Anneli Xie
Profs. Nikhil Rao & Lidwien Kapteijns
HIST 367: The Indian Ocean as African, Arab, and South Asian History
2020/12/18
Profs. Nikhil Rao & Lidwien Kapteijns
HIST 367: The Indian Ocean as African, Arab, and South Asian History
2020/12/18
Beyond Global Cities and Cosmopolitanism: The
Spatial Politics of Dubai
The largest man-made island, the biggest
shopping mall, and the tallest building in the world… To the outside world,
Dubai is a city of superlatives; (Priest 2012, Goldman 2012) and for
many, also a dreamscape. Founded on commodification and commercialization, the
city of Dubai has become a brand in and of itself, identifiable by its exported
image of affluence, extravagance, and enjoyment. In 2019, Dubai was visited by over 16 million tourists, a
number that is estimated to increase every year. (Government of Dubai 2020) With
high consumer and tourist demand, the city is constantly looking for new
megaprojects to take on. Currently, future Dubai projects involve the opening
of the largest Ferris wheel in the world, the Ain Dubai, the
construction of the world’s tallest observation tower, the Dubai Creek
Tower, and the completion of the world’s biggest theme park, Dubailand. (Corder 2019) An
astounding feat, these developments are often marveled at in media, who
proclaim Dubai to have risen as a superstar city built ‘from nothing.’ (Priest 2012) With residents from over
200 nations and a local population of only 5%, (Elsheshtawy 2010, 213) the city is also often
designated the label of cosmopolitan; in 2018 even gaining yet another
superlative title: “the most cosmopolitan city in the world.” (Abbas 2018)
However, considering Dubai solely as a cosmopolitan ‘city of superlatives,’ presents a simplistic view of a city with manifold history, culture, and urban life.For many, the city’s spectacular architectural projects and its illusive appearance of wealth becomes an isolated truth, confirmed through the conventional Western image of the city as built on a tabula rasa. This artificial presentation rejects the city’s manifold history in search of an exportable and cohesive narrative that focuses on the city’s new and spectacular developments. This paper will argue that the lived reality of Dubai is far from singular, with multiple actors, interests, and histories constantly in play. Through a spatial investigation of the city and a problematizing of its pronounced superlatives, this paper will suggest looking at the city’s lesser-known spaces, often hidden behind a spectacular façade of megaprojects, in order to understand Dubai in its full complexity. By looking beyond, into hidden alleyways and traditional neighborhoods, a more comprehensive image of Dubai can be made; one “which is not a representation or a fake reality,” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 3) and which strays far away from the Western notions of luxury and excess.
The artificial representation of Dubai gets exported through what has come to be called Dubaization. Introduced by architectural scholar Yasser Elsheshtawy, the concept of Dubaization signifies “the act of building a city which relies on spectacular, non-contextual architecture,” (Elsheshtawy 2020) as well as the rapid construction of a city upon “fakeness and artificiality.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 251) In Dubai, this is evident in the city’s self-portrayed wish of achieving the status of a cosmopolitan global city. Indeed, the process of becoming global often correlates to an exported image of affluence, which is “evidenced spatially in [Dubai’s] gleaming towers […] and so on.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 18) Whereas the term global city is typically associated with metropolises such as London, New York, and Tokyo, it is becoming increasingly widespread as more cities expand and globalize. Popularized by sociologist Saskia Sassen, the global city hypothesis argues that certain cities concentrate wealth and services to become important nodes in the global economic network. (Sassen 2005, 28-30) Further, it is often accompanied by the designation of cosmopolitanism, implying a diverse yet “harmonious society;” (Elsheshtawy 2020, 810) a happy fusion between the city’s several different sociocultural groups. While the cosmopolitan global city narrative has undeniably succeeded in placing Dubai on the world map – as evident in its tourism statistics and its extensive megaprojects – it is not representative of the city as a whole. In reality, Dubai may be more of a transnational city than its exported appearance of a cosmopolitan and global one, meaning it does not necessarily exist in happy co-existence and rather has an association with resistance.
In Dubai, transnationalism – defined as “multiple ties linking people across the border of countries […]” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 211) – can be seen in the spatial manifestation of Dubai as a “migrant city,” home to a population comprised of “more than 90% of non-residents.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 1) However, this side of Dubai is rarely popularized in mainstream media, that chooses instead to focus on neoliberal economic policy and the “visible manifestation of the sizeable new consumer elite.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 22) In this context, the built environment becomes especially influential, “because [buildings] give theappearance of a global city” through ‘spectacularization,’ i.e., design that is intended to seduce consumers by the instant gratification of being visually flashy and stimulating. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 133) Architectural spectacles are part of the global city narrative and thus help solidify the non-contextual process of Dubaization. In Dubai, the prominence of “starchitecture” – buildings designed by high-profile (often Western) architects – is a perfect example of this. In a collaboration between the Emirati and the global Western world before the 2008 financial crisis, big Northern names such as Frank Gehry, Norman Foster, and Zaha Hadid were flocking to Dubai, eager to leave their mark on the city skyline. (Kanna 2011, 80) For human geographist Ahmed Kanna, this development was not only superficial and profit-driven, but also highly political. Kanna means that the introduction of starchitects in cities transforms them from functional to “centers of symbolic capital.” (Kanna 2011, 82) Starchitect Zaha Hadid confirms this problematic chronicle, proclaiming that “economically, our buildings operate as investments into a marketing agenda – city branding, for instance.” (Kanna 2011, 84) It thus becomes clear that the focus on this spectacular development does not face inward, to appeal and be favorable for the city’s existing residents, but rather faces outward in hope of attracting foreign tourists and investments.
Not only does starchitecture neglect the city’s local population, but in many ways, it also becomes a “total erasure of local power relations.” (Kanna 2011, 84) Whereas starchitects often broadcast interest and sensibility in local architecture and culture, these have, in practice, often tended to resort to cultural stereotypes grounded in a non-representative history. This cannot be blamed solely on the foreign architects, unfamiliar with the city’s local history, but needs also to be attributed to Dubai’s own city officials, who have made efforts to re-invent Dubai’s complex heritage. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 95-96) With the city officials closely affiliated to the ruling family-state, these efforts often dismiss the complex history of Dubai’s migrant population, of which 67% are from Pakistan and India. Instead, efforts have been made to establish a cohesive and “illusive ‘Arab’ identity” in the city’s new developments, something that has arguably never really part of the city’s history to begin with. For example, the master plan of Dubai, commissioned in 1960 by the then-ruler of the city, Rashid Al Maktoum, to be drawn by the British John Harris, claims to begin with Dubai’s history. (Kanna 2011, 86) However, as becomes evident in the plan, it is “a very bloodless, somewhat optimistic account of elite ingenuity” embedded with a ‘foundation myth’ á Al Maktoum that assumes “the naturalness and wisdom of the absolute monarchy” (Kanna 2011, 86-87) – consequently establishing the ruling Arab family as a foundational part of Dubai’s history. Thus, even the foundation of the city – as seen in its 1960 master plan – affirms only one version of local history as authentic.
A similar incident can be found in the build of Dubai’s – and the world’s – tallest building, the Burj Khalifa (previously the Burj Dubai). Inaugurated in 2010, the 828m tall building was designed by the Chicago-based starchitect firm, Skidmore, Owings, and Merrill (SOM), and claims to be inspired by the “cultural and historical influences of the Gulf Cooperative Council, achieved in the tower’s base where the geometry reflects the six-petal flower of the region.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 158) Whereas the desert flower vision is appealing, it is interesting to note that the initial proposal was of “pseudo-Arab design,” which serves as proof of the aforementioned cultural (in)sensitivity and/or stereotypes that are often embedded in the designs of foreign starchitects. Whereas the initial proposal was rejected due to its perceived naïveté, the revised proposal – which in the end got built – exchanged the pseudo-Arab imagery for elements that can be found in the 1973 Chicago Sears Tower, also built by SOM. Presented without context, it wasn’t until after the submission that the architects added the dimension of the Hymenocallis desert flower. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 158-159) The Hymenocallisis not unique to Dubai, and as the context was added first after the aesthetic vision had been presented, it is dubious if the flower was ever considered in the initial design process. Rather, it is realistic to assume that the design was accepted not because of its authentic Dubai narrative, but because of its aesthetic allusion to other skyrises existent in the modern Western world, such as the Sears Tower.
Nevertheless, the most important value of the tower is in its status as the world’s tallest building, an example of spectacularized architecture. During its inauguration in 2010, accompanied by 10,000 fireworks, a last-minute change was announced. Whereas the tower was originally named Burj Dubai, it was now to be called the Burj Khalifa, in honor of Sheikh Khalifa bin Zayed Al Nahyan, leader of the UAE and Dubai’s neighboring emirate, Abu Dhabi. (Sotoudehnia and Rose-Redwood 2019, 1014) After the onset of the 2008 financial crisis, Sheikh Khalifa provided 10 billion dirhams ($2.7 billion USD) to help Dubai out of its financial debts. Without this money, Dubai might not have been able to finish megaprojects, such as the Burj, at all. As such, the renaming of the Burj is repaying the favor to its financial savior, Sheikh Khalifa, but as the building is also a symbol of power, wealth, and modernity, it serves to connect Abu Dhabi and the broader UAE to Dubai’s status as a global city. Furthermore, the symbolic capital of the tower, as seen in its desert flower blueprint, is enough to re-instate the previously mentioned Arab identity into an exclusive arena of global players. The irony, however, falls in the Burj’s construction. While emanating an Arab heritage, the building was “designed by an American firm (SOM), built by a Korean construction company (Samsung), [and] worked on by a plethora of Asian laborers.” Similarly, most of the apartments and hotels were purchased by wealthy expatriates, yet another example of city development built not for the city itself, but for its exported image and its outside investors. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 161)
Thus, rather than interpreting Dubai from the projected image of the Burj Khalifa, we might find more clues to its true nature by looking at its diverse construction team; indeed, the true Dubai may lie behind the city’s spectacular façade and its expensive megaprojects. The frame of analysis for understanding Dubai should thus lie in the often-overlooked parts of the city. Examples of this can be found in Elsheshtawy’s work on ‘transitory spaces.’ Defined as spaces where “one only stays for a brief period of time,” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 242) these include parking lots, bus stops, shopping malls, and alleyways, often located behind the city’s wealthy districts and “indirectly removed from the awareness of city residents,” but accessible, nevertheless. Their spatial location in the city, removed from the coherent and exportable image of Dubai, arguably highlights the sense of ‘foreignness,’ (Elsheshtawy 2010, 216) but also begs the question of who is foreign and who is not; and for whom the city is really geared towards. For Dubai’s migrant workers, excluded from the city’s exported image of glamour and wealth, these non-spaces, which are planned to discourage lingering, become reappropriated as places for gathering, community-building, and “reminder[s] of home. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 87, 242)
In Elsheshtawy’s argument, these transitory spaces are also transnational spaces, a counter to the global city narrative. Within such places, “both global (interacting with home countries; sending back remittances) and local processes (daily life interactions; meeting others […]) occur almost simultaneously.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 211) The transnational approach also rejects the cosmopolitan narrative, as cosmopolitanism “is premised on some idealistic vision of happy coexistence” (Elsheshtawy 2020, 809) and the spatial organization of Dubai remains highly divided – ironically achieving another superlative status – being “one of the most segregated cities in the world.” (Elsheshtawy 2020, 805) Rather than integrating, in Dubai, “in spite of the existence of numerous nationalities, each has its own dedicated space.”(Elsheshtawy 2010, 28) For example, Hor el Anz, a district located in Deira, is dominated by its 93% South Asian population, but is neatly divided along ethnic lines, separating the district’s Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Indian, and Filipino communities. Nevertheless, the district sidewalks, as observed by Elsheshtawy, become a “microcosm for [the] district” (Elsheshtawy 2020, 813) – a transitory space in which residents mingle and interact, exchange news, and partake in informal cultural practices, such as the selling of paan and the wearing of the traditional lungi, both of which are commonly used by South Asian men. These interactions – transnational as they interlace global and local processes; not cosmopolitan as they do not fuse – serve to sustain cultural traditions and act as support for Dubai’s low-income migrants to rely on.
Part of the explanation for the formation of transitory spaces in Dubai can surely be attributed to the legal status of expatriates, complicating the dynamic of multicultural politics and belonging. With no possibility of obtaining citizenship, migrant workers are perpetual visitors in Dubai, no matter how long they stay – and no matter if they are born in Dubai or not. (Kathiravelu 2012, 105) Unsurprisingly, this does not extend to the city’s wealthy expatriates, who are allowed to own “freehold” property, which comes with a residence permit and a 99-year lease. The owner of such property can thus remain autonomous and dodge the more restrictive laws of the city. (Vora 2013, 46) As “freehold” property is also organized and embedded into Dubai’s wealthier districts, these inequalities also become spatially evident. For the city’s less privileged expatriates, they must obtain a work visa through the kafala sponsorship system. Migrants are dependent on local individuals or corporations for entry into Dubai – some of which withhold passports and/or prevent workers from switching jobs. The power imbalance that the kafala system is built upon “ensures that the migrant is wholly dependent on his or her sponsor for his or her legal status,”(Elsheshtawy 2010, 105) which in turn makes exploitation and abuse of migrant’s welfare more likely. Additionally, there have been recent efforts by city officials to complicate this further. For example, there have been efforts to limit the stay of unskilled migrant workers to a maximum of six years, and benefits that have previously been available to all – such as public healthcare – are now only available to nationals.
The complications of urban citizenship in Dubai has caused a huge stir in Western media since the propelling of Dubai into the status of a global city. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 214) Today, Dubai is commonly understood as an “uncaring place,” (Kathiravelu 2012, 103) with stories of “the dark side of Dubai,”(Hari 2012) and ‘modern slavery’(Anderson 2009, Chonghaile 2014) exposing horrific migrant conditions in the city’s labor camps. However, despite the numerous hindrances enforced by the city officials, Dubai’s migrant population has developed strategies to cope with such disadvantages. In sociologist Laavanya Kathiravelu’s work, “strong, informal, social networks of aid and care within the emirate” (Kathiravelu 2012, 103) have been observed, in which the migrant population has divided and organized itself into national, ethnic, and socioeconomic hierarchies as a reverberation of the discriminatory practices in the city. South Asians are generally at the bottom, while white Europeans and Americans are typically at the top. This is also reflected in the unequal salaries between the two different groups: white expatriates make far more than their South Asian counterparts for partaking in the same work. The spatial organization of the city also corresponds to this: about one-third of migrant workers live in labor camps outside the city, with the rest living in shared, rented apartments in the city; in contrast, the middle and upper classes live in wealthy districts and gated communities. However, despite the spatial segregation between different socioeconomic and ethnic groups, Kathiravelu’s work shows that cross-cultural care networks exist – developed by migrants as coping strategies “to deal with their marginalized circumstances in the city-state.” (Kathiravelu 2012, 106)
Much like Elsheshtawy writes of informal cultural practices occurring in transitory spaces, these migrant networks of care are enforced in similar places, in similarly informal ways. These networks of care are characterized by relationships and acts “that express solidarities and connections in everyday informal interactions.” (Kathiravelu 2012, 106) Informality is important in this context as it allows interaction and solidarity across the formal divisions of nationality, ethnicity, and socioeconomic class that otherwise guide Dubai’s spatial organization. Examples of informal care can be seen in the spontaneous offering to help by migrants to each other. These spontaneous interactions often involve no tangible outcome nor a follow-up relationship, and are exemplified by offering money, buying phone cards, and helping transport people away from their abusive employers. Similarly, systems of care that are dependent on tight social relationships, also evolve across migrant networks. For example, migrants often utilize friends or family to seek new recruitment, as limited upward mobility is offered through the recommendation of others. In addition, these friendships are also important in times of emotional or financial hardship. Albeit help is often limited, the extension of service exists, nevertheless, and when organized and deepened, can lead to collective political action. In recent years, there have been an increasing number of mass strikes by migrant workers in Dubai, many of which have been highlighted by international media and reached some success, albeit limited.[74]As such, these networks of care – enacted in Dubai’s transitory spaces – have become places where the entrenched social divisions of the city can be challenged.
With a non-citizen population estimated at 95%, it seems strange that Dubai caters to an “illusive Arab identity” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 97) that adheres to only a small part of its demographic. However, this may be a simplistic approach to this transnational city and a way to dismiss how Dubai’s different lived experiences come to reinforce and perpetuate each other. By juxtaposing Dubai’s migrant population, it is clear that the lived reality of the city’s wealthy expatriates and their low-income counterparts differ drastically, despite their shared status as non-citizens. In Neha Vora’s work on Dubai’s Indian Diaspora, she writes that the “[cosmopolitan wealthy expatriate] is offered belonging through consumption of Brand Dubai […],” and suggests that these subjects in fact act to “reinforce state and corporate nationalisms” (Vora 2013, 63) because they get to partake in the glamour and affluence that the exported image of Dubai is so often associated with. Indeed, the efforts to thrust Dubai into the status of a global city – including heavy investments in spectacular architecture – surely attracted increased foreign investment, which in turn served to grow and propel Dubai into its new national identity. As explained by Sheikh Mohammed, current ruler of Dubai, “adopting the best global standards and practices is the only way to preserve national and cultural identity [in the city].” (Vora 2013, 44) Therefore, as foreign investment sought to partake in the boom of this new global city, foreign consumption also reinforced the construction of an Arab heritage and identity. Thus, although wealthy expatriates are non-citizens, they are allowed to maintain a certain level of comfort and belonging in Dubai due to their partaking in the exclusive and privileged exported image of the city. However, as Vora also points out, “creating a global city requires not only increased foreign investment but also large numbers of foreign workers to build and manage the city.” (Vora 2013, 44) This evidently correlates to Dubai’s majority “other” population, which, unlike its wealthy non-citizen counterpart, does not adhere to – nor is allowed into – the city’s exclusive global status. Because these non-citizens exist outside the city’s consumerist desires and its purified national identity, they must act in the margins of society and rely on informal systems of care, support, and communication to manage their daily life. As Vora, sadly but eloquently, puts it: “this is not a contradiction […] but a fundamental necessity in the production and maintenance of narrow definitions of belonging in the UAE.” (Vora 2013, 63)
Thus, an exploration into the city of Dubai reveals a multitude of layers, with several actors, interests, and histories in play. The full complexity of Dubai rejects both the singular narrative of Dubaization, which focuses on the city’s new and spectacular developments, as well as the global city hypothesis, often accompanied by the concept of cosmopolitanism.
It is thus highly important to remain critical of this exported image of the city. Not only are the city’s marketed megaprojects, such as the Burj Khalifa, coated in artificiality, but they also appeal to an audience of global consumers rather than being valuable to their local residents. Additionally, it is important to remember that our interpreted image of the true Dubai ought not to emerge out of spectacularized architecture, but out of the lived and recounted experiences of the city’s residents. Similarly, it is important to stay critical of the vastly differing experiences of the city’s many non-citizens, and to recognize how the city’s different populations influence each other. Lastly, it is also appropriate to ask to what and to whom Dubai truly exists; and whether or not this should be challenged.
Abbas, Waheed. “Dubai named world’s most cosmopolitan city.” Khaleej Times, October 14, 2018. https://www.khaleejtimes.com/nation/dubai/dubai-named-worlds-most-cosmopolitan-city.
Anderson, Ben. “The Slaves of Dubai.” VICE, April 6, 2009. https://www.vice.com/en/article/4waq9n/the-slaves-of-dubai.
Corder, Josh. “The 10 upcoming future projects in Dubai.” Esquire Middle East, August 22, 2019. https://www.esquireme.com/content/37890-the-top-10-upcoming-future-projects-in-dubai.
Elsheshtawy, Yasser. Dubai: Behind an Urban Spectacle. London: Taylor & Francis, 2010.
Elsheshtawy, Yasser. “Dubaization: Definition.” Blog Post. Accessed December 13, 2020. https://dubaization.com/.
Elsheshtawy, Yasser. “Urban enclaves and transient cosmopolitanism: Scenes from Abu Dhabi and Dubai.” City: Analysis of Urban Change, Theory, Action 24, no. 5–6 (Fall 2020): 805–817.
Goldman, Peggy. “Dazzling Dubai: A City of Superlatives.” HuffPost, November 12, 2012. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/dazzling-dubai-a-city-of-_b_1874055.
Government of Dubai. “Annual visitor report 2019.” Dubai Tourism. Accessed December 14, 2020. https://www.dubaitourism.gov.ae/en/research-and-insights/annual-visitor-report-2019.
Hari, Johann. “The Dark Side of Dubai.” The Independent, September 10, 2012. https://www.independent.co.uk/voices/commentators/johann-hari/dark-side-dubai-1664368.html.
Kanna, Ahmed. Dubai: The City as Corporation. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 2011.
Kathiravelu, Laavanya. “Social Networks in Dubai: Informal Solidarities in an Uncaring State.” Journal of Intercultural Studies 33, no.1 (February 2012): 103–119.
Ni Chonghaile, Clar. “Beaten, trapped, abused and underpaid – migrant domestic workers in the UAE.” The Guardian, October 23, 2014. https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2014/oct/23/migrant-domestic-workers-uae-beaten-abused.
Priest, Matthew. “10 crazy superlatives only found in Dubai.” CNN Travel, November 13, 2012. http://travel.cnn.com/10-superlatives-found-only-dubai-953176/.
Sassen, Saskia. “The Global City: Introducing a Concept.” The Brown Journal of World Affairs 11, no. 2 (Winter/Spring 2005): 27–43.
Sotoudehnia, Maral and Reuben Rose-Redwood. “‘I AM BURJ KHALIFA:’ Entrepreneurial Urbanism, Toponymic Commodification and the Worlding of Dubai.” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 43, no. 6 (November 2019): 1014–1027.
Vora, Neha. Impossible Citizens: Dubai’s Indian Diaspora. Durham: Duke University Press, 2013.
However, considering Dubai solely as a cosmopolitan ‘city of superlatives,’ presents a simplistic view of a city with manifold history, culture, and urban life.For many, the city’s spectacular architectural projects and its illusive appearance of wealth becomes an isolated truth, confirmed through the conventional Western image of the city as built on a tabula rasa. This artificial presentation rejects the city’s manifold history in search of an exportable and cohesive narrative that focuses on the city’s new and spectacular developments. This paper will argue that the lived reality of Dubai is far from singular, with multiple actors, interests, and histories constantly in play. Through a spatial investigation of the city and a problematizing of its pronounced superlatives, this paper will suggest looking at the city’s lesser-known spaces, often hidden behind a spectacular façade of megaprojects, in order to understand Dubai in its full complexity. By looking beyond, into hidden alleyways and traditional neighborhoods, a more comprehensive image of Dubai can be made; one “which is not a representation or a fake reality,” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 3) and which strays far away from the Western notions of luxury and excess.
The artificial representation of Dubai gets exported through what has come to be called Dubaization. Introduced by architectural scholar Yasser Elsheshtawy, the concept of Dubaization signifies “the act of building a city which relies on spectacular, non-contextual architecture,” (Elsheshtawy 2020) as well as the rapid construction of a city upon “fakeness and artificiality.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 251) In Dubai, this is evident in the city’s self-portrayed wish of achieving the status of a cosmopolitan global city. Indeed, the process of becoming global often correlates to an exported image of affluence, which is “evidenced spatially in [Dubai’s] gleaming towers […] and so on.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 18) Whereas the term global city is typically associated with metropolises such as London, New York, and Tokyo, it is becoming increasingly widespread as more cities expand and globalize. Popularized by sociologist Saskia Sassen, the global city hypothesis argues that certain cities concentrate wealth and services to become important nodes in the global economic network. (Sassen 2005, 28-30) Further, it is often accompanied by the designation of cosmopolitanism, implying a diverse yet “harmonious society;” (Elsheshtawy 2020, 810) a happy fusion between the city’s several different sociocultural groups. While the cosmopolitan global city narrative has undeniably succeeded in placing Dubai on the world map – as evident in its tourism statistics and its extensive megaprojects – it is not representative of the city as a whole. In reality, Dubai may be more of a transnational city than its exported appearance of a cosmopolitan and global one, meaning it does not necessarily exist in happy co-existence and rather has an association with resistance.
In Dubai, transnationalism – defined as “multiple ties linking people across the border of countries […]” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 211) – can be seen in the spatial manifestation of Dubai as a “migrant city,” home to a population comprised of “more than 90% of non-residents.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 1) However, this side of Dubai is rarely popularized in mainstream media, that chooses instead to focus on neoliberal economic policy and the “visible manifestation of the sizeable new consumer elite.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 22) In this context, the built environment becomes especially influential, “because [buildings] give theappearance of a global city” through ‘spectacularization,’ i.e., design that is intended to seduce consumers by the instant gratification of being visually flashy and stimulating. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 133) Architectural spectacles are part of the global city narrative and thus help solidify the non-contextual process of Dubaization. In Dubai, the prominence of “starchitecture” – buildings designed by high-profile (often Western) architects – is a perfect example of this. In a collaboration between the Emirati and the global Western world before the 2008 financial crisis, big Northern names such as Frank Gehry, Norman Foster, and Zaha Hadid were flocking to Dubai, eager to leave their mark on the city skyline. (Kanna 2011, 80) For human geographist Ahmed Kanna, this development was not only superficial and profit-driven, but also highly political. Kanna means that the introduction of starchitects in cities transforms them from functional to “centers of symbolic capital.” (Kanna 2011, 82) Starchitect Zaha Hadid confirms this problematic chronicle, proclaiming that “economically, our buildings operate as investments into a marketing agenda – city branding, for instance.” (Kanna 2011, 84) It thus becomes clear that the focus on this spectacular development does not face inward, to appeal and be favorable for the city’s existing residents, but rather faces outward in hope of attracting foreign tourists and investments.
Not only does starchitecture neglect the city’s local population, but in many ways, it also becomes a “total erasure of local power relations.” (Kanna 2011, 84) Whereas starchitects often broadcast interest and sensibility in local architecture and culture, these have, in practice, often tended to resort to cultural stereotypes grounded in a non-representative history. This cannot be blamed solely on the foreign architects, unfamiliar with the city’s local history, but needs also to be attributed to Dubai’s own city officials, who have made efforts to re-invent Dubai’s complex heritage. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 95-96) With the city officials closely affiliated to the ruling family-state, these efforts often dismiss the complex history of Dubai’s migrant population, of which 67% are from Pakistan and India. Instead, efforts have been made to establish a cohesive and “illusive ‘Arab’ identity” in the city’s new developments, something that has arguably never really part of the city’s history to begin with. For example, the master plan of Dubai, commissioned in 1960 by the then-ruler of the city, Rashid Al Maktoum, to be drawn by the British John Harris, claims to begin with Dubai’s history. (Kanna 2011, 86) However, as becomes evident in the plan, it is “a very bloodless, somewhat optimistic account of elite ingenuity” embedded with a ‘foundation myth’ á Al Maktoum that assumes “the naturalness and wisdom of the absolute monarchy” (Kanna 2011, 86-87) – consequently establishing the ruling Arab family as a foundational part of Dubai’s history. Thus, even the foundation of the city – as seen in its 1960 master plan – affirms only one version of local history as authentic.
A similar incident can be found in the build of Dubai’s – and the world’s – tallest building, the Burj Khalifa (previously the Burj Dubai). Inaugurated in 2010, the 828m tall building was designed by the Chicago-based starchitect firm, Skidmore, Owings, and Merrill (SOM), and claims to be inspired by the “cultural and historical influences of the Gulf Cooperative Council, achieved in the tower’s base where the geometry reflects the six-petal flower of the region.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 158) Whereas the desert flower vision is appealing, it is interesting to note that the initial proposal was of “pseudo-Arab design,” which serves as proof of the aforementioned cultural (in)sensitivity and/or stereotypes that are often embedded in the designs of foreign starchitects. Whereas the initial proposal was rejected due to its perceived naïveté, the revised proposal – which in the end got built – exchanged the pseudo-Arab imagery for elements that can be found in the 1973 Chicago Sears Tower, also built by SOM. Presented without context, it wasn’t until after the submission that the architects added the dimension of the Hymenocallis desert flower. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 158-159) The Hymenocallisis not unique to Dubai, and as the context was added first after the aesthetic vision had been presented, it is dubious if the flower was ever considered in the initial design process. Rather, it is realistic to assume that the design was accepted not because of its authentic Dubai narrative, but because of its aesthetic allusion to other skyrises existent in the modern Western world, such as the Sears Tower.
Nevertheless, the most important value of the tower is in its status as the world’s tallest building, an example of spectacularized architecture. During its inauguration in 2010, accompanied by 10,000 fireworks, a last-minute change was announced. Whereas the tower was originally named Burj Dubai, it was now to be called the Burj Khalifa, in honor of Sheikh Khalifa bin Zayed Al Nahyan, leader of the UAE and Dubai’s neighboring emirate, Abu Dhabi. (Sotoudehnia and Rose-Redwood 2019, 1014) After the onset of the 2008 financial crisis, Sheikh Khalifa provided 10 billion dirhams ($2.7 billion USD) to help Dubai out of its financial debts. Without this money, Dubai might not have been able to finish megaprojects, such as the Burj, at all. As such, the renaming of the Burj is repaying the favor to its financial savior, Sheikh Khalifa, but as the building is also a symbol of power, wealth, and modernity, it serves to connect Abu Dhabi and the broader UAE to Dubai’s status as a global city. Furthermore, the symbolic capital of the tower, as seen in its desert flower blueprint, is enough to re-instate the previously mentioned Arab identity into an exclusive arena of global players. The irony, however, falls in the Burj’s construction. While emanating an Arab heritage, the building was “designed by an American firm (SOM), built by a Korean construction company (Samsung), [and] worked on by a plethora of Asian laborers.” Similarly, most of the apartments and hotels were purchased by wealthy expatriates, yet another example of city development built not for the city itself, but for its exported image and its outside investors. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 161)
Thus, rather than interpreting Dubai from the projected image of the Burj Khalifa, we might find more clues to its true nature by looking at its diverse construction team; indeed, the true Dubai may lie behind the city’s spectacular façade and its expensive megaprojects. The frame of analysis for understanding Dubai should thus lie in the often-overlooked parts of the city. Examples of this can be found in Elsheshtawy’s work on ‘transitory spaces.’ Defined as spaces where “one only stays for a brief period of time,” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 242) these include parking lots, bus stops, shopping malls, and alleyways, often located behind the city’s wealthy districts and “indirectly removed from the awareness of city residents,” but accessible, nevertheless. Their spatial location in the city, removed from the coherent and exportable image of Dubai, arguably highlights the sense of ‘foreignness,’ (Elsheshtawy 2010, 216) but also begs the question of who is foreign and who is not; and for whom the city is really geared towards. For Dubai’s migrant workers, excluded from the city’s exported image of glamour and wealth, these non-spaces, which are planned to discourage lingering, become reappropriated as places for gathering, community-building, and “reminder[s] of home. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 87, 242)
In Elsheshtawy’s argument, these transitory spaces are also transnational spaces, a counter to the global city narrative. Within such places, “both global (interacting with home countries; sending back remittances) and local processes (daily life interactions; meeting others […]) occur almost simultaneously.” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 211) The transnational approach also rejects the cosmopolitan narrative, as cosmopolitanism “is premised on some idealistic vision of happy coexistence” (Elsheshtawy 2020, 809) and the spatial organization of Dubai remains highly divided – ironically achieving another superlative status – being “one of the most segregated cities in the world.” (Elsheshtawy 2020, 805) Rather than integrating, in Dubai, “in spite of the existence of numerous nationalities, each has its own dedicated space.”(Elsheshtawy 2010, 28) For example, Hor el Anz, a district located in Deira, is dominated by its 93% South Asian population, but is neatly divided along ethnic lines, separating the district’s Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Indian, and Filipino communities. Nevertheless, the district sidewalks, as observed by Elsheshtawy, become a “microcosm for [the] district” (Elsheshtawy 2020, 813) – a transitory space in which residents mingle and interact, exchange news, and partake in informal cultural practices, such as the selling of paan and the wearing of the traditional lungi, both of which are commonly used by South Asian men. These interactions – transnational as they interlace global and local processes; not cosmopolitan as they do not fuse – serve to sustain cultural traditions and act as support for Dubai’s low-income migrants to rely on.
Part of the explanation for the formation of transitory spaces in Dubai can surely be attributed to the legal status of expatriates, complicating the dynamic of multicultural politics and belonging. With no possibility of obtaining citizenship, migrant workers are perpetual visitors in Dubai, no matter how long they stay – and no matter if they are born in Dubai or not. (Kathiravelu 2012, 105) Unsurprisingly, this does not extend to the city’s wealthy expatriates, who are allowed to own “freehold” property, which comes with a residence permit and a 99-year lease. The owner of such property can thus remain autonomous and dodge the more restrictive laws of the city. (Vora 2013, 46) As “freehold” property is also organized and embedded into Dubai’s wealthier districts, these inequalities also become spatially evident. For the city’s less privileged expatriates, they must obtain a work visa through the kafala sponsorship system. Migrants are dependent on local individuals or corporations for entry into Dubai – some of which withhold passports and/or prevent workers from switching jobs. The power imbalance that the kafala system is built upon “ensures that the migrant is wholly dependent on his or her sponsor for his or her legal status,”(Elsheshtawy 2010, 105) which in turn makes exploitation and abuse of migrant’s welfare more likely. Additionally, there have been recent efforts by city officials to complicate this further. For example, there have been efforts to limit the stay of unskilled migrant workers to a maximum of six years, and benefits that have previously been available to all – such as public healthcare – are now only available to nationals.
The complications of urban citizenship in Dubai has caused a huge stir in Western media since the propelling of Dubai into the status of a global city. (Elsheshtawy 2010, 214) Today, Dubai is commonly understood as an “uncaring place,” (Kathiravelu 2012, 103) with stories of “the dark side of Dubai,”(Hari 2012) and ‘modern slavery’(Anderson 2009, Chonghaile 2014) exposing horrific migrant conditions in the city’s labor camps. However, despite the numerous hindrances enforced by the city officials, Dubai’s migrant population has developed strategies to cope with such disadvantages. In sociologist Laavanya Kathiravelu’s work, “strong, informal, social networks of aid and care within the emirate” (Kathiravelu 2012, 103) have been observed, in which the migrant population has divided and organized itself into national, ethnic, and socioeconomic hierarchies as a reverberation of the discriminatory practices in the city. South Asians are generally at the bottom, while white Europeans and Americans are typically at the top. This is also reflected in the unequal salaries between the two different groups: white expatriates make far more than their South Asian counterparts for partaking in the same work. The spatial organization of the city also corresponds to this: about one-third of migrant workers live in labor camps outside the city, with the rest living in shared, rented apartments in the city; in contrast, the middle and upper classes live in wealthy districts and gated communities. However, despite the spatial segregation between different socioeconomic and ethnic groups, Kathiravelu’s work shows that cross-cultural care networks exist – developed by migrants as coping strategies “to deal with their marginalized circumstances in the city-state.” (Kathiravelu 2012, 106)
Much like Elsheshtawy writes of informal cultural practices occurring in transitory spaces, these migrant networks of care are enforced in similar places, in similarly informal ways. These networks of care are characterized by relationships and acts “that express solidarities and connections in everyday informal interactions.” (Kathiravelu 2012, 106) Informality is important in this context as it allows interaction and solidarity across the formal divisions of nationality, ethnicity, and socioeconomic class that otherwise guide Dubai’s spatial organization. Examples of informal care can be seen in the spontaneous offering to help by migrants to each other. These spontaneous interactions often involve no tangible outcome nor a follow-up relationship, and are exemplified by offering money, buying phone cards, and helping transport people away from their abusive employers. Similarly, systems of care that are dependent on tight social relationships, also evolve across migrant networks. For example, migrants often utilize friends or family to seek new recruitment, as limited upward mobility is offered through the recommendation of others. In addition, these friendships are also important in times of emotional or financial hardship. Albeit help is often limited, the extension of service exists, nevertheless, and when organized and deepened, can lead to collective political action. In recent years, there have been an increasing number of mass strikes by migrant workers in Dubai, many of which have been highlighted by international media and reached some success, albeit limited.[74]As such, these networks of care – enacted in Dubai’s transitory spaces – have become places where the entrenched social divisions of the city can be challenged.
With a non-citizen population estimated at 95%, it seems strange that Dubai caters to an “illusive Arab identity” (Elsheshtawy 2010, 97) that adheres to only a small part of its demographic. However, this may be a simplistic approach to this transnational city and a way to dismiss how Dubai’s different lived experiences come to reinforce and perpetuate each other. By juxtaposing Dubai’s migrant population, it is clear that the lived reality of the city’s wealthy expatriates and their low-income counterparts differ drastically, despite their shared status as non-citizens. In Neha Vora’s work on Dubai’s Indian Diaspora, she writes that the “[cosmopolitan wealthy expatriate] is offered belonging through consumption of Brand Dubai […],” and suggests that these subjects in fact act to “reinforce state and corporate nationalisms” (Vora 2013, 63) because they get to partake in the glamour and affluence that the exported image of Dubai is so often associated with. Indeed, the efforts to thrust Dubai into the status of a global city – including heavy investments in spectacular architecture – surely attracted increased foreign investment, which in turn served to grow and propel Dubai into its new national identity. As explained by Sheikh Mohammed, current ruler of Dubai, “adopting the best global standards and practices is the only way to preserve national and cultural identity [in the city].” (Vora 2013, 44) Therefore, as foreign investment sought to partake in the boom of this new global city, foreign consumption also reinforced the construction of an Arab heritage and identity. Thus, although wealthy expatriates are non-citizens, they are allowed to maintain a certain level of comfort and belonging in Dubai due to their partaking in the exclusive and privileged exported image of the city. However, as Vora also points out, “creating a global city requires not only increased foreign investment but also large numbers of foreign workers to build and manage the city.” (Vora 2013, 44) This evidently correlates to Dubai’s majority “other” population, which, unlike its wealthy non-citizen counterpart, does not adhere to – nor is allowed into – the city’s exclusive global status. Because these non-citizens exist outside the city’s consumerist desires and its purified national identity, they must act in the margins of society and rely on informal systems of care, support, and communication to manage their daily life. As Vora, sadly but eloquently, puts it: “this is not a contradiction […] but a fundamental necessity in the production and maintenance of narrow definitions of belonging in the UAE.” (Vora 2013, 63)
Thus, an exploration into the city of Dubai reveals a multitude of layers, with several actors, interests, and histories in play. The full complexity of Dubai rejects both the singular narrative of Dubaization, which focuses on the city’s new and spectacular developments, as well as the global city hypothesis, often accompanied by the concept of cosmopolitanism.
It is thus highly important to remain critical of this exported image of the city. Not only are the city’s marketed megaprojects, such as the Burj Khalifa, coated in artificiality, but they also appeal to an audience of global consumers rather than being valuable to their local residents. Additionally, it is important to remember that our interpreted image of the true Dubai ought not to emerge out of spectacularized architecture, but out of the lived and recounted experiences of the city’s residents. Similarly, it is important to stay critical of the vastly differing experiences of the city’s many non-citizens, and to recognize how the city’s different populations influence each other. Lastly, it is also appropriate to ask to what and to whom Dubai truly exists; and whether or not this should be challenged.
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