Part Nineteen
(This is a translation from the original Arabic, offered so that my grandchildren, and others of their generation, may understand something of their history— a history they were denied when they were uprooted without choice.)
Where To? What Is the Beginning?
In the preceding parts, I recorded my observations on the present condition of the Arabs. They were no more than a swift and passing glance, intended to identify points of failure and, inevitably, to provoke reflection. I now wish to move to a second stage, one in which I attempt to construct—so I believe—the path we must follow if we are to escape the vortex of disorientation, ignorance, and subjugation. When I ask, Where to?, I mean: where do I want us to go?
To avoid becoming lost in definitions and entangled in endless disputes over concepts, I must reiterate what I have previously stated. When I speak of the Arabs, I mean the people who live on a land stretching from the shores of the Indian Ocean at the far reaches of the Arabian Peninsula to the Atlantic coast of Morocco. They are composed of original Arab tribes as well as diverse peoples and nations who intermingled with them, intermarried, and became Arabized. They are united by a single language and share a culture and history whose interconnectedness surpasses that of most peoples on earth today. I do not exaggerate when I say that what binds a citizen of Musandam in Oman to a citizen of Sijilmasa in Morocco is stronger and deeper than what binds a citizen of Los Angeles to one of Miami—especially should the dominance of the dollar over the world ever be put to the test. I spent forty years in Britain and am still reminded every day that I am a foreigner; yet when I arrived in Muscat, within the first week I felt as though I had returned home.
We did not choose our enemies; rather, our enemies chose us. I will not delve into this here, as I have written about it before, though I may touch upon aspects of it in the course of this discussion. What matters is that our enemies have implicated us all in their enmity, even in our fragmentation—that is, they have confirmed our unity through their collective aggression against us for a single purpose. Our enemies recognized the danger posed by Arab proximity and unity to their projects long ago, even before the discovery of oil. The British ambassador in Cairo once wrote to London that the greatest threat to British interests was unity between Egypt and Syria, following Muhammad Ali’s dispatch of his son at the head of an army to Syria. Later, the British ambassador in Beirut wrote to the Foreign Office that Abd al-Karim Qasim’s claim to Kuwait constituted a genuine threat to British interests, for if realized it would inevitably lead to claims over the entire Gulf coast—territory that had formed part of Iraq’s political borders before the First World War, after which the British redrew the political map of our region.
History has taught me that whatever my enemy rejects must contain my own good. Thus, the mere fact that global Zionism has sought for two centuries to prevent any Arab rapprochement is, to me, proof that Arab unity must hold benefit for Arabs. The secession of Syria from the United Arab Republic in 1961 confirmed this truth beyond doubt.
It requires little effort for any Arab to grasp that his dignity and strength can only be preserved through unity. Let us pause for a moment and imagine the Arabic-speaking lands today as a single unified country—a land forming a bridge and maritime passage between three major continents, endowed with immense human potential, vast energy reserves beneath its soil and in its sun, uncounted mineral wealth, and agricultural resources sufficient to feed itself. Would any external power have been able to violate it, occupy it, manipulate its fate, and plunder its wealth as has happened and continues to happen today? The answer requires no profound contemplation.
To speak of unity among the Arabs who inhabit this land is neither an appeal to sentiment nor a nostalgic longing for a bygone past—I am not one who glorifies conquest or aggression. Rather, it is an existential necessity for survival and continuity. The world we inhabit today is composed of great powers, massive economic blocs, and formidable military alliances. These are its active forces. How, then, can we exist within it if every small group of people imagines it can protect itself simply because it has been deceived into being called a “state,” given a flag, and granted an international airport? Europe itself is living proof of this reality. When a state like Lithuania emerged from the Soviet Union, it rushed to join the European Union—a unifying economic, political, and largely military bloc among European states that share far fewer bonds than those that bind Arabs together. The sole motivation of this small nation, with fewer than three million inhabitants, was to seek protection and continuity in a world moving toward confrontation among giants. What, then, would a state of a few hundred thousand people on the Gulf coast do—even if it purchased every air-defense system and drone—should a major international conflict erupt on Arab soil?
Undoubtedly, some will argue that those who settled on the Gulf coast a century ago or so would never accept sharing their oil revenues with citizens from Egypt or Lebanon. This objection is understandable, as it arises from immediate needs and the fear of losing what one has come to regard as an exclusive right. Yet it can be answered from two perspectives.
The first is to accept a principle stating that whatever exists under Arab land belongs to all Arabs wherever they may be—particularly when such presence was often incidental, determined by the whereabouts of Bedouin caravans at the moment oil or gas fields were discovered, and then reinforced by bringing tribes to guard and monitor them. Quraysh migrated from Iraq and settled in the Hijaz, yet acquired rights throughout Arab lands. Does not this historical precedent entitle any Arab to settle in the Arabian Peninsula if he so wishes, just as it entitles any inhabitant of the Peninsula to roam freely across Arab lands? This must be the foundational rule upon which all future policies in Arab lands are built.
The second perspective lies in reminding the objector—so keen to protect his wealth—that his task in life is not merely to preserve what he possesses for the limited years granted to him, but to cultivate the land and ensure the well-being of its people, as God has commanded. This can only be fulfilled by working for the future—a future that belongs to those who will come after him. Their interest lies in the unity of the people of this land, so they may build for them a safe and enduring homeland. History offers us a lesson here. The inhabitants of the American state of Texas once resisted sharing their resources with the northern states; they revolted, fought, and killed, until unity was imposed. The result was a unified America that became one of the world’s largest economies and most dominant powers, born of the fusion of Texas’s resources with the productive energies of northern states like Michigan. Nations do not build themselves with the lens of the present hour; they calculate where they will stand tomorrow. If an Arab realizes that unity may bring temporary competition in certain aspects of life today, he must also realize that tomorrow this land will yield benefit for his children and grandchildren. Only thus can the future be envisioned—and only thus is promising history made.
The first step in building the future of the nation that inhabits this land is to affirm and nurture the concept of unity among its people, despite any differences in origin, ethnicity, religion, or sect—so long as the individual is certain of his belonging to the people through their language and intellectual roots, and aspires to live among them, share their hardships and ease, and defend them when necessary. This truth must be the foundation of education and the cornerstone of state policy. When I say it must be a foundation of education, I mean education that begins in the home; the task is the responsibility of every citizen, starting with instilling this principle within his own household.
I can almost see many nodding in agreement with this idea, yet I fear that actual commitment to it is nearly nonexistent. Let us pause briefly to consider the policies of the Gulf Cooperation Council states. These states—formed by Britain and administered by it for decades—adopted policies designed to keep the Arabian Peninsula in a condition that allowed Britain to control it without the expense of fleets, troops, or bases. Chief among these policies is the sponsorship (kafala) system, a system that is, at its core, a violation of human dignity and unworthy of silence. Its injustice is at its worst when applied to Arabs arriving from outside the Peninsula. Beyond stripping the sponsored individual of his human identity—regardless of any feeble attempts at justification—it dangerously asserts that this Arab has no right to the land, thereby either negating the Arab identity of the Peninsula or denying the incoming Arab his right to live on Arab land.
As though this humiliating system were not enough, the GCC states—ever eager to remind us of the “Arabness” of the Gulf, as in the case of Abu Musa and the Tunbs, as though Arabness were merely a handful of soil rather than a living belonging—permit Europeans to enter without visas while Arabs are required to obtain prior visas, often through exhausting procedures.
It must be noted here that Arabs were treated differently in the so-called “oppressive socialist states” such as Egypt, Iraq, and Syria, where they faced no obstacle to living, working, or owning property, while they were denied basic human treatment in the “free capitalist states” such as those of the Gulf Cooperation Council.
I did not expect different policies from the rulers of the GCC; they were installed for this purpose and merely execute what is required of them. What has deeply saddened me, however, is that after fifty years of education among the peoples of the Arabian Peninsula and the Gulf, I have yet to witness a generation calling for a change in policy toward Arab migrants—something that might give me hope that this generation aspires to build a nation. Or perhaps their education has not rescued them from Bedouin alienation, preventing them from realizing that they have no future except within a strong and unified nation. The future of the nation will not change through heartfelt hopes alone, however sincere, unless a new generation is born carrying the conviction that the fathers who claim belief in Arab unity in the Peninsula and the Gulf have failed to raise their children as they ought.
Responses to this argument will undoubtedly come from multiple directions. How, then, can we engage with them?
This is what I shall attempt to explore next.
To be continued…