Hot takes from the hot zone

Oh boy oh boy, have we ever been inundated by hot takes about Dubai since the start of Israel and the USA's war with Iran. On LinkedIn, every Tom, Dick, Tabitha and Hazza is waxing lyrical about life under missile and drone attack in Dubai. And it's not just "I saw a missile intercepted above my apartment, here's what it taught me about being an entrepeneur". The takes about the wonder, mystery and brilliance of the UAE community, and how we are safer here under missile attack than walking down a regular London street, and, how we have come together under the THAAD defence system and held the country to our hearts as one, have been piling up by the second.  

At the same time, there is wall to wall press crowing that us tax dodging cads living out here, beating our servants, laundering money, pouting through our lip fillers on Instagram and scratching "HELP!" messages into the roofs of our rented by the hour penthouses with our fake nails, while demanding UK taxpayer-funded repatriation are being taught a lesson we thorougly deserve. 

The return of remote learning

Some of those same newspapers later admitted that a lot of expats really like Dubai, have lived here for generations, and are not running away. "It's fashionable to hate Dubai," opined one US newspaper "but here's why that's wrong". Well, I would like to say a giant f** you to that paper, which earlier in the week ran the headline that Glitzy Dubai was getting a taste of war, as if we deserve having our windows rattled by blasts from missile interceptions and being woken by drone strikes because we have the temerity to leave Dear Old Blightie, and to live somewhere that has the temerity to exist next to a hostile state. 

Nuance is dead, we have known that for some time. But the news coverage and social media frenzy of this time has meant I have never felt that more keenly. There is no inbetween, we cannot seem to feel anxious about being under threat, but relatively safe considering there are missiles whistling above us, worried about how the decisions we have made impact our children, considering leaving but wanting to stay. You're either a Dubai hater or a Dubai lover, someone that defends the place to the hilt or thinks we deserve everything we get in the form of the smashed drone debris that is falling on our heads, killing four people and injuring 112 at the latest count in the UAE since the fighting began on February 28th.

I realise I have got this far without actually talking much about the countries more actively involved in this war. Here I am, tapping away in a forgotten about corner of the internet, which no one will read, because my brain is so full after a truly insane week that I felt compelled to make my first blog entry close to four years to the day since the start of the Ukraine conflict, and I am making it all about me in the way of those despised Dubai influencers that everyone has been schadenfreuding about. 

This conflict is awful and worsening in the hot zones, the civilian deaths, the military deaths, it is sickening. As is the tawdry way that negotiations hosted by Oman were ongoing, and people were positive about an agreement being reached, but the war started anyway on a Saturday morning as if it were nothing more than a five a side football match. And, the futility, and numbskull thinking of trying to end a regime that has endured and committed mass human rights abuses for decades, and apparently expecting it to be a quick fix in the aftermath. 

From a GCC perspective, we were told early in the weekend by the Iranian President that he was not going to attack neighbouring countries any more, even as Bahrain and the UAE were still being hit, only for the IRGC to contradict him. 

I should stress at this point, do not give me your views on Middle Eastern politics. I literally could not give a flying flip about your take. This particularly applies if you have never set foot in the Middle East, or do not know anyone here, or have any family who live or have lived here. 

Analysts I have asked about this for work have told me Iran will deplete its weapons in four weeks, whereas I am told Iran puts it at six months. But the bare-faced reality of it is no one knows, as the UAE fights to give an impression of normality and cling on its reputation for stability and safety.  

There does not seem to be an end game here, there is no nuance about that either, it is hard to find voices outside Iranians who can see fit to condemn a murderous regime while also saying the solution to end that is not to inflict death and further misery on the people being crushed by that same regime. 

Here in the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) region, leaders were lobbying for the war not to start, but here we are in those countries, all caught in the crossfire. Even Oman, the peace negotiation host, had its port at Al Duqm hit. 

On the day it started, the family and I were doing that most cliched of Dubai activities - we were on a family shopping trip, we had gone to an outlet mall looking for discount sandals because two of us have had sore feet from walking round barefoot on cold tiled floors even though frankly by now, we should know better. 

The first news reports that the UAE was being hit arrived as we were sitting down to lunch at a noodle restaurant, but it seemed vitally important to me that we got those comfy sandals, because an irrational part of my brain, probably slightly addled by fear and a desire to appear normal to my kids, felt like if this was a really serious situation, having shoes comfortable enough to walk distances was important. 

As we made our way home, I exchanged anxious WhatsApp messages with a couple of fellow journalists, and tried to reassure family back home that we are not the target. Abu Dhabi, the seat of government is, I said.  

But that night, after midnight, I heard a sound that I am unlikely to forget in a hurry, the cheap electric lawnmower whine of a drone, which I later learned was heading for Dubai Internatioal Airport, the edge of which is less than a kilometer from our house, then a loud boom as it struck, causing injuries to people that were still left in the airport after flights had already been suspended.  

The children slept through it, thankfully. The familiar loud shriek of the missile alert - the same sound that was used to signal stay at home warnings during COVID-19 and is still used for extreme weather warnings, came not long after, followed not long after that by an all clear. I stayed in bed, thinking, I do not want to wake the children, because they will be terrified, and they are buggers to get back to sleep, and I did not want to look out the window, as I was frightened about what I might see, or that I would be hit by breaking glass. It was a restless night, worrying that more strikes would come and that the warning came after the strike, and what that meant for our safety and our ability to leave the house.  

The following day, we stayed at home, unsure what the situation would be if we went out, telling the children not to go near windows, particularly when the loud booms of interceptions sounded, and keeping them occupied with TV, closing the curtains when we felt like the bangs were getting to close, hoping the fabric would protect us from flying glass if a sudden blast came. 

Remote school was announced, and the Spring school holidays were moved one week earlier across the country. We do not currently know if the children will be able to go back to school in person yet, and I suppose it is probably down to shock that I still find it hard to believe that their lives are being disrupted by war. Because that's the rub of it, isn't it? War is for other people as far as people like me are concerned. Remember the now embarrassing way journalists behaved in the early days of the Ukraine war? "These are Europeans, and they are fleeing from a war, how can this be?" Because war is not for the likes of us, it is for fleeing refugees from the Middle East, Africa and Asia. It is not for us, because although we live in the Middle East, it's the special, safe country in the region, the safest country in the region, if not the world. 

It sounds like I have sympathy with the views of those journalists who wrote crowing reports about us being deluded about where we live, when actually, those people can still kiss my a**. I cannot imagine ever being so callous as to sit and write an article which implies people somehow deserve to taste the violence of war and be in fear of their lives because they made a decision to move to a country of which the writer happens to have a low opinion. 

I have no delusions about where I live, I am aware of the challenges of the place, but one aspect of it I have always loved and valued is its diversity, along with the fact that it is valued as a safe haven for people from the troubled parts of the region such as Lebanon, Syria, Yemen and yes, Iran - there is an Iranian diaspora here and older parts of the city were built by people who came from Iran.    

But, like COVID taught us how fragile our health ecosystem could be in the light of global travel and a virus that outran the development of vaccines and anti virals, the war has taught us how fragile our feeling of security can be. The incredible privelege of the UAE is that despite the hundreds of weapons being thrown at us on a daily basis, now the news reports of fleeing tourists have subsided, our lives have returned to a kind of normal apart from the missile warnings through our phones. 

As a family, I think we are doing well under the strain, and before anyone spits their wrath at me, I am aware that this Dubai version of war is a speck of dust compared to the misery being experienced in Iran, Lebanon and Israel, the actual hot zones. 

But the strain is definitely telling on us. The children know the child's version of regional tensions that they have picked up for us over the years, but we have told them that yes, there are missiles overhead, because Israel and Iran are fighting, but we have stopped short of telling them those missiles are being aimed at us, because for the most part, they do not hit the city. DB1 has asked me more than once what we do if a missile alert goes off when we are out in the car, so she is aware things are not right. 

Him Indoors and I are more anxious, because we are now factoring missile alerts into the daily planning of our lives. March is a time of year when UAE residents try to squeeze in outdoor activities before the burning heat of summer, but they are out of the question during alerts, which also brings back difficult memories of our days confined indoors during COVID. 

I find, and I think Him Indoors would say the same, that we are more easily irritated. I found myself in a state of blind fury and indignation at work when an email arrived from a ratings agency with a webinar on the "Middle East situation" which provided only time slots in European and USA time zones, nothing about the usual Gulf Standard Time slot. Perhaps it was a deliberate decision not to include us? Perhaps they thought we know plenty about the situation, we do not need a ratings agency to tell us, perhaps they assumed we would not attend as we would be too concerned with missile alarts. Or perhaps, as a region, we have become the story more than ever to the degree that we do not get to write it. That was the thought that worried me most, how quickly we moved from a position of power, an emerging market, but backed by stupendous oil wealth and full of ambitious people wanting to rival developed markets, to another hot zone, just another cog in the perputual war story of the Middle East. 

I realised the stress of the situation was making me overthink it, and luckily that realisation came before I sent a testy email to the organiser about their oversight, and I let it go.  

On a lighter note, early in the first week, I ran through the living room thinking I could hear the booms of missile interceptions close by, but it was actually the sound of DB1 doing jump squats for home PE.

Then of course there is the now perpetual question hanging over us about whether we stay or go. At the moment, UK foreign office advice advises against all but essential travel to the UAE, but there is no direct order to leave, although, the advice is to consider whether it is essential for us to be here and consider leaving. Leaving when you have two children at school, a rescued and highly eccentric Persian cat, who could be a sleeper agent for all I know, and a lifetime's worth of possessions to pack into boxes for an international move is not impossible at short notice, but it is pretty chuffing stressful and is probably something best embarked upon only when absolutely necessary. It is hard to work out, given the absolute idiocy of the way this war was started, whether it will be over by the time I publish this blog or whether it will drag on for years as the US administration declares victory and departs merrily on its way to its next round of geopolitical shockjockery.   

On the homefront, as the week began, although the UAE was once again deflecting missiles heading for Abu Dhabi, there are already voices talking about the comeback of the UAE, with work sources telling me that there will already be contingencies in place, adjustments being made to deal with this new reality of attacks because Dubai's crisis management is second to none, and the city will carry on, albeit with some attractions closed and an ear out for those phone alerts. 

There are plenty of people lining up to predict the demise of Dubai and other GCC cities because of their proximity to this conflict, but there is a will to succeed among the population, the locals and the residents, because some are old enough to remember when there was nothing and saw it built from the ground up, and the younger ones want to see the growth continue. Despite our tax-dodging reputation and some of the well documented unsavoury characters attracted to Dubai, the majority of expats come here to be part of the building too, for the opportunities afforded by being in a developing market.  

I remember being at a UAE government event a lifetime ago, and hearing a local VIP being questioned about the country, about the challenges of developing economically as a small state. "We are small, but because we are small, we can move," he said. And it is true. Crazy late noughties building projects aside, when the UAE sets its mind to something as a country, more often than not, it does it and adapts to changing circumstances, looking for new opportunities to build. A war may not have been the new reality the country would have chosen, but as ever it will move and adapt.