: It’s a simple bread, soft inside and crusty outside.” To Benedict, pandesal is as iconic to Filipino culture as the croissant is to French culture. Alongside pandesal, however, another quintessential Filipino culinary addition is ube, a purple yam indigenous to the Philippines. “Sweets, ice cream, bread, anything that goes along with bread, a spread – we have it in ube,” noted Benedict. “It became one of our signature flavors in the Philippines and here.”

Panaderia. (Courtesy of Lauren McMillen)

Their goal, they said, is to make Panaderia an internationally recognized name and to introduce Filipino cuisine to a wider market. “Our goal is not only Filipino customers. Our goal is to introduce Filipino food to other nationalities,” said Jet. “Slowly, gradually, we are doing that. Now we see other nationalities trying our pandesal. It’s a start. I’m happy because I never thought it would appeal, but when they tried it, they loved it.” They have also started blending Filipino culinary traditions with the culinary traditions of other nationalities. “We started with Korean bread. Koreans, but also a lot of Filipinos and other nationalities, love it, so we made it.” They also have created a unique type of maamoul – a semolina cookie filled with nuts or dates that is traditional across the Middle East – that incorporates Filipino flavors and ingredients. “We also have maamoul with cheese, purple yam, or mocha inside,” Jet highlighted.

In bringing Filipino cuisine and flavors to life in the UAE, Jet and Benedict highlighted that the company has had to adapt to the UAE’s environment and regulations. For example, Panaderia offers a type of pandesal that contains leaves from the moringa tree. The tree is native to the Philippines and produces leaves rich in vitamins and iron. However, sourcing moringa in the UAE has proved challenging. “There are some supermarkets, but for bulk you have to import it,” he said. “It’s similar for coconut. For our pies, we would love to add a lot more coconut, but the sources are expensive. We have 30% less than we would normally add. In the Philippines, you can just have them on any of the trees around.” Furthermore, Jet and Benedict stressed that a key feature of Filipino panaderias is that you can “feel the aroma” of the freshly baked bread wafting out of the oven. “Here, in the UAE, because of safety standards, we cannot have exposed food; it has to be covered,” Benedict noted.

While they cannot reproduce the experience and goods precisely as they are prepared in the Philippines, panaderias offer a piece of home for the nearly 700,000 Filipinos who live and work in the UAE. “Personally, for me, my mother would always ask me to buy pandesal. So, when I came here, I didn’t know there was a panaderia,” said Benedict. “When you’re growing up, you’re looking for moments from when you were a kid. When you’re working in the UAE, you’re always cooking at home, but when I knew there was a panaderia selling pandesal, I thought it was 1 dirham, nice, worth the money. On the first bite, you’re going back to your hometown – that’s the feeling.”

“This is why we bring pandesal and other Filipino breads here. We want people who love pandesal to not miss that moment, those happy moments they have in the Philippines. We try to bring all the Filipino delicacies into our store, so they don’t feel homesick. If you go into a Filipino shop like this, you will feel you are in the Philippines, because your favorite breads, Filipino dishes, are here.”

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Coastal Roots and Federal Ambitions

Football emerged in the 1930s within Dubai and Sharjah’s port cities, introduced through maritime trade and cultural exchange. The UAE’s sole World Cup appearance in 1990, led by Sharjah star Adnan Al-Talyani and orchestrated by Brazilian coach Carlos Alberto Pareira, marked a milestone of collective enthusiasm and local pride. In subsequent decades, Abu Dhabi’s oil wealth transformed the capital into a command center for sports. Through massive investment in infrastructure and the recruitment of foreign coaches, the state sought to embed football within a broader nation-building agenda. Yet with this top-down approach, Emirati football became overly reliant on imported expertise.

The 2018 Decree and Inclusive Football

In a pivotal shift, a 2018 presidential decree opened domestic football academies to children of expatriates born or educated in the UAE. Previously restricted to citizens and Arab nationals, the system now included long-term residents. This new wave of inclusiveness sought to address two pressures: declining participation among Emirati youth, who often view athletic careers as lacking social status, and the broader challenge of adapting to a society in which over 85% of residents are noncitizens.

This policy created a layered player demographic. The first group consists of locally trained players of Arab expatriate origin, such as Abdullah Ramadan born to an Egyptian family and Yahya Al-Ghassani who is of Syrian origins, reflecting gradual social integration. The two leading scorers of the previous generation, Ismail Matar and Ali Mabkhout, are of Omani and Yemeni origin, respectively, embodying an enduring Arab identity that transcended national borders. The second group reflects the new policy and comprises players with non-Arab or transnational backgrounds, such as Junior Ndiaye and Mackenzie James Hunt, whose football development largely took place abroad, in France and England, respectively.

The UAE football federation also continues its policy of naturalizing foreign professionals for competitive purposes, such as Brazilians Caio Canedo and Fábio De Lima, both recruited after years in the UAE Pro League.

Structural Challenges and Transience

These names highlight the limitations of this policy of openness. It tends to attract players who are themselves aware that they have little chance of ever joining the national team of their country of origin. Moreover, for foreign players who did not grow up in the UAE, FIFA regulations require a minimum of five years of continuous residency in the country before they can be eligible for the national team. Joining a wealthy yet peripheral league can therefore appear constraining for players aspiring to build a prestigious career. Taken together, these dynamics limit the potential for improvement within the UAE’s national team.

These limitations are reflected in the uneven competitiveness of Zayed’s Children, despite signs of progress. The UAE’s national team has managed to hold its own at the regional level. For instance, in recent World Cup qualifying rounds, it has picked up key wins, such as a 5-0 victory over Qatar’s national team in November 2024, and it continues to participate in major continental tournaments (the AFC Asian Cup), qualifying through to knockout rounds. Nonetheless, while the UAE’s national team is on an upward trajectory, it hasn’t fully broken through to high-level consistency. The team’s development remains constrained, largely because it competes in an Asian confederation marked by wide disparities in quality, which hinders consistent technical and tactical growth.

Frequent coaching changes and uneven youth development provide some of the explanation. Emirati football operates within a system of circulation rather than permanence: Coaches, technical staff, and players rotate frequently. While this transience fosters flexibility, it hinders the formation of enduring sports identities.

Like its Gulf neighbors, the UAE has not succeeded very well in developing and promoting local coaching talent, for example, from the ranks of former Emirati stars. Based on interviews with long-serving foreign coaches in Emirati clubs, this situation is not due to a lack of expertise among former players but rather reflects how the status, authority, and visibility are managed within a patronage-based sporting system.

Abu Dhabi, Dubai, and Global Sports Influence

In many respects, nowadays, Abu Dhabi and Dubai treat sports less as a field of national competition and more as a strategic industry supporting branding, diplomacy, and economic diversification. Abu Dhabi leverages state‑backed entities, such as City Football Group, UFC partnerships, Formula One events, and its growing role in cricket, in international sports governance, ultimately positioning itself as an indispensable power on the global stage. Dubai promotes its image as a cosmopolitan leisure capital, hosting elite tournaments and celebrity-driven events, while advancing its economic project. The specific focus makes sense as a part of the distinctive soft-power branding that each of these emirates has deployed to help catapult it to a position of significant international influence. But neither of these approaches required winning football matches (or other sporting events) at the highest levels. The real competition was in international sports politics, where both emirates have medaled at the highest levels.

In both emirates, sports function more as a vehicle for global connectivity than a tool to cultivate a competitive national identity. Unlike Qatar or Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates is not seeking to host megaevents such as the World Cup or the Olympic Games. Instead, the UAE focuses on attracting major international circuits, such as the ATP Tour for tennis or, more recently, the NBA and Euroleague for basketball. This model does not require competitive national teams, which may explain, in part, why athlete training is not a central governmental priority.

After Qatar

The UAE’s failure to qualify for the 2022 World Cup in Qatar carried symbolic weight. While the UAE had world-class infrastructure and inclusive policies, there was still a lack of coherent vision for national performance.

Looking ahead, the team faces that critical continental playoff against Iraq. Qualification for 2026 remains possible but far from guaranteed.

Toward 2026: Renewed Opportunity

The expansion of the 2026 World Cup to 48 teams offers renewed opportunity but not necessarily transformation. To qualify, Zayed’s Children must first navigate the unpredictable Asian continental playoffs. Should the team overcome Iraq at this stage, it would advance to the intercontinental playoffs: a decisive round for teams from South America, North America, Oceania, and Asia to compete for the final remaining spots in the tournament. Yet the deeper challenge – building continuity and strengthening the local talent flow on the pitch and on the coaching sidelines – remains unresolved.

Ultimately, football in the UAE mirrors the federation’s developmental ethos: globalized, resource rich, and outward looking although football has not yet reached its full potential. Its trajectory reflects the broader evolution of Gulf sports governance, from nationalist aspiration to post-national industry. Abu Dhabi and Dubai have succeeded in making the UAE a global sports hub yet without a full consolidation of national football identity. The central question for 2026 is whether this dichotomy will continue or if the UAE will find a way to reach its full potential, not merely in the politics, business, and influence-wielding of sports, but on the pitch, in critical matches won. That would signify the UAE has moved beyond qualifying in playoffs and ensured national football as a key element in a sports culture that matches the country’s global ambition.

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Within Saudi Arabia’s broader national transformation, few symbols encapsulate the intersection of cultural continuity and political utility as effectively as the camel. Traditionally emblematic of Bedouin life, the camel is being deliberately repositioned by the Saudi leadership under Mohammed bin Salman as a strategic instrument to recalibrate national identity, state legitimacy, and international soft power within the framework of Vision 2030. While megaprojects, such as Neom and Al-Qiddiya, capture global headlines, the kingdom’s “camel diplomacy” quietly reveals how heritage is being harnessed to serve geopolitical objectives. Similar to other regional leaders, Mohammed bin Salman is leveraging the camel as a symbol of heritage and strength to consolidate his leadership and project influence across the Gulf and beyond. The kingdom offered more than 50 million Saudi riyals (approximately $13.5 million) in total prize money for 249 races. Big names in camel racing attended, alongside members of ruling families and prominent camel-owning tribes, including Al-Marri, Al-Wahibi, Al-Ketbi, and Al-Dawsari.

Institutionalizing a New Camel Diplomacy

The establishment of the International Camel Federation in Riyadh in 2018, amid a regional diplomatic rupture with Qatar, marked more than a cultural initiative, it signaled a strategic intent to reassert Saudi leadership across Arab and Islamic spaces. The timing was emblematic: The federation emerged in the context of the Saudi-led boycott of Qatar, reflecting the kingdom’s desire to create alternative platforms of regional influence. The continued exclusion of Qatari representation from the International Camel Federation, despite the easing of bilateral tensions after the 2021 Al-Ula summit, underscores the federation’s political undertones.

The International Camel Federation’s November 2024 assembly in Olympia, Greece was a significant symbolic step, aligning traditional Arab sport with the global Olympic movement. This echoed earlier efforts led by Qatar under the Arab Camel Federation, redefining camel racing as not merely a practice of cultural preservation but as a platform for international engagement and soft power projection. That France, the symbolic birthplace of the modern Olympic Games, is among the International Camel Federation’s founding members underscores this global vision. Further, both the Asian and African Olympic Committees have recently recognized the federation, effectively opening the door for camels to enter the Olympic arena. These developments suggest that camel racing is being positioned for future inclusion on the global sports stage.

Heritage and the National Narrative

In Saudi Arabia, camels are increasingly situated at the nexus of heritage, authority, and state-led modernization. While the Al Saud family historically built its rule through the centralization of power and the marginalization of Bedouin tribal structures, camel racing, a key expression of Bedouin cultural identity, remained largely under the informal authority of tribal elders and some Al-Saud princes, operating outside the core of state institutions.

The camel holds deep material and symbolic significance in Bedouin life, serving as a source of mobility, wealth, and social prestige. Despite its cultural centrality, the camel occupied a peripheral position within the dominant Wahhabi religious discourse, which often privileged urban religiosity over tribal practices. However, King Salman bin Abdulaziz and Mohammed bin Salman’s broader strategy of consolidating informal power centers has brought camel-related institutions under state oversight. It is part of a deliberate effort to reframe tribal heritage within a national narrative, aligning cultural expressions once seen as marginal to the state’s official narrative with the state’s evolving vision of modernity and national identity.

The state’s effort to consolidate influence over this domain, once mediated by tribal and religious networks, is clear in the establishment of institutions such as the Camel Club, led by Fahad bin Falah bin Hathleen, a prominent figure from the Ajman tribe and a relative of the crown prince. The state’s instrumentalization of heritage is also apparent in the Crown Prince Camel Festival in Taif as well as the Abdelaziz Camel Festival, which not only celebrate tradition but also reinforce national unity and consolidate elite networks.

Mohammed bin Salman’s use of camel-related heritage also reflects an effort to reengineer the national narrative. The repositioning of Al-Ula, once peripheral in Wahhabi historiography, into a centerpiece of national pride is indicative of this strategy. Its camel traditions, Nabataean archaeological significance, and geographic symbolism make it an ideal site for linking pre-Islamic history with contemporary national identity.

In this context, camel racing has become more than sport, it has become a mechanism of narrative integration. And the high-value prizes awarded at recent festivals, such as the 15 million Saudi riyals (nearly $4 million) won by Qatar’s Al Shahania Camel Racing Stud in April, show how these events also serve as arenas of regional prestige and intra-Gulf competition.

Camels on Screen: Cultural Renaissance and Strategic Representation

The camel’s symbolic reach extends beyond sand tracks into the cultural sphere. Narratives built around human-animal relationships, particularly those central to traditional life, are becoming tools for cultural diplomacy and identity reconstruction. This is clear in the state-backed production of “Hajjan,” a film by Egyptian director Abu Bakr Shawky and co-produced by Ithra about a Saudi teenager and his experience racing with his beloved camel.

This state-driven cultural renaissance seeks to offer an alternative to dominant Western narratives while also recasting Saudi Arabia as a center of regional creativity, heritage, and innovation.

Camels as Economic and Environmental Assets

Beyond cultural symbolism, camels are also being recast as an economic asset aligned with Vision 2030’s goals of sustainability and food security. The Public Investment Fund launched Sawani, a camel dairy brand, with promotional campaigns featuring international celebrities, such as Cristiano Ronaldo, integrating camel-derived products into the kingdom’s public health and diversification strategies. Camel milk, praised for its nutritional benefits and environmental suitability, is positioned as a lower-impact alternative to traditional dairy products in a country facing acute water scarcity. Annual production already exceeds 270,000 tons, and Saudi Arabia’s push to modernize camel farming and expand related industries demonstrates the kingdom’s commitment to building an agri-food sector rooted in indigenous environmental logic.

A Symbol of Power in Transition

The camel, once a peripheral element of state strategy, is emerging as a core symbol in Saudi Arabia’s attempt to reinvent its national narrative, project cultural power, and align economic development with environmental sustainability. Under Vision 2030, the camel straddles the line between continuity and change, tribal identity and statecraft, and cultural revival and geopolitical strategy.

As Saudi Arabia seeks to reposition itself as a leading regional and global actor, its embrace of camel diplomacy reflects a sophisticated recalibration of tradition for modern ends. It is a subtle but significant signal of a kingdom asserting itself not only through oil wealth and futuristic skylines but also through a reclaimed and reimagined cultural heritage.

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The Gulf’s AI Ambitions: Capital, Commitment, and Competition

In the evolving landscape of global tech, the Gulf has quickly emerged as a dynamic player, pivoting from its resource-driven political economy toward a digitally empowered future. This transformation is built on deliberate, top-down commitments to advanced tech – especially AI – as a core driver of growth and stability. It is championed by younger Gulf leaders who are not only aware of disruptive technologies but determined to integrate them into national strategies. There is a clear hierarchy among Gulf states in the AI and tech sphere, with the United Arab Emirates in a commanding lead. Multiple recent studies rank the UAE as the Arab world’s top performer, placing it 32nd out of 109 countries globally for AI maturity. Saudi Arabia follows, with Qatar typically ranking third in the Gulf but some way behind in global scale and AI ecosystems.

This regional transformation is underpinned by several advantages:

• Capital: Decades of surplus oil and gas revenue created some of the world’s largest and most active sovereign wealth funds. These funds are aggressively targeting global tech assets, startups, and infrastructure, seeking a commanding stake in the technological future.
• Energy: The Gulf’s abundant, low-cost energy supplies offer a crucial advantage in hosting and scaling massive AI “compute hubs,” since data centers consume enormous amounts of power.
• Visionary Leadership: Leaders in Saudi Arabia, the UAE, and Qatar – many educated in the West – have embraced national strategies, such as Saudi Vision 2030 and Abu Dhabi Vision 2030, integrating AI infrastructure, talent development, and regulatory reform to foster indigenous tech ecosystems. Qatar is a player in AI and technology, though its scope and influence differ from that of the UAE and Saudi Arabia. Qatar has invested over $2.4 billion in AI capabilities, aligning its efforts with Qatar National Vision 2030 and the Digital Agenda 2030 to accelerate digital transformation.

Despite these strengths, the Gulf’s journey has had to adjust to the dynamics of great power competition between the United States and China. For much of the past decade, U.S. policy in the Gulf has been characterized more by reactive security postures and efforts to counter Chinese penetration than by offering clear, constructive alternatives. The United States, watching Chinese tech behemoths, including Huawei and Alibaba, gain traction – especially in 5G deployments, smart city projects, and cloud infrastructure – responded by urging Gulf allies to shun Chinese systems. However, this approach was largely negative: offering warnings, restrictions, and pressure rather than robust, proactive, and affordable U.S. alternatives.

The Chinese, conversely, offered comprehensive, affordable, “one-stop” digital transformation packages with quick execution and minimal political strings. Gulf governments found this partnership appealing, not least because it came bundled with respect for sovereignty, cloud localization, and swift delivery. The result was significant early progress for China in capturing the Gulf’s digital buildout.

From Tech Containment to Strategic AI Alignment

For much of the past decade, Washington’s approach to Gulf tech policy was largely reactive. The focus was on blocking Chinese digital infrastructure rather than offering compelling U.S. alternatives. This defensive stance risked ceding ground to Beijing, whose tech giants provided cost-effective, turnkey capabilities with few political strings attached.

This dynamic appears to have pushed U.S. officials to rethink their approach. What began as a defensive effort to block Chinese digital infrastructure has evolved into a proactive strategy of collaboration and co-development with Gulf partners, focused especially on AI.

Two structural realities underpin this shift: U.S. dominance in semiconductors, foundational AI models, and cloud platforms and the Gulf’s unmatched combination of abundant, low-cost energy and capital – essential ingredients for scaling compute-intensive AI infrastructure.

This pivot was formalized in July with the release of “Winning the AI Race: America’s AI Action Plan,” which commits to streamlining regulations, accelerating data center construction, and advancing U.S. leadership in global AI diplomacy. In effect, Washington signaled it was no longer merely defending market share but actively building a U.S.-led AI ecosystem with the Gulf positioned as a core partner.

Complementary Strengths and Emerging Opportunities

The AI Action Plan aligns naturally with the Gulf’s strengths in energy and capital. U.S. tech giants (i.e., Amazon, Meta, Microsoft, OpenAI, and xAI) are ramping up data center construction at unprecedented rates, pushing electrical grids to new limits. BloombergNEF estimated AI data centers accounted for roughly 3.5% of U.S. electricity consumption in 2024, and this is expected to more than double by 2035. Deloitte provided an even more striking estimate: Power demand for AI data centers could grow more than thirtyfold by 2035.

This surge in demand creates an opening for the Gulf. With abundant, reliable, and economically priced energy, Gulf states are uniquely positioned to host or support large-scale AI compute hubs. By integrating Gulf energy resources – whether through hosting data hubs regionally or providing investment into U.S. energy infrastructure – Washington can ease its domestic “energy bottleneck” while accelerating infrastructure scaling.

Capital flows reinforce this synergy. Gulf sovereign wealth funds, now among the world’s most aggressive tech investors, are expanding their portfolios beyond passive equity stakes to include direct investments in U.S. AI infrastructure, clean-energy projects, and semiconductor manufacturing. Gulf leaders have also made clear that their ambitions go beyond simply purchasing U.S. tech: They aim to become co-creators of the global AI ecosystem, building research hubs, cultivating domestic champions, and eventually exporting their own AI products and services.

A New U.S.-Gulf AI Compact Takes Shape

The partnership moved from concept to reality in September 2024 when President Mohammed bin Zayed al-Nahyan made the first-ever White House visit by a UAE head of state. Unlike past summits dominated by energy and security, this meeting placed AI, investment, and space exploration at the top of the agenda – a clear signal that Washington was prepared to shift, albeit cautiously, from a posture of containment and restriction to one of strategic technological partnership.

This realignment was catalyzed by increasing recognition of two closely intertwined realities. On the one hand, the United States dominates the global AI tech stack, particularly in semiconductors, foundational models, and cloud infrastructure. On the other hand, the scalability of these technologies is increasingly constrained not just by dollars but by access to reliable, cheap energy – precisely where the Gulf excels.

The shift has accelerated under the second administration of President Donald J. Trump, which emphasized integrating Gulf countries into a U.S.-led AI future built on superior U.S. hardware, software, and technical expertise. Saudi Arabia, once known primarily as a “swing producer” of oil, along with the UAE and Qatar, is positioning the Gulf to become a “swing region” for AI – a global hub capable of mediating partnerships among the West, Asia, and Africa.

Trump’s high-profile May visit to the region, accompanied by leading U.S. tech CEOs and investors, brought this vision into focus. One of the most significant outcomes was a series of landmark deals involving the direct exportation of advanced AI processors and infrastructure. Saudi Arabia’s and Abu Dhabi’s sovereign wealth funds and local digital champions (e.g., G42, STC, and others) are expected to commit tens of billions of dollars to acquire the latest U.S. chips, cloud platforms, and AI cluster construction, with Nvidia alone to supply over 1 million top-tier chips to the region’s expanding data centers.

Just as significant was the reciprocal flow of capital, as Gulf funds pledged substantial investments into U.S. AI infrastructure and energy systems – including the UAE’s sweeping 10-year, $1.4 trillion U.S. investment framework, featuring a $25 billion commitment to data centers and clean energy.

Joint ventures added another layer, with U.S. tech firms, such as Google, Oracle, and Cisco, agreeing to deepen local production, skills transfer, and tech localization. Abu Dhabi’s planned 5-gigawatt “AI Campus” – designed to become one of the world’s largest AI compute hubs outside the United States – underscores the seriousness of these ambitions and the premium placed on embedding capabilities within the region.

The AI Action Plan has provided the latest institutional anchor, slashing regulatory barriers, fast-tracking data center development, and liberalizing the exportation of advanced AI chips and software to trusted Gulf partners. Together, these developments signal a shift from a transactional oil-and-arms relationship to a structural, tech-driven compact. This partnership positions the Gulf as a critical node in U.S.-led AI supply chains while giving Washington a stronger foothold in the global competition with China.

This new arrangement carries powerful implications for ongoing great power competition. By embedding proprietary U.S.-developed chips and software across Gulf AI infrastructure and, prospectively, forming joint ventures with Gulf partners in third markets, Washington strengthens its influence in the Global South, especially Asia and Africa, outmaneuvering Beijing’s Digital Silk Road, an offshoot of the Belt and Road Initiative. The Gulf’s multidirectional economic statecraft, once a source of complexity, becomes a force multiplier for U.S. ambitions – so long as policy alignment and trust endure.

Obstacles, Risks, and the Uncharted Frontier

Yet significant challenges remain, both for Gulf partners and U.S. policymakers. Building a U.S.-Gulf AI axis exposes vulnerabilities and trade-offs: securing intellectual property, ensuring supply chain resilience, and managing dual-use technologies that could have military applications. Talent shortages pose another barrier – both regions face stiff competition for skilled AI engineers and data scientists. At the same time, lingering Chinese-built infrastructure in Gulf smart cities and 5G networks raises cybersecurity concerns. Navigating these risks while scaling at speed will require not just investment but new governance frameworks and joint security protocols.

A central debate is likely to continue in Washington: Should U.S. policy lean toward diffusion of advanced technology to trusted Gulf partners or return to restrictive export controls to preserve U.S. intellectual property advantages and constrain potential adversaries? The diffusion camp argues that sharing tech and know-how with the Gulf locks partners into the U.S.-led system, consolidates U.S. standards, and builds resilient global supply chains. The denial camp worries about risks, such as loss of sensitive tech to unintended actors, the potential for Gulf-based champions to undercut U.S. strategic interests, and challenges in countering diversion or espionage.

The acceleration demanded by the AI Action Plan intensifies these tensions. Efforts to speed data center and chip deployment in collaboration with the Gulf risk running ahead of regulatory systems designed to safeguard intellectual property, oversee exports, and manage alliances with nonaligned digital partners. The push for scale sharpens anxieties about tech leakage and infrastructure vulnerability, making reconciling diffusion and denial strategies urgent.

For their part, Gulf states manage a complex tightrope. Their dual ties to the United States and China create awkward dilemmas. U.S. agencies worry that Chinese-built 5G infrastructure, cloud platforms, and smart city technologies could serve espionage or coercion goals. Gulf officials stress contractual and cybersecurity firewalls separating digital spheres. This dual approach avoids reliance on any one partner but perpetuates base vulnerabilities.

Physical risks also loom. The growth of massive AI data centers in a geopolitically volatile region creates new strategic infrastructure to protect. These clusters, which are critical for regional ambitions and the U.S.-aligned global AI supply chain, are potential targets for cyberattacks, terrorism, or sabotage. Ensuring security and resilience of these facilities requires new doctrines and U.S.-Gulf cooperation modalities, with broad regional security implications.

Above all, the future of AI tech remains unpredictable. Advanced AI applications – from generative models to autonomous operations – carry unknown risks and destabilizing potential. Concerns about theft, black-box failures, and misuse elevate the stakes, demanding nimble policy, adaptation, and readiness to face uncertainty for opportunity’s sake.

The AI Inflection Point

In less than a decade, the Gulf has reinvented itself as a serious contender in the global AI and tech race, not simply as a passive market but as an active co-architect of the AI-driven future. This transformation rests on visionary leadership, financial ingenuity, energy abundance, and an openness to technological change.

For the United States, the Gulf offers not only capital and energy but also the chance to lock in trusted partners amid rising global fragmentation and technological bifurcation. The new approach – epitomized by the July AI Action Plan and strengthened through practical, reciprocal investments on the horizon – has turned the page from a defensive relationship to a dynamic, mutually reinforcing partnership.

However, major challenges remain. The U.S.-Gulf compact shows what vision, resources, and strategic necessity can achieve. Still, the Gulf’s rise as a tech hub is not just regional; it is an inflection point in the global order, heralding a future where tech, security, and international cooperation intertwine.

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In Saudi Arabia’s Najd region, identity is continuously redefined through building, inhabiting, and remembering. In many ways, identity in the built environment is about continuity – less about preserving a fixed past and more about recognizing how elements of history live on in altered forms. In discussions with local residents, they explained how identity is not just embedded in bricks and mortar – it is embodied in memory, emotion, and lived experience. In the Al Shumaisi district of Riyadh, an elderly man proudly pointed to a newly restored facade that reminded him of the mud-brick houses of his childhood. In Diriyah, a security guard at the Diriyah Art Futures center lit up as he mentioned that the building’s design mirrored structures from his hometown in Qassim.

Conversations with Saudi architects, planners, and officials echoed this sentiment. Basem Al-Shihabi, co-founder of architecture and engineering design firm Omrania, insisted that architectural identity should not be boxed into rigid categories. For him, it is about design quality and contextual harmony not whether a building fits a certain style. He said, “Who cares as long as it resonates with people and place?” His dismissal of stylistic orthodoxy pointed to a deeper truth: Identity is not a formula, it is a relationship. Public perception reinforces this complexity. People often associate city identity with historic landmarks or iconic features, but they also value nature, public spaces, and informal gathering points. Yet many feel that modern development threatens these ties. As the Al Shumais district is being redeveloped, residents express both pride in their historic urban fabric and concern that it will be erased. That tension – between renewal and remembrance – sits at the heart of Saudi Arabia’s urban dilemma.

Al Shumaisi District (Elsheshtawy)

One site that bridges this divide is the King Abdulaziz Historical Center in Riyadh. Saudi architectural scholar Sumayah Al-Solaiman has written about how the landscape design by Richard Bödeker transformed the center into more than a cultural monument – it has become a lived, communal space. According to Solaiman, Bödeker himself once described it as “a central park that happens to contain a national museum.” The space is heritage, but it comes alive with people: Families lounge under trees, children splash near fountains, and couples stroll shaded paths.

This understanding of identity – rooted in heritage but open to transformation – has only recently begun to inform official frameworks. The Saudi Development Authority Support Center conducted an extensive countrywide study and released the “Saudi Architecture Map” in April. Rather than proposing a monolithic national aesthetic, the initiative recognizes the cultural and environmental diversity of the kingdom by identifying 19 distinct regional architectural styles. These are not static typologies but living traditions that have evolved in response to local conditions – such as desert heat, coastal humidity, and mountainous terrain.

The map comes at a pivotal time. Saudi cities are growing fast, spurred by Vision 2030 and efforts to diversify the economy. In this context, the initiative serves as a corrective to the anonymous, globalized architecture that has crept across the kingdom. It offers a design vocabulary rooted in history and place, encouraging new developments to draw from local traditions. In Taif, planners are adapting the Hejazi style to modern materials and techniques. In Asir, new buildings echo the stone walls and flat roofs of historic mountain villages. In Al-Ahsa shaded colonnades are making a comeback. Even in Mecca officials are integrating traditional motifs into a skyline dominated by steel and glass.

Saudi Architectural Map. (Development Authority Support Center)

More than an aesthetic guide, the map is a socioeconomic tool. Officials estimate it could generate over 8 billion riyals in gross domestic product and create 34,000 jobs in architecture, planning, and construction by 2030. Yet its most lasting impact may be cultural. Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman noted during the launch that the goal is to blend “our deep-rooted rich heritage with contemporary design thinking.” The initiative also addresses local climate issues and sustainability through its emphasis on vernacular design. In Najd, for example, inward-facing courtyards and thick walls help regulate temperature without air conditioning. In Jazan and Tabuk, elevated structures and open verandas respond to the coastal climate.

To assist development agencies and municipalities in applying the map and to ensure implementation, the Development Authority Support Center has established specialized technical centers and design studios across the kingdom. They offer services ranging from architectural review to public awareness campaigns and training programs for professionals. The goal is not only to enforce compliance but to embed Saudi architectural principles into the practice of design itself.

Early responses have been overwhelmingly positive, especially among younger architects who see the initiative as a catalyst for creativity rather than a constraint. For many, this is the first time a state-backed framework has acknowledged the richness of regional identities in such depth. Rather than being a top-down program, local governments are encouraged to adapt the guidelines to their specific conditions, allowing for flexibility and reinterpretation. In this way, the map is more a toolkit than a template. Nonetheless, the initiative is not without limitations. The current guidelines tend to focus on stylistic and formal elements – color palettes, decorative motifs, and facade compositions. While these are important, they risk reducing identity to surface aesthetics. If applied too rigidly, the initiative could unintentionally freeze the past rather than evolve from it.

A more expansive understanding of heritage would include not just ancient mud-brick towns but also the kingdom’s modernist legacy. The Fahd Bin Mohammad Building, Zahrat Al-Sharq Hotel, Iskan Al-Jazirah, Malaz Train Station, General Organization for Social Insurance housing in Riyadh, and Diriyah Art Futures all bear witness to another chapter of Saudi urbanism. Even the King Fahad National Library and Riyadh Water Tower are part of the evolving urban identity, shaped during the modern boom of the 1970s and 1980s. Their design approach, inspired by modernist tenets and principles, demonstrates an architectural identity that is not just based on historicized or “Islamic motifs.” Indeed, identity is a multifaceted construct, and any guidelines need to take into account such a progressive vision, for instance by leaving room for innovation and deviation from traditional frameworks.

Fahd bin Mohammad Building (1959)

Zahrat al-Sharq Hotel (1958)

Iskan Al-Jazirah (1980s)

Malaz Train Station (1981)

General Organization for Social Insurance Apartments (1984)

Diriyah Art Futures (2025)

Riyadh Water Tower (1971)

Riyadh Water Tower (1971)

Beyond iconic structures, identity also resides in informal, improvised spaces. The Wizarat neighborhood and Batha markets, though not polished or planned, are integral to the city’s social and economic life. And Thumamah, a peripheral tract in northern Riyadh that was once a seasonal camping site, has been transformed into a bustling open-air commons. On weekends, it is animated by food trucks, tents, car-side picnics, and music. It is unregulated, ephemeral, and intensely popular. Thumamah offers a counterpoint to formal planning—urban life shaped not by architects but by collective habit and cultural memory. And once again, guidelines can make provisions for accommodating informality as well as user input and transformations.

Wizarat Neighborhood

Musical Markets Instrument, Batha (1960s–present)

Thumamah Area, North Riyadh (2025)

Ultimately, the Saudi Architecture Map is more than a planning document – it is a statement of intent. It reaffirms that architecture in Saudi Arabia need not be generic or imported. It can be rooted, expressive, and plural. It can embrace the traditional mud-brick buildings of Al-Turaif, bold concrete forms of 1980s Riyadh, informal but vibrant settings of Riyadh’s migrant neighborhoods, and improvised gathering sites in Riyadh’s periphery. The Development Authority Support Center’s effort is unprecedented in the region in providing a foundation for a more thoughtful, inclusive, and locally attuned urbanism. But for it to fulfill its promise, the initiative must remain flexible, critical, and open to the multiplicity of identities that shape the Saudi city. In a world of increasingly indistinct skylines, the kingdom is choosing to build with memory – and in doing so, it is quietly offering a blueprint for others to follow.

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This exhibition, “Making Space: Gulf Photographers on the Scene,” gathers the work of 15 contemporary photographers from across the Gulf exploring social and economic change, cultural and gender identities, the environment, nostalgia and community, and tradition and the future through the study of space. Capturing scenes in documentary, conceptual, and imaginative forms, the artists shown in this exhibition take visitors on a tour of the multifaceted ways that space inspires creativity in the Gulf. 

Participating artists include: Ebtisam Abdulaziz (UAE), Maha Al Asaker (Kuwait), Jassim Al Awadhi (UAE), Nora Alissa (KSA), Mohammed Al Kouh (Kuwait), Al Moutasim Al Maskery (Oman), Hussain AlMoosawi (UAE), Arwa Alneami (KSA), Maitha Demithan (UAE), Alaa Edris (UAE), Ajlan Gharem (KSA), Hassan Meer (Oman), Filwa Nazer (KSA), Jalal bin Thaneya (UAE), Camille Zakharia (Bahrain).

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How does Saudi Arabia’s sports investment strategy fit in its broader socioeconomic diversification efforts? What are the opportunities and pitfalls that come along with this strategy? What are the costs associated with these investments, and what are the related economic risks? And how is Saudi Arabia linking its sports engagement with sustainability initiatives, including energy diversification and climate policies? 

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Through Rahina, Fatma crafts jewelry that honors the spiritual and symbolic significance of traditional Omani pieces, transforming them into wearable narratives that connect past and present. Fatma’s practice is also a personal journey of reclaiming identity and belonging, as she navigates her mixed Omani and Filipino heritage to create art that is both intimate and communal.

 AGSIW spoke to Fatma to learn more about her personal background, the importance of cultural preservation, and how her heritage has informed her artistic practice.

 AGSIW: What has been your personal journey, and how did you become interested in jewelry design?

Fatma: I always had a deep connection with creativity. From making movies to writing stories and assembling plastic jewelry from DIY kits, creativity and being outdoors were a huge part of my childhood. Yet, as I grew up, I began to view creativity as something frivolous and lacking practical value in the adult world.

I initially followed the conventional path: education, a university degree in business and marketing in London, then a job back home in Oman. Seven years passed by, and I found myself yearning for a career with purpose, seeking what I termed a “soul” business, though unsure what form it should take.

Not long after, I quit my job and found myself in Zanzibar, a place that became a cocoon for shedding old norms and embracing new possibilities. It was there that I met Maria, a nomadic Maasai woman whose daily ritual of crafting jewelry captivated me.

She sat on a beach, stringing together intricate, colorful pieces that reflected her heritage and artistry. I found myself buying anklets and observing her until she eventually started to teach me her beaded jewelry techniques.

In Maria’s teachings, I unearthed memories of my mother’s preparation ritual of adornment for special occasions: donning a family heirloom passed onto her – my Dhofari grandmother’s heritage piece called the Rahina necklace – with coral beads and gold coins strung on a golden chain.

The timing was fortuitous. Covid-19 enveloped the world and confined me to quarantine. In my room, I found solace in the tools left behind by my mother, herself a former jewelry artisan. In this space of solitude and reflection, my journey into jewelry design began.

Maria, a jewelry artisan, in Zanzibar. (Photo courtesy of Fatma al-Najjar)

AGSIW: As someone with mixed Omani, Dhofari, and Filipino heritage, how do you navigate the complexities of identity and belonging within Omani society?

Fatma: I initially learned to mold myself to fit my environment, hoping that I would go by unscathed and unnoticed. It was easier to be invisible. That way, I wouldn’t have to define or explain myself to anyone.

I felt caught between polar opposites: Omani and Filipina, conservative and liberal, right and wrong. I grappled with a sense of needing to choose, to define myself within distinct boundaries. I leaned toward choosing my Arab/Dhofari/Omani side, which sometimes meant setting aside my Filipina roots.

I faced internal and external questioning about what truly constitutes an Arab. Does my father’s first language, Shehri (also known as Jabbali), disqualify him as an Arab? Am I really Dhofari if I do not live among the people for more than three months a year? What if I don’t cover my face and subscribe to some of the cultural practices?

It was only well into my adult life that I came to realize that identity is not static: It is fluid and multifaceted. My identity is shaped by my experiences, blended heritage, values, and the communities I belong to.

I’ve come to embrace my mixed heritage, though I still identify more closely with my Dhofari side. In Dhofar, I feel that belonging is earned through the purity of your bloodline, physical presence, doting on the community, and blending in with everyone else. It’s a place where change is met with caution, and being different puts you at risk of being an outsider, even if you share the same blood and tribe. In contrast, the Filipino community, known for its openness and diasporic nature, offers a more fluid sense of identity and belonging.

My research serves as a lifeline that connects me to my people and land, yet my appearance and distance, being based in Muscat, sometimes evoke a sense of being an outsider appropriating my own Dhofari heritage. I tread carefully, mindful of how I present myself and share my insights, seeking always to honor and bridge the complexities of my identity.

Fatma draping a cloth over a frankincense tree in Dhofar, Oman. (Photo courtesy of Jalel Felemban)

AGSIW: What is the significance of the Jabbali culture in Dhofar and its importance to Oman’s cultural landscape?

Fatma: As a seafaring nation, Oman has a long history of engaging with diverse cultures. Each region within Oman also boasts distinct dialects, dress, cuisine, traditions, and customs. There are more than nine languages spoken across various local ethnic and regional communities, and, within my own circles, I have been exposed to seven of them.

Shehri, an indigenous language of the southern part of Oman, holds particular importance to me. It is my father and grandmother’s first language. Shehri doesn’t have a written form and has been preserved orally through generations. As Arabic becomes more widely used, the number of fluent Shehri speakers is dwindling. It’s a unique language and has letters that are not part of any other alphabet or phonetics I have heard. It’s tough for new speakers. I started learning in February 2024 and am struggling to pronounce some of the letters!

The Jabbali culture embodies an intimate connection with the land. The land connects the people to their ancestors, provides medicine, and is a vital source of sustenance for both them and their free-range animals (mainly camels, goats, and cows). It’s more than just real estate or a source of income; they are notoriously protective of it. Nonetheless, you’ll still find a chalet or two in the mountains available for tourists to rent.

Efforts to document and revitalize the language are essential in ensuring the Jabbali culture’s survival and passing it on to future generations. Information, stories, teachings, wisdom, and poetry were transferred through oral tradition. Keeping the integrity of the language alive will help us unlock pre-colonial and indigenous teachings that are unique to us and our region.

AGSIW: You describe Rahina as an ode to your Dhofari heritage. How do you incorporate elements of Dhofari culture into your jewelry designs, and what message do you hope to convey through your creations?

Fatma: One thing that fascinates me about Omani jewelry is that each piece is treated as an animate object. Each piece has its own name, purpose, and story.

The “Aissaba” is a headpiece worn during weddings by single first-degree cousins or siblings of the groom. It makes these girls easy to spot. I have my own piece that my mother purchased for me, and I loved taking it out and wearing it. I also loved sharing it with family members on the occasions I could not attend and wear it myself.

This connection with the piece you wear is what I want to bring back through Rahina as an alternative to fast fashion – something that is more sentimental and meaningful, an item to cherish rather than an item to hoard.

AGSIW: What efforts are currently underway to preserve and celebrate the Jabbali culture in Dhofar?

Fatma: The publication of the first Shehri dictionary in 2014, featuring a new alphabet that accommodates sounds absent in the Arabic script, is an important step in preserving the language.

Various papers and books have been written on topics ranging from cave drawings and children’s games to political history, language, rituals, and folklore. Notable among these publications is a guide on Dhofari plants. The text details their scientific attributes and cultural significance, including local uses and the Shehri name for each plant.

Community-driven tourism initiatives like Ghudu involve locals in activities that showcase their traditions. The restoration of historic homes for tourism, such as Koofan House, also promotes cultural exchange. Similarly, Dar Abdulaziz a     l-     Rowas, a private residence, exemplifies architectural preservation by blending Islamic and Dhofari styles. Museums across Oman are increasingly highlighting local artifacts, enriching public understanding and appreciation of Dhofari traditions.

AGSIW: Can you share any memorable experiences or interactions you’ve had while working on reviving Dhofari heritage through your jewelry designs?

Fatma: During Ramadan of 2024, I volunteered to raise funds for Gaza by selling books and struck up a conversation with a woman helping me. She recognized me from my business account and asked about my involvement with the British Museum.

She shared a touching story: Her British aunt, a devoted admirer of Omani culture and silver, made a special trip to London to celebrate her 70th birthday by visiting the 2023 exhibition “Making Their Mark: Women Silversmiths From Oman,” which featured my work.

She said she had a great time and enjoyed the exhibit. Despite the British Museum’s vast number of visitors each year, this personal anecdote made me feel deeply valued and understood. It reminded me of the profound reason why I create – for individuals like her.

These exchanges remind me of how my jewelry, along with every creation I bring to life, is a heartfelt tribute to my ancestors and the profound conversations I hold with them. Despite lacking a formal design background and being relatively new to this journey, each time I craft a piece or shape the identity of the brand, I am driven by an innate, undeniable feeling. It is as if I am tapping into a space where ancestral memories surface, inviting me to explore and express them anew.

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