“The Dark Side of Dubai”

I came across an article providing an unnervingly-accurate depiction of the state of Dubai…it is quite long, but well worth the read.  Though at times it offers a less-than-ideal take on the societal construct of the city as it stands today, it is this conveyance that makes the article truly noteworthy, and one of the most commendable pieces I have read that seeks to understand what the city of Dubai is truly composed of:

“The Dark Side of Dubai” by Johann Hari, featured in The Independent

“Dubai was meant to be a Middle-Eastern Shangri-La, a glittering monument to Arab enterprise and western capitalism. But as hard times arrive in the city state that rose from the desert sands, an uglier story is emerging. Johann Hari reports…

The wide, smiling face of Sheikh Mohammed – the absolute ruler of Dubai – beams down on his creation. His image is displayed on every other building, sandwiched between the more familiar corporate rictuses of Ronald McDonald and Colonel Sanders. This man has sold Dubai to the world as the city of One Thousand and One Arabian Lights, a Shangri-La in the Middle East insulated from the dust-storms blasting across the region. He dominates the Manhattan-manqué skyline, beaming out from row after row of glass pyramids and hotels smelted into the shape of piles of golden coins. And there he stands on the tallest building in the world – a skinny spike, jabbing farther into the sky than any other human construction in history.

But something has flickered in Sheikh Mohammed’s smile. The ubiquitous cranes have paused on the skyline, as if stuck in time. There are countless buildings half-finished, seemingly abandoned. In the swankiest new constructions – like the vast Atlantis hotel, a giant pink castle built in 1,000 days for $1.5bn on its own artificial island – where rainwater is leaking from the ceilings and the tiles are falling off the roof. This Neverland was built on the Never-Never – and now the cracks are beginning to show. Suddenly it looks less like Manhattan in the sun than Iceland in the desert.

Once the manic burst of building has stopped and the whirlwind has slowed, the secrets of Dubai are slowly seeping out. This is a city built from nothing in just a few wild decades on credit and ecocide, suppression and slavery. Dubai is a living metal metaphor for the neo-liberal globalised world that may be crashing – at last – into history.

Related articles

• The Desert Blogger: Jamie Stewart’s dispatches from Dubai

I. An Adult Disneyland

Karen Andrews can’t speak. Every time she starts to tell her story, she puts her head down and crumples. She is slim and angular and has the faded radiance of the once-rich, even though her clothes are as creased as her forehead. I find her in the car park of one of Dubai’s finest international hotels, where she is living, in her Range Rover. She has been sleeping here for months, thanks to the kindness of the Bangladeshi car park attendants who don’t have the heart to move her on. This is not where she thought her Dubai dream would end.

Her story comes out in stutters, over four hours. At times, her old voice – witty and warm – breaks through. Karen came here from Canada when her husband was offered a job in the senior division of a famous multinational. “When he said Dubai, I said – if you want me to wear black and quit booze, baby, you’ve got the wrong girl. But he asked me to give it a chance. And I loved him.”

All her worries melted when she touched down in Dubai in 2005. “It was an adult Disneyland, where Sheikh Mohammed is the mouse,” she says. “Life was fantastic. You had these amazing big apartments, you had a whole army of your own staff, you pay no taxes at all. It seemed like everyone was a CEO. We were partying the whole time.”

Her husband, Daniel, bought two properties. “We were drunk on Dubai,” she says. But for the first time in his life, he was beginning to mismanage their finances. “We’re not talking huge sums, but he was getting confused. It was so unlike Daniel, I was surprised. We got into a little bit of debt.” After a year, she found out why: Daniel was diagnosed with a brain tumour.

One doctor told him he had a year to live; another said it was benign and he’d be okay. But the debts were growing. “Before I came here, I didn’t know anything about Dubai law. I assumed if all these big companies come here, it must be pretty like Canada’s or any other liberal democracy’s,” she says. Nobody told her there is no concept of bankruptcy. If you get into debt and you can’t pay, you go to prison.

“When we realised that, I sat Daniel down and told him: listen, we need to get out of here. He knew he was guaranteed a pay-off when he resigned, so we said – right, let’s take the pay-off, clear the debt, and go.” So Daniel resigned – but he was given a lower pay-off than his contract suggested. The debt remained. As soon as you quit your job in Dubai, your employer has to inform your bank. If you have any outstanding debts that aren’t covered by your savings, then all your accounts are frozen, and you are forbidden to leave the country.

“Suddenly our cards stopped working. We had nothing. We were thrown out of our apartment.” Karen can’t speak about what happened next for a long time; she is shaking.

Daniel was arrested and taken away on the day of their eviction. It was six days before she could talk to him. “He told me he was put in a cell with another debtor, a Sri Lankan guy who was only 27, who said he couldn’t face the shame to his family. Daniel woke up and the boy had swallowed razor-blades. He banged for help, but nobody came, and the boy died in front of him.”

Karen managed to beg from her friends for a few weeks, “but it was so humiliating. I’ve never lived like this. I worked in the fashion industry. I had my own shops. I’ve never…” She peters out.

Daniel was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment at a trial he couldn’t understand. It was in Arabic, and there was no translation. “Now I’m here illegally, too,” Karen says I’ve got no money, nothing. I have to last nine months until he’s out, somehow.” Looking away, almost paralysed with embarrassment, she asks if I could buy her a meal.

She is not alone. All over the city, there are maxed-out expats sleeping secretly in the sand-dunes or the airport or in their cars.

“The thing you have to understand about Dubai is – nothing is what it seems,” Karen says at last. “Nothing. This isn’t a city, it’s a con-job. They lure you in telling you it’s one thing – a modern kind of place – but beneath the surface it’s a medieval dictatorship.”

II. Tumbleweed

Thirty years ago, almost all of contemporary Dubai was desert, inhabited only by cactuses and tumbleweed and scorpions. But downtown there are traces of the town that once was, buried amidst the metal and glass. In the dusty fort of the Dubai Museum, a sanitised version of this story is told.

In the mid-18th century, a small village was built here, in the lower Persian Gulf, where people would dive for pearls off the coast. It soon began to accumulate a cosmopolitan population washing up from Persia, the Indian subcontinent, and other Arab countries, all hoping to make their fortune. They named it after a local locust, the daba, who consumed everything before it. The town was soon seized by the gunships of the British Empire, who held it by the throat as late as 1971. As they scuttled away, Dubai decided to ally with the six surrounding states and make up the United Arab Emirates (UAE).

The British quit, exhausted, just as oil was being discovered, and the sheikhs who suddenly found themselves in charge faced a remarkable dilemma. They were largely illiterate nomads who spent their lives driving camels through the desert – yet now they had a vast pot of gold. What should they do with it?

Dubai only had a dribble of oil compared to neighbouring Abu Dhabi – so Sheikh Maktoum decided to use the revenues to build something that would last. Israel used to boast it made the desert bloom; Sheikh Maktoum resolved to make the desert boom. He would build a city to be a centre of tourism and financial services, sucking up cash and talent from across the globe. He invited the world to come tax-free – and they came in their millions, swamping the local population, who now make up just 5 per cent of Dubai. A city seemed to fall from the sky in just three decades, whole and complete and swelling. They fast-forwarded from the 18th century to the 21st in a single generation.

If you take the Big Bus Tour of Dubai – the passport to a pre-processed experience of every major city on earth – you are fed the propaganda-vision of how this happened. “Dubai’s motto is ‘Open doors, open minds’,” the tour guide tells you in clipped tones, before depositing you at the souks to buy camel tea-cosies. “Here you are free. To purchase fabrics,” he adds. As you pass each new monumental building, he tells you: “The World Trade Centre was built by His Highness…”

But this is a lie. The sheikh did not build this city. It was built by slaves. They are building it now.

III. Hidden in plain view

There are three different Dubais, all swirling around each other. There are the expats, like Karen; there are the Emiratis, headed by Sheikh Mohammed; and then there is the foreign underclass who built the city, and are trapped here. They are hidden in plain view. You see them everywhere, in dirt-caked blue uniforms, being shouted at by their superiors, like a chain gang – but you are trained not to look. It is like a mantra: the Sheikh built the city. The Sheikh built the city. Workers? What workers?

Every evening, the hundreds of thousands of young men who build Dubai are bussed from their sites to a vast concrete wasteland an hour out of town, where they are quarantined away. Until a few years ago they were shuttled back and forth on cattle trucks, but the expats complained this was unsightly, so now they are shunted on small metal buses that function like greenhouses in the desert heat. They sweat like sponges being slowly wrung out.

Sonapur is a rubble-strewn patchwork of miles and miles of identical concrete buildings. Some 300,000 men live piled up here, in a place whose name in Hindi means “City of Gold”. In the first camp I stop at – riven with the smell of sewage and sweat – the men huddle around, eager to tell someone, anyone, what is happening to them.

Sahinal Monir, a slim 24-year-old from the deltas of Bangladesh. “To get you here, they tell you Dubai is heaven. Then you get here and realise it is hell,” he says. Four years ago, an employment agent arrived in Sahinal’s village in Southern Bangladesh. He told the men of the village that there was a place where they could earn 40,000 takka a month (£400) just for working nine-to-five on construction projects. It was a place where they would be given great accommodation, great food, and treated well. All they had to do was pay an up-front fee of 220,000 takka (£2,300) for the work visa – a fee they’d pay off in the first six months, easy. So Sahinal sold his family land, and took out a loan from the local lender, to head to this paradise.

As soon as he arrived at Dubai airport, his passport was taken from him by his construction company. He has not seen it since. He was told brusquely that from now on he would be working 14-hour days in the desert heat – where western tourists are advised not to stay outside for even five minutes in summer, when it hits 55 degrees – for 500 dirhams a month (£90), less than a quarter of the wage he was promised. If you don’t like it, the company told him, go home. “But how can I go home? You have my passport, and I have no money for the ticket,” he said. “Well, then you’d better get to work,” they replied.

Sahinal was in a panic. His family back home – his son, daughter, wife and parents – were waiting for money, excited that their boy had finally made it. But he was going to have to work for more than two years just to pay for the cost of getting here – and all to earn less than he did in Bangladesh.

He shows me his room. It is a tiny, poky, concrete cell with triple-decker bunk-beds, where he lives with 11 other men. All his belongings are piled onto his bunk: three shirts, a spare pair of trousers, and a cellphone. The room stinks, because the lavatories in the corner of the camp – holes in the ground – are backed up with excrement and clouds of black flies. There is no air conditioning or fans, so the heat is “unbearable. You cannot sleep. All you do is sweat and scratch all night.” At the height of summer, people sleep on the floor, on the roof, anywhere where they can pray for a moment of breeze.

The water delivered to the camp in huge white containers isn’t properly desalinated: it tastes of salt. “It makes us sick, but we have nothing else to drink,” he says.

The work is “the worst in the world,” he says. “You have to carry 50kg bricks and blocks of cement in the worst heat imaginable … This heat – it is like nothing else. You sweat so much you can’t pee, not for days or weeks. It’s like all the liquid comes out through your skin and you stink. You become dizzy and sick but you aren’t allowed to stop, except for an hour in the afternoon. You know if you drop anything or slip, you could die. If you take time off sick, your wages are docked, and you are trapped here even longer.”

He is currently working on the 67th floor of a shiny new tower, where he builds upwards, into the sky, into the heat. He doesn’t know its name. In his four years here, he has never seen the Dubai of tourist-fame, except as he constructs it floor-by-floor.

Is he angry? He is quiet for a long time. “Here, nobody shows their anger. You can’t. You get put in jail for a long time, then deported.” Last year, some workers went on strike after they were not given their wages for four months. The Dubai police surrounded their camps with razor-wire and water-cannons and blasted them out and back to work.

The “ringleaders” were imprisoned. I try a different question: does Sohinal regret coming? All the men look down, awkwardly. “How can we think about that? We are trapped. If we start to think about regrets…” He lets the sentence trail off. Eventually, another worker breaks the silence by adding: “I miss my country, my family and my land. We can grow food in Bangladesh. Here, nothing grows. Just oil and buildings.”

Since the recession hit, they say, the electricity has been cut off in dozens of the camps, and the men have not been paid for months. Their companies have disappeared with their passports and their pay. “We have been robbed of everything. Even if somehow we get back to Bangladesh, the loan sharks will demand we repay our loans immediately, and when we can’t, we’ll be sent to prison.”

This is all supposed to be illegal. Employers are meant to pay on time, never take your passport, give you breaks in the heat – but I met nobody who said it happens. Not one. These men are conned into coming and trapped into staying, with the complicity of the Dubai authorities.

Sahinal could well die out here. A British man who used to work on construction projects told me: “There’s a huge number of suicides in the camps and on the construction sites, but they’re not reported. They’re described as ‘accidents’.” Even then, their families aren’t free: they simply inherit the debts. A Human Rights Watch study found there is a “cover-up of the true extent” of deaths from heat exhaustion, overwork and suicide, but the Indian consulate registered 971 deaths of their nationals in 2005 alone. After this figure was leaked, the consulates were told to stop counting.

At night, in the dusk, I sit in the camp with Sohinal and his friends as they scrape together what they have left to buy a cheap bottle of spirits. They down it in one ferocious gulp. “It helps you to feel numb”, Sohinal says through a stinging throat. In the distance, the glistening Dubai skyline he built stands, oblivious.

IV. Mauled by the mall

I find myself stumbling in a daze from the camps into the sprawling marble malls that seem to stand on every street in Dubai. It is so hot there is no point building pavements; people gather in these cathedrals of consumerism to bask in the air conditioning. So within a ten minute taxi-ride, I have left Sohinal and I am standing in the middle of Harvey Nichols, being shown a £20,000 taffeta dress by a bored salesgirl. “As you can see, it is cut on the bias…” she says, and I stop writing.

Time doesn’t seem to pass in the malls. Days blur with the same electric light, the same shined floors, the same brands I know from home. Here, Dubai is reduced to its component sounds: do-buy. In the most expensive malls I am almost alone, the shops empty and echoing. On the record, everybody tells me business is going fine. Off the record, they look panicky. There is a hat exhibition ahead of the Dubai races, selling elaborate headgear for £1,000 a pop. “Last year, we were packed. Now look,” a hat designer tells me. She swoops her arm over a vacant space.

I approach a blonde 17-year-old Dutch girl wandering around in hotpants, oblivious to the swarms of men gaping at her. “I love it here!” she says. “The heat, the malls, the beach!” Does it ever bother you that it’s a slave society? She puts her head down, just as Sohinal did. “I try not to see,” she says. Even at 17, she has learned not to look, and not to ask; that, she senses, is a transgression too far.

Between the malls, there is nothing but the connecting tissue of asphalt. Every road has at least four lanes; Dubai feels like a motorway punctuated by shopping centres. You only walk anywhere if you are suicidal. The residents of Dubai flit from mall to mall by car or taxis.

How does it feel if this is your country, filled with foreigners? Unlike the expats and the slave class, I can’t just approach the native Emiratis to ask questions when I see them wandering around – the men in cool white robes, the women in sweltering black. If you try, the women blank you, and the men look affronted, and tell you brusquely that Dubai is “fine”. So I browse through the Emirati blog-scene and found some typical-sounding young Emiratis. We meet – where else? – in the mall.

Ahmed al-Atar is a handsome 23-year-old with a neat, trimmed beard, tailored white robes, and rectangular wire-glasses. He speaks perfect American-English, and quickly shows that he knows London, Los Angeles and Paris better than most westerners. Sitting back in his chair in an identikit Starbucks, he announces: “This is the best place in the world to be young! The government pays for your education up to PhD level. You get given a free house when you get married. You get free healthcare, and if it’s not good enough here, they pay for you to go abroad. You don’t even have to pay for your phone calls. Almost everyone has a maid, a nanny, and a driver. And we never pay any taxes. Don’t you wish you were Emirati?”

I try to raise potential objections to this Panglossian summary, but he leans forward and says: “Look – my grandfather woke up every day and he would have to fight to get to the well first to get water. When the wells ran dry, they had to have water delivered by camel. They were always hungry and thirsty and desperate for jobs. He limped all his life, because he there was no medical treatment available when he broke his leg. Now look at us!”

For Emiratis, this is a Santa Claus state, handing out goodies while it makes its money elsewhere: through renting out land to foreigners, soft taxes on them like business and airport charges, and the remaining dribble of oil. Most Emiratis, like Ahmed, work for the government, so they’re cushioned from the credit crunch. “I haven’t felt any effect at all, and nor have my friends,” he says. “Your employment is secure. You will only be fired if you do something incredibly bad.” The laws are currently being tightened, to make it even more impossible to sack an Emirati.

Sure, the flooding-in of expats can sometimes be “an eyesore”, Ahmed says. “But we see the expats as the price we had to pay for this development. How else could we do it? Nobody wants to go back to the days of the desert, the days before everyone came. We went from being like an African country to having an average income per head of $120,000 a year. And we’re supposed to complain?”

He says the lack of political freedom is fine by him. “You’ll find it very hard to find an Emirati who doesn’t support Sheikh Mohammed.” Because they’re scared? “No, because we really all support him. He’s a great leader. Just look!” He smiles and says: “I’m sure my life is very much like yours. We hang out, have a coffee, go to the movies. You’ll be in a Pizza Hut or Nando’s in London, and at the same time I’ll be in one in Dubai,” he says, ordering another latte.

But do all young Emiratis see it this way? Can it really be so sunny in the political sands? In the sleek Emirates Tower Hotel, I meet Sultan al-Qassemi. He’s a 31-year-old Emirati columnist for the Dubai press and private art collector, with a reputation for being a contrarian liberal, advocating gradual reform. He is wearing Western clothes – blue jeans and a Ralph Lauren shirt – and speaks incredibly fast, turning himself into a manic whirr of arguments.

“People here are turning into lazy, overweight babies!” he exclaims. “The nanny state has gone too far. We don’t do anything for ourselves! Why don’t any of us work for the private sector? Why can’t a mother and father look after their own child?” And yet, when I try to bring up the system of slavery that built Dubai, he looks angry. “People should give us credit,” he insists. “We are the most tolerant people in the world. Dubai is the only truly international city in the world. Everyone who comes here is treated with respect.”

I pause, and think of the vast camps in Sonapur, just a few miles away. Does he even know they exist? He looks irritated. “You know, if there are 30 or 40 cases [of worker abuse] a year, that sounds like a lot but when you think about how many people are here…” Thirty or 40? This abuse is endemic to the system, I say. We’re talking about hundreds of thousands.

Sultan is furious. He splutters: “You don’t think Mexicans are treated badly in New York City? And how long did it take Britain to treat people well? I could come to London and write about the homeless people on Oxford Street and make your city sound like a terrible place, too! The workers here can leave any time they want! Any Indian can leave, any Asian can leave!”

But they can’t, I point out. Their passports are taken away, and their wages are withheld. “Well, I feel bad if that happens, and anybody who does that should be punished. But their embassies should help them.” They try. But why do you forbid the workers – with force – from going on strike against lousy employers? “Thank God we don’t allow that!” he exclaims. “Strikes are in-convenient! They go on the street – we’re not having that. We won’t be like France. Imagine a country where they the workers can just stop whenever they want!” So what should the workers do when they are cheated and lied to? “Quit. Leave the country.”

I sigh. Sultan is seething now. “People in the West are always complaining about us,” he says. Suddenly, he adopts a mock-whiny voice and says, in imitation of these disgusting critics: “Why don’t you treat animals better? Why don’t you have better shampoo advertising? Why don’t you treat labourers better?” It’s a revealing order: animals, shampoo, then workers. He becomes more heated, shifting in his seat, jabbing his finger at me. “I gave workers who worked for me safety goggles and special boots, and they didn’t want to wear them! It slows them down!”

And then he smiles, coming up with what he sees as his killer argument. “When I see Western journalists criticise us – don’t you realise you’re shooting yourself in the foot? The Middle East will be far more dangerous if Dubai fails. Our export isn’t oil, it’s hope. Poor Egyptians or Libyans or Iranians grow up saying – I want to go to Dubai. We’re very important to the region. We are showing how to be a modern Muslim country. We don’t have any fundamentalists here. Europeans shouldn’t gloat at our demise. You should be very worried…. Do you know what will happen if this model fails? Dubai will go down the Iranian path, the Islamist path.”

Sultan sits back. My arguments have clearly disturbed him; he says in a softer, conciliatory tone, almost pleading: “Listen. My mother used to go to the well and get a bucket of water every morning. On her wedding day, she was given an orange as a gift because she had never eaten one. Two of my brothers died when they were babies because the healthcare system hadn’t developed yet. Don’t judge us.” He says it again, his eyes filled with intensity: “Don’t judge us.”

V. The Dunkin’ Donuts Dissidents

But there is another face to the Emirati minority – a small huddle of dissidents, trying to shake the Sheikhs out of abusive laws. Next to a Virgin Megastore and a Dunkin’ Donuts, with James Blunt’s “You’re Beautiful” blaring behind me, I meet the Dubai dictatorship’s Public Enemy Number One. By way of introduction, Mohammed al-Mansoori says from within his white robes and sinewy face: “Westerners come her and see the malls and the tall buildings and they think that means we are free. But these businesses, these buildings – who are they for? This is a dictatorship. The royal family think they own the country, and the people are their servants. There is no freedom here.”

We snuffle out the only Arabic restaurant in this mall, and he says everything you are banned – under threat of prison – from saying in Dubai. Mohammed tells me he was born in Dubai to a fisherman father who taught him one enduring lesson: Never follow the herd. Think for yourself. In the sudden surge of development, Mohammed trained as a lawyer. By the Noughties, he had climbed to the head of the Jurists’ Association, an organisation set up to press for Dubai’s laws to be consistent with international human rights legislation.

And then – suddenly – Mohammed thwacked into the limits of Sheikh Mohammed’s tolerance. Horrified by the “system of slavery” his country was being built on, he spoke out to Human Rights Watch and the BBC. “So I was hauled in by the secret police and told: shut up, or you will lose you job, and your children will be unemployable,” he says. “But how could I be silent?”

He was stripped of his lawyer’s licence and his passport – becoming yet another person imprisoned in this country. “I have been blacklisted and so have my children. The newspapers are not allowed to write about me.”

Why is the state so keen to defend this system of slavery? He offers a prosaic explanation. “Most companies are owned by the government, so they oppose human rights laws because it will reduce their profit margins. It’s in their interests that the workers are slaves.”

Last time there was a depression, there was a starbust of democracy in Dubai, seized by force from the sheikhs. In the 1930s, the city’s merchants banded together against Sheikh Said bin Maktum al-Maktum – the absolute ruler of his day – and insisted they be given control over the state finances. It lasted only a few years, before the Sheikh – with the enthusiastic support of the British – snuffed them out.

And today? Sheikh Mohammed turned Dubai into Creditopolis, a city built entirely on debt. Dubai owes 107 percent of its entire GDP. It would be bust already, if the neighbouring oil-soaked state of Abu Dhabi hadn’t pulled out its chequebook. Mohammed says this will constrict freedom even further. “Now Abu Dhabi calls the tunes – and they are much more conservative and restrictive than even Dubai. Freedom here will diminish every day.” Already, new media laws have been drafted forbidding the press to report on anything that could “damage” Dubai or “its economy”. Is this why the newspapers are giving away glossy supplements talking about “encouraging economic indicators”?

Everybody here waves Islamism as the threat somewhere over the horizon, sure to swell if their advice is not followed. Today, every imam is appointed by the government, and every sermon is tightly controlled to keep it moderate. But Mohammed says anxiously: “We don’t have Islamism here now, but I think that if you control people and give them no way to express anger, it could rise. People who are told to shut up all the time can just explode.”

Later that day, against another identikit-corporate backdrop, I meet another dissident – Abdulkhaleq Abdullah, Professor of Political Science at Emirates University. His anger focuses not on political reform, but the erosion of Emirati identity. He is famous among the locals, a rare outspoken conductor for their anger. He says somberly: “There has been a rupture here. This is a totally different city to the one I was born in 50 years ago.”

He looks around at the shiny floors and Western tourists and says: “What we see now didn’t occur in our wildest dreams. We never thought we could be such a success, a trendsetter, a model for other Arab countries. The people of Dubai are mighty proud of their city, and rightly so. And yet…” He shakes his head. “In our hearts, we fear we have built a modern city but we are losing it to all these expats.”

Adbulkhaleq says every Emirati of his generation lives with a “psychological trauma.” Their hearts are divided – “between pride on one side, and fear on the other.” Just after he says this, a smiling waitress approaches, and asks us what we would like to drink. He orders a Coke.

VI. Dubai Pride

There is one group in Dubai for whom the rhetoric of sudden freedom and liberation rings true – but it is the very group the government wanted to liberate least: gays.

Beneath a famous international hotel, I clamber down into possibly the only gay club on the Saudi Arabian peninsula. I find a United Nations of tank-tops and bulging biceps, dancing to Kylie, dropping ecstasy, and partying like it’s Soho. “Dubai is the best place in the Muslim world for gays!” a 25-year old Emirati with spiked hair says, his arms wrapped around his 31-year old “husband”. “We are alive. We can meet. That is more than most Arab gays.”

It is illegal to be gay in Dubai, and punishable by 10 years in prison. But the locations of the latest unofficial gay clubs circulate online, and men flock there, seemingly unafraid of the police. “They might bust the club, but they will just disperse us,” one of them says. “The police have other things to do.”

In every large city, gay people find a way to find each other – but Dubai has become the clearing-house for the region’s homosexuals, a place where they can live in relative safety. Saleh, a lean private in the Saudi Arabian army, has come here for the Coldplay concert, and tells me Dubai is “great” for gays: “In Saudi, it’s hard to be straight when you’re young. The women are shut away so everyone has gay sex. But they only want to have sex with boys – 15- to 21-year-olds. I’m 27, so I’m too old now. I need to find real gays, so this is the best place. All Arab gays want to live in Dubai.”

With that, Saleh dances off across the dancefloor, towards a Dutch guy with big biceps and a big smile.

VII. The Lifestyle

All the guidebooks call Dubai a “melting pot”, but as I trawl across the city, I find that every group here huddles together in its own little ethnic enclave – and becomes a caricature of itself. One night – in the heart of this homesick city, tired of the malls and the camps – I go to Double Decker, a hang-out for British expats. At the entrance there is a red telephone box, and London bus-stop signs. Its wooden interior looks like a cross between a colonial clubhouse in the Raj and an Eighties school disco, with blinking coloured lights and cheese blaring out. As I enter, a girl in a short skirt collapses out of the door onto her back. A guy wearing a pirate hat helps her to her feet, dropping his beer bottle with a paralytic laugh.

I start to talk to two sun-dried women in their sixties who have been getting gently sozzled since midday. “You stay here for The Lifestyle,” they say, telling me to take a seat and order some more drinks. All the expats talk about The Lifestyle, but when you ask what it is, they become vague. Ann Wark tries to summarise it: “Here, you go out every night. You’d never do that back home. You see people all the time. It’s great. You have lots of free time. You have maids and staff so you don’t have to do all that stuff. You party!”

They have been in Dubai for 20 years, and they are happy to explain how the city works. “You’ve got a hierarchy, haven’t you?” Ann says. “It’s the Emiratis at the top, then I’d say the British and other Westerners. Then I suppose it’s the Filipinos, because they’ve got a bit more brains than the Indians. Then at the bottom you’ve got the Indians and all them lot.”

They admit, however, they have “never” spoken to an Emirati. Never? “No. They keep themselves to themselves.” Yet Dubai has disappointed them. Jules Taylor tells me: “If you have an accident here it’s a nightmare. There was a British woman we knew who ran over an Indian guy, and she was locked up for four days! If you have a tiny bit of alcohol on your breath they’re all over you. These Indians throw themselves in front of cars, because then their family has to be given blood money – you know, compensation. But the police just blame us. That poor woman.”

A 24-year-old British woman called Hannah Gamble takes a break from the dancefloor to talk to me. “I love the sun and the beach! It’s great out here!” she says. Is there anything bad? “Oh yes!” she says. Ah: one of them has noticed, I think with relief. “The banks! When you want to make a transfer you have to fax them. You can’t do it online.” Anything else? She thinks hard. “The traffic’s not very good.”

When I ask the British expats how they feel to not be in a democracy, their reaction is always the same. First, they look bemused. Then they look affronted. “It’s the Arab way!” an Essex boy shouts at me in response, as he tries to put a pair of comedy antlers on his head while pouring some beer into the mouth of his friend, who is lying on his back on the floor, gurning.

Later, in a hotel bar, I start chatting to a dyspeptic expat American who works in the cosmetics industry and is desperate to get away from these people. She says: “All the people who couldn’t succeed in their own countries end up here, and suddenly they’re rich and promoted way above their abilities and bragging about how great they are. I’ve never met so many incompetent people in such senior positions anywhere in the world.” She adds: “It’s absolutely racist. I had Filipino girls working for me doing the same job as a European girl, and she’s paid a quarter of the wages. The people who do the real work are paid next to nothing, while these incompetent managers pay themselves £40,000 a month.”

With the exception of her, one theme unites every expat I speak to: their joy at having staff to do the work that would clog their lives up Back Home. Everyone, it seems, has a maid. The maids used to be predominantly Filipino, but with the recession, Filipinos have been judged to be too expensive, so a nice Ethiopian servant girl is the latest fashionable accessory.

It is an open secret that once you hire a maid, you have absolute power over her. You take her passport – everyone does; you decide when to pay her, and when – if ever – she can take a break; and you decide who she talks to. She speaks no Arabic. She cannot escape.

In a Burger King, a Filipino girl tells me it is “terrifying” for her to wander the malls in Dubai because Filipino maids or nannies always sneak away from the family they are with and beg her for help. “They say – ‘Please, I am being held prisoner, they don’t let me call home, they make me work every waking hour seven days a week.’ At first I would say – my God, I will tell the consulate, where are you staying? But they never know their address, and the consulate isn’t interested. I avoid them now. I keep thinking about a woman who told me she hadn’t eaten any fruit in four years. They think I have power because I can walk around on my own, but I’m powerless.”

The only hostel for women in Dubai – a filthy private villa on the brink of being repossessed – is filled with escaped maids. Mela Matari, a 25-year-old Ethiopian woman with a drooping smile, tells me what happened to her – and thousands like her. She was promised a paradise in the sands by an agency, so she left her four year-old daughter at home and headed here to earn money for a better future. “But they paid me half what they promised. I was put with an Australian family – four children – and Madam made me work from 6am to 1am every day, with no day off. I was exhausted and pleaded for a break, but they just shouted: ‘You came here to work, not sleep!’ Then one day I just couldn’t go on, and Madam beat me. She beat me with her fists and kicked me. My ear still hurts. They wouldn’t give me my wages: they said they’d pay me at the end of the two years. What could I do? I didn’t know anybody here. I was terrified.”

One day, after yet another beating, Mela ran out onto the streets, and asked – in broken English – how to find the Ethiopian consulate. After walking for two days, she found it, but they told her she had to get her passport back from Madam. “Well, how could I?” she asks. She has been in this hostel for six months. She has spoken to her daughter twice. “I lost my country, I lost my daughter, I lost everything,” she says.

As she says this, I remember a stray sentence I heard back at Double Decker. I asked a British woman called Hermione Frayling what the best thing about Dubai was. “Oh, the servant class!” she trilled. “You do nothing. They’ll do anything!”

VIII. The End of The World

The World is empty. It has been abandoned, its continents unfinished. Through binoculars, I think I can glimpse Britain; this sceptred isle barren in the salt-breeze.

Here, off the coast of Dubai, developers have been rebuilding the world. They have constructed artificial islands in the shape of all planet Earth’s land masses, and they plan to sell each continent off to be built on. There were rumours that the Beckhams would bid for Britain. But the people who work at the nearby coast say they haven’t seen anybody there for months now. “The World is over,” a South African suggests.

All over Dubai, crazy projects that were Under Construction are now Under Collapse. They were building an air-conditioned beach here, with cooling pipes running below the sand, so the super-rich didn’t singe their toes on their way from towel to sea.

The projects completed just before the global economy crashed look empty and tattered. The Atlantis Hotel was launched last winter in a $20m fin-de-siecle party attended by Robert De Niro, Lindsay Lohan and Lily Allen. Sitting on its own fake island – shaped, of course, like a palm tree – it looks like an immense upturned tooth in a faintly decaying mouth. It is pink and turreted – the architecture of the pharaohs, as reimagined by Zsa-Zsa Gabor. Its Grand Lobby is a monumental dome covered in glitterballs, held up by eight monumental concrete palm trees. Standing in the middle, there is a giant shining glass structure that looks like the intestines of every guest who has ever stayed at the Atlantis. It is unexpectedly raining; water is leaking from the roof, and tiles are falling off.

A South African PR girl shows me around its most coveted rooms, explaining that this is “the greatest luxury offered in the world”. We stroll past shops selling £24m diamond rings around a hotel themed on the lost and sunken continent of, yes, Atlantis. There are huge water tanks filled with sharks, which poke around mock-abandoned castles and dumped submarines. There are more than 1,500 rooms here, each with a sea view. The Neptune suite has three floors, and – I gasp as I see it – it looks out directly on to the vast shark tank. You lie on the bed, and the sharks stare in at you. In Dubai, you can sleep with the fishes, and survive.

But even the luxury – reminiscent of a Bond villain’s lair – is also being abandoned. I check myself in for a few nights to the classiest hotel in town, the Park Hyatt. It is the fashionistas’ favourite hotel, where Elle Macpherson and Tommy Hilfiger stay, a gorgeous, understated palace. It feels empty. Whenever I eat, I am one of the only people in the restaurant. A staff member tells me in a whisper: “It used to be full here. Now there’s hardly anyone.” Rattling around, I feel like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, the last man in an abandoned, haunted home.

The most famous hotel in Dubai – the proud icon of the city – is the Burj al Arab hotel, sitting on the shore, shaped like a giant glass sailing boat. In the lobby, I start chatting to a couple from London who work in the City. They have been coming to Dubai for 10 years now, and they say they love it. “You never know what you’ll find here,” he says. “On our last trip, at the beginning of the holiday, our window looked out on the sea. By the end, they’d built an entire island there.”

My patience frayed by all this excess, I find myself snapping: doesn’t the omnipresent slave class bother you? I hope they misunderstood me, because the woman replied: “That’s what we come for! It’s great, you can’t do anything for yourself!” Her husband chimes in: “When you go to the toilet, they open the door, they turn on the tap – the only thing they don’t do is take it out for you when you have a piss!” And they both fall about laughing.

IX. Taking on the Desert

Dubai is not just a city living beyond its financial means; it is living beyond its ecological means. You stand on a manicured Dubai lawn and watch the sprinklers spray water all around you. You see tourists flocking to swim with dolphins. You wander into a mountain-sized freezer where they have built a ski slope with real snow. And a voice at the back of your head squeaks: this is the desert. This is the most water-stressed place on the planet. How can this be happening? How is it possible?

The very earth is trying to repel Dubai, to dry it up and blow it away. The new Tiger Woods Gold Course needs four million gallons of water to be pumped on to its grounds every day, or it would simply shrivel and disappear on the winds. The city is regularly washed over with dust-storms that fog up the skies and turn the skyline into a blur. When the dust parts, heat burns through. It cooks anything that is not kept constantly, artificially wet.

Dr Mohammed Raouf, the environmental director of the Gulf Research Centre, sounds sombre as he sits in his Dubai office and warns: “This is a desert area, and we are trying to defy its environment. It is very unwise. If you take on the desert, you will lose.”

Sheikh Maktoum built his showcase city in a place with no useable water. None. There is no surface water, very little acquifer, and among the lowest rainfall in the world. So Dubai drinks the sea. The Emirates’ water is stripped of salt in vast desalination plants around the Gulf – making it the most expensive water on earth. It costs more than petrol to produce, and belches vast amounts of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere as it goes. It’s the main reason why a resident of Dubai has the biggest average carbon footprint of any human being – more than double that of an American.

If a recession turns into depression, Dr Raouf believes Dubai could run out of water. “At the moment, we have financial reserves that cover bringing so much water to the middle of the desert. But if we had lower revenues – if, say, the world shifts to a source of energy other than oil…” he shakes his head. “We will have a very big problem. Water is the main source of life. It would be a catastrophe. Dubai only has enough water to last us a week. There’s almost no storage. We don’t know what will happen if our supplies falter. It would be hard to survive.”

Global warming, he adds, makes the problem even worse. “We are building all these artificial islands, but if the sea level rises, they will be gone, and we will lose a lot. Developers keep saying it’s all fine, they’ve taken it into consideration, but I’m not so sure.”

Is the Dubai government concerned about any of this? “There isn’t much interest in these problems,” he says sadly. But just to stand still, the average resident of Dubai needs three times more water than the average human. In the looming century of water stresses and a transition away from fossil fuels, Dubai is uniquely vulnerable.

I wanted to understand how the government of Dubai will react, so I decided to look at how it has dealt with an environmental problem that already exists – the pollution of its beaches. One woman – an American, working at one of the big hotels – had written in a lot of online forums arguing that it was bad and getting worse, so I called her to arrange a meeting. “I can’t talk to you,” she said sternly. Not even if it’s off the record? “I can’t talk to you.” But I don’t have to disclose your name… “You’re not listening. This phone is bugged. I can’t talk to you,” she snapped, and hung up.

The next day I turned up at her office. “If you reveal my identity, I’ll be sent on the first plane out of this city,” she said, before beginning to nervously pace the shore with me. “It started like this. We began to get complaints from people using the beach. The water looked and smelled odd, and they were starting to get sick after going into it. So I wrote to the ministers of health and tourism and expected to hear back immediately – but there was nothing. Silence. I hand-delivered the letters. Still nothing.”

The water quality got worse and worse. The guests started to spot raw sewage, condoms, and used sanitary towels floating in the sea. So the hotel ordered its own water analyses from a professional company. “They told us it was full of fecal matter and bacteria ‘too numerous to count’. I had to start telling guests not to go in the water, and since they’d come on a beach holiday, as you can imagine, they were pretty pissed off.” She began to make angry posts on the expat discussion forums – and people began to figure out what was happening. Dubai had expanded so fast its sewage treatment facilities couldn’t keep up. The sewage disposal trucks had to queue for three or four days at the treatment plants – so instead, they were simply drilling open the manholes and dumping the untreated sewage down them, so it flowed straight to the sea.

Suddenly, it was an open secret – and the municipal authorities finally acknowledged the problem. They said they would fine the truckers. But the water quality didn’t improve: it became black and stank. “It’s got chemicals in it. I don’t know what they are. But this stuff is toxic.”

She continued to complain – and started to receive anonymous phone calls. “Stop embarassing Dubai, or your visa will be cancelled and you’re out,” they said. She says: “The expats are terrified to talk about anything. One critical comment in the newspapers and they deport you. So what am I supposed to do? Now the water is worse than ever. People are getting really sick. Eye infections, ear infections, stomach infections, rashes. Look at it!” There is faeces floating on the beach, in the shadow of one of Dubai’s most famous hotels.

“What I learnt about Dubai is that the authorities don’t give a toss about the environment,” she says, standing in the stench. “They’re pumping toxins into the sea, their main tourist attraction, for God’s sake. If there are environmental problems in the future, I can tell you now how they will deal with them – deny it’s happening, cover it up, and carry on until it’s a total disaster.” As she speaks, a dust-storm blows around us, as the desert tries, slowly, insistently, to take back its land.

X. Fake Plastic Trees

On my final night in the Dubai Disneyland, I stop off on my way to the airport, at a Pizza Hut that sits at the side of one of the city’s endless, wide, gaping roads. It is identical to the one near my apartment in London in every respect, even the vomit-coloured decor. My mind is whirring and distracted. Perhaps Dubai disturbed me so much, I am thinking, because here, the entire global supply chain is condensed. Many of my goods are made by semi-enslaved populations desperate for a chance 2,000 miles away; is the only difference that here, they are merely two miles away, and you sometimes get to glimpse their faces? Dubai is Market Fundamentalist Globalisation in One City.

I ask the Filipino girl behind the counter if she likes it here. “It’s OK,” she says cautiously. Really? I say. I can’t stand it. She sighs with relief and says: “This is the most terrible place! I hate it! I was here for months before I realised – everything in Dubai is fake. Everything you see. The trees are fake, the workers’ contracts are fake, the islands are fake, the smiles are fake – even the water is fake!” But she is trapped, she says. She got into debt to come here, and she is stuck for three years: an old story now. “I think Dubai is like an oasis. It is an illusion, not real. You think you have seen water in the distance, but you get close and you only get a mouthful of sand.”

As she says this, another customer enters. She forces her face into the broad, empty Dubai smile and says: “And how may I help you tonight, sir?”

Some names in this article have been changed.”

the Sawaber Project: Photos

I finally am staying at a place where I have a good enough internet connection to upload photos – so here are a few I took while in Kuwait of the Sawaber Project…

Sawaber Project

Sawaber Project 2

Sawaber Parking

the intent?

Facade 1

Facade 2

Facade 3

Green Wave

mountain city

Travel the past few days has taken up most of my time, as well as unforeseen issues with entry into Israel (a failed attempt to document a few of the cities within both Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territories).  However, below is an excerpt from one of my journal writings about my first impression of Amman, Jordan.  Over the next few days, I hope to continue to explore Amman and post pictures.

“Despite the monochromatic repetitive nature of Amman’s buildings, both passage through and viewing the city from afar continue to provide me with endless amazement as I try to visually navigate a route through the winding streets, steep staircases and meandering sidewalks and alleys creeping between the buildings.

I am perched on the corner of an ancient Byzantine ruin known as ‘the Citadel’.  It is mid-afternoon on a Sunday, the beginning of the work week for most living in the Middle East.  For the first time in a few months every ounce of my body is inspired due to the vast confusion and simplicity I am now seeing below me.

Amman, Jordan

I look back towards the ruins and notice the city popping up in the background.  It’s incredible what close resemblance the two have with each other: the beige, splotched, massive limestone rocks dirty with age stacked one upon another, though not a fully-formed wall in sight – both the remains of what once was and the hint of growth.  The continuous array of tan buildings, none taller than five stories and likely built from the same stone that comprises the ruins I find myself among, push against each other on top of each other beside each other between each other upon each other until they become one continuous surface, equally stained with both natural and city-inflicted residues – the only reason I can distinguish one surface from another is because of the shadows cast from towering walls.  If I squint my eyes the ruins become the city and the city becomes the ruins, both reaching skyward to the tops of mountains where the minarets of turquoise mosques pierce the clear blue sky.  Each block becomes a building carelessly placed amongst others creating a foundation that would seem as difficult to uproot as the complex root systems of an ancient redwood or the entangled roots belonging to a grove of poplars.

A lot of cities, especially newer ones designed to adapt to the needs of “modern man” are, at the very best, artificial when dumped onto their so-called sites (sites that could inevitably – and typically are – anywhere).  So it is always breathtaking to me to see cities as magestically and intricately designed as the landscapes in which they are situated.  At first glance, Amman is one of these cities”

70s ‘Cold War’ Architecture: the Sawaber Project

During my stay in Kuwait, I came upon an architectural development that was equally as interesting as was my understanding of my late uncle’s influence within the country. Additionally, this discovery is surprisingly relevant to the investigations and work Saba Shiber contributed to in Kuwait (though much of his work had the basis of city planning rather than implementation in the form of buildings). The project: Sawaber, a low-middle income housing development.

I was initially made aware of the development by one of the people I was staying with in Kuwait City (Salwa, actually). She and I were talking about places in the city I could visit that may contain what I would deem interesting architecture. At first, the conversation revolved around somewhat typical suggestions; souqs, mosques and various other tourist-heavy areas…then she suddenly remembered this housing project due to several articles that had been in the paper recently involving the government wanting to repossess and destroy it (most likely for parking haha). Her description of it to me was “Cold-War 70s architecture, lots of concrete, and housing-turned-bad that currently plays host to flats filled with very poor tenants, drugs, prostitution, and ultimately the filth and depravity of slums that cities, regardless of location, try to ’sweep under the carpet’.

After being completely sold by her description, I did a little research on the project to prepare myself for the trip I planned to take over the next few days. Sawaber was instigated by the National Housing Authority of Kuwait in 1976 as a result of the need for housing within the city, as well as to bring families and residents closer to the downtown area. The design intended to be focused on middle-income earners, allowing for 5,000 tenants living in a total of 900 units on decently-sized plot of land. The design features east-west orientation, courtyard spaces, and various implementations both for passive solar benefit and protection from other desert-climate issues such as sandstorms.

Though not a part of my “scheduled plans” for my first day out, I managed to stumble right into the development only a few hundred meters after I hopped off the bus at a random part of downtown Kuwait City. Noticeable from quite a distance thanks to its defining shape and formidable area, I decided this would be as good a time as ever to check it out.

The first thing I thought of when I walked up to it was “this is what Paolo Soleri’s ‘Lean Linear City’ would look like if one of the segments were ever funded and fully completed and visited 30-40 years later”. Modular precast concrete forms for the structure and walls? Check. Apse-like openings lining the facade to create passive-solar heating/cooling depending on season? Check. Repeating segments of housing creating a complex undulating surface that can easily be phased to meet budget restraints? Check. If the ‘Lean Linear City’ were created in the form of housing, I have no doubt the design would taken on a similar dynamic that Sawaber succeeds in doing.

But that comparison isn’t meant as a bad thing. Despite its dilapidated appearance and poorly maintained facilities, this housing project is architecturally wonderful. The way the apartments are set up and juxtaposed with each other creates what I consider to be a nice living space (from only experiencing it from an outside perspective at least). The buildings wrap around central courtyards that, if cared for, could become wonderful places for tenants to gather, play, socialize, picnic, and ultimately form a real sense of community. The parking is primarily located beneath the 8-story apartment levels, obscuring it from the street and resulting in a location that is both sensible and aesthetically appealing.

Admittedly, it can be quite difficult to overlook the rundown exterior, peeling and stained walls, and trash-covered grounds permeating extremely foul odors of rot and piss. But if one were to travel back 25-30 years when these things (and all the other filth currently existing on the premises) did not exist, the innovation and success of this project is obvious. And according to my friend, upon opening the apartment complex was quite a success, housing people with mixed incomes and being well maintained by the government. Though the root causes of the change from the past uses to its current ones can be attributed to many things, they ultimately boil down to the way in which the upkeep of the building (both visibly and not) slowed as economics within the country and world changed. This seems to always be a backlash of affordable housing – it is not within the design or concept of the architect yet a result of the problem with the administration, government and the tenants. Over time, what seems to have happened with Sawaber is this: a rise in cost of living, an increased hiring of immigrants kuwaiti companies can pay less (1/8 a salary of an american worker for the same job), a rise in immigrants willing to take very low wages and subsequent influx of immigrants into kuwait (primarily indian), an iraqi-led invasion destroying much of the country and subsequent changing of focus by the government from existing infrastructure to the creation of new infrastructure, lack of regulation by leasers of the property both in terms of putting restrictions on number of people to apartment and enforcing cleanliness and employing people to maintain the landscape…you get the picture.

So yeah, 34 years later it isn’t surprising to see this project in such a pitiful state of affairs. However it is quite frustrating that, given the amount of wealth the state of Kuwait contains, nothing can be done to clean up this project rather than take the easy way out and destroying it. With the proper management, it can again become housing that is appealing to people of varying classes due to its intriguing architecture and prime location within the downtown part of the city. It seems that this mentality pertains to many of the GCC’s – out with the old, in with the new…even if the old is appealing on many levels.

Sawaber Plan

Sawaber 3D Plan

Perspective through Courtyard

Model of Proposal

Aerial Photograph

RELATED ARTICLES:

The Sawaber Project brief Summary
“Kuwait Times” article on Sawaber state of affairs
“AME Info” article on Sawaber

the planning of Kuwait

Arriving in Kuwait on 25 March, one overwhelming topic was lingering in my mind: the impact my late uncle, Saba Shiber, after whom I am named, had on the city of Kuwait. While researching his contributions, I came across a couple interesting articles with a lot of information on just that.  The article I have included below was initially written in French, so at times the translation can be a bit off – as I have time, I will go back through it and proofread it to adjust it a bit.

“Saba Shiber, ‘Mr. Arab Planner’ Career of a Planner in the Middle East”

by: Joe Nasr

from Géocarrefour Vol. 80 Number 3, pp. 197-206

This article presents the first results of research on a key figure in the history of contemporary urbanization in the Middle East, Shiber Saba (1923-1968), urban planner Arab of Palestinian origin and a U.S. citizen who exercised in particular in Lebanon and Kuwait. Through Shiber, it is possible to dive at the time of emergence of a speech given by a local professional in the direction of a broad public on the need for careful planning of the built environment of Arab cities. This figure will also explore the structuring of professional environmental engineers, architects and urban planners Arab.

This article presents the first results of research on a key figure (Saba Shiber, 1923-1968) in the history of contemporary urban planning in the Middle East. This article presents the first results of research on a key figure (Saba Shiber, 1923-1968) in the history of contemporary urban planning in the Middle East. He was an Arab planner of Palestinian origin and with American citizenship who worked particularly in the Lebanon and Kuwait. He was an Arab planner of Palestinian origin and with American citizenship who worked particularly in the Lebanon and Kuwait. Through this study it is possible to show how a local planner developed arguments, destined for a much wider public, on the need for planning of the built environment in Arab cities. Through this study it is possible to show how a local planner developed arguments, destined for a much wider public on the need for planning of the built environment in Arab cities. By looking at Shiber’s career, it is also possible to explore the ways in which a professional structure developed amongst Arab planners, engineers and architects. By looking at Shiber’s career, it is also possible to explore the ways in which a professional structure developed amongst Arab planners, engineers and architects.

1 Each national system planning is a mixture of traditions and structures which have been grafted concepts and tools based on models imported or imposed. These models were driven by very different actors – of visitors, expatriates, indigenous people who traveled abroad, or others – as evidenced, inter alia, the synthesis of Ward (2002). This principle now established, it becomes imperative to complicate, even to reconsider. The more careful analysis of the various actors, including through the life course, linking the personal to the professional dimensions, must contribute. These stories can not only clarify the mechanisms of diffusion models to actors, but also ask questions about the nature of these actors, including their identity, or rather their identities.

2 This guidance is essential to understand how development of local expertise (Souami, Verdeil, forthcoming). But the notion of local expertise is immediately problematic because its field of application exceeds in most cases, the local context. In fact, in some regions and particularly in the Arab world, few planners who have not been exposed directly or indirectly to external models or practices, especially the development of local training in urban planning is very recent ( Yerasimos, forthcoming). In this sense, we can say that most Arab planners have expertise more or less nomadic. No one illustrates the expertise nomadic Saba Shiber better than, the subject of this article, example of instability of the concept of “professional local urbanism.

Planning the Arab Metropolis Must Come of Age (The planning of the Arab metropolis must mature)

3 This is the title of one of numerous publications, published in 1960, Saba Shiber George (1923-1968) (Figure 1). He stressed at the outset several features of his personality. The general tone is absolute, firm ( “must” indicates an injunction). The trait is not specific to Shiber, but reflects positivism characteristic of his time. The implicit intentions are clear. The title implies a strong criticism of the emerging urbanization of the Arab countries, and further invites to control and shape the built environment, this is a recurrent feature in his writings. Shiber saw in fact is rather as an apostle of urbanization in the Arab countries as a practitioner of this discipline, so he wrote constantly. This sentence also reveals his vision of space: the use of “city” rather than “city” indicates its focus to big cities and their emergence in the region. Temporality of the title denotes a future-oriented. What interests first and foremost, are the means to transform the emerging cities. If he pays attention to history, it is in reference to this. His conception of the city is clearly organicist. The use of “come of age” refers to the idea – at that time – the city as a body, like body (or be), which grew to become adult. Its geographic sphere is specified at the outset, the Arab cities of interest, despite its links with the international planners, the audience is Arab, the object of his criticisms are sometimes virulent Arab cities. His professional activity was unfolding in the Arab world. Though sometimes critical of the Arabs in his writings (especially Palestine), it was usually sent to the Arabs that his speeches. The language option is also eloquent. Although the Arabic language and that the User sometimes in small items donated to local newspapers, his writings were mostly technical in English.

Figure 1: Caricature of Sheba Shiber by the Lebanese designer Diran, 23 March 1962.

Source: Arab of the Year, Middle East Business Digest (December 1963): p.44. 44.

Shiber: pioneer, personality, and preacher of the Arab Planning

4 Saba Shiber is little known today (although not completely unknown). Its name evokes little to most of the Arab town, when he was one of the first major figures to preach for the sake of Arab urbanism. Five facets of her character attract attention.

5 According to all indications gathered, it is one of the first Arabs to have a PhD in urban planning in the United States (at Cornell University in 1956). He was one of the first experts, strictly and explicitly devoted to the city in general, and urban planning in particular. He also tried more than once (unsuccessfully) to establish the first university on the subject in the Arab world.

6 A personality: In his time, acquired a reputation Shiber Regional, including an award for one of his books got a record to a Who’s Who Arabic, and numerous invitations to conferences and of other interventions, etc.. For many it was the cause of urbanization in the Arab countries. It therefore became a “personality”.

7 A preacher: His role as an activist was probably more important than the urban practitioner. It produced an enormous corpus: reports and pamphlets, but articles and columns in newspapers and magazines to the general public rather than in academic journals, published in several countries in the region. In addition, his writings, by their nature, were programmatic rather than scientific. His attempt to set up training in urban planning – despite its rapid abandonment – is this same logic to prepare new generations of professionals likely practice of urban planning.

8 A planner: Shiber had exercised a little at the beginning of his career as an architect. But throughout the rest of his life, he worked on the urban scale, and that the urban problems (including urban design) that he devoted all his energy.

9 This professionally intervened in a half-dozen Arab countries (Eastern Mediterranean and Arabian Peninsula only). It was indeed established as an expert quickly circulating among Arab countries. Moreover, beyond his practice, his speech was directed primarily to the Arab people.

Overview of Shiber’s Life

10 The career of Shiber was short but very rich, covering just two decades from 1948 to 1968. He went for the preparation of plans for a university in Jerusalem just before the establishment of the State of Israel, participation in urban renewal projects in the United States, through the planning of the reconstruction of Lebanese regions devastated by an earthquake. It also includes his work as an expert on urban issues throughout the Arab world to another, and ended on his experience as chief planner for the city of Kuwait during its glory years of oil. His biography is presented here in six main phases articulating privacy and career: a young Palestinian and his training in the United States and its practice, teaching and specialization in the United States; his career Lebanese Arabic his international career and his Kuwait peak.

Career – and personal

Palestinian Youth

11 Shiber George Saba was born in Jerusalem in 1923. Being born into a Christian family fairly easy artisans and builders, the construction field he was familiar from childhood. His father, George Saba Shiber, played a key role in its early years by putting in the way of architecture and even urban planning. Born in 1893, he had studied architecture at the London Polytechnic Institute, where he was graduated in 1914 – apparently the first from Jerusalem to have completed such studies. Back in his hometown, it was during the inter-war architect-engineer well known in his city. During the 1940s, he chaired the subsidiary of the Association of Arab Engineers in Jerusalem.

12 George Shiber had developed an interest in urban issues. In 1947 for example, he published an article in the Egyptian magazine (circulated throughout the Arab world) al-’Imara, on “economic and sanitary housing for the farmer and the worker and the Arab society”. In this article, he described “the development project for Arab Palestine”, an activity proposed by the Economic Council of the Arab League, attended the Association of Arab Engineers. His argument was that the houses in the Palestinian villages were not hygienic and caused high mortality. The association proposed to “reform what is reformed and create homes following the contemporary modern hygienic”. This article shows a continuity between the work of George Shiber and his son, and suggested that it was his father’s interest in improving the built environment, and shared with him what your reformer and disciple.

13 Saba was sent by his father to study civil engineering at the American University of Beirut (AUB), obtaining a Bachelor of Arts (BA) in 1944. He completed these studies while working as a draftsman in the office of his father every summer. This diploma earned, he spent two years in Cairo, where he obtained a Bachelor in Architecture from Cairo University. This circuit shows clearly that his father was preparing to join the family business, making it follow the steps necessary for his eventual succession father in the company. Receiving the best training possible at high costs, was the prerequisite for achieving this goal. These decisions reflect the same time a belief developmentalist and action oriented. Only a professional preparation could push to acquire the modern principles to improve the living conditions of the Palestinian population. This happened during a troubled period of World War, with its local avatars, marked by a strong Jewish immigration to Palestine. This context explains the struggle of Palestinian engineers to maintain their place in their country. The choice made by George Shiber to send his son abroad to become an engineer-architect can not be explained solely by family and professional reasons.

Training in the United States

14 This logic is reflected in the immediate dispatch of Saba in 1946 Shiber to the United States to quickly finish his studies. He obtained two Masters at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, each in a year: first in architecture and second in urban planning (City and Regional Planning). The two complemented each other memories. The first Master was to study the subject of a draft Faculty of Architecture and Engineering in Jerusalem (Shiber, “A School of Design and Engineering”, 1947). For the second Master, the memorandum dealt with the planning of the entire campus was planned, and where the Faculty of Architecture and Engineering is the first item to build (Shiber, “A University City, 1948). The subjects of memory themselves show that the intention was that it is formed and quickly returned to Jerusalem for a career devoted to teaching rather than practice.

15 In fact, George Shiber had already started buying a large plot on Mount Scopus, in the Sheikh al-Jarrah in order to build a University of Jerusalem. This project had an explicit goal: to provide young Palestinians an opportunity to make university studies without leaving the country. Act as a counterweight to Palestinian emigration on one side and the immigration of educated Jewish masses in Palestine on the other side and was the main objective of the foundation of such an establishment and training of Saba Shiber in architecture and urbanism was seen by him (and obviously by his father, who financed his studies) as a necessary step to achieve this goal. Let still the choice to start the construction of the university by a faculty of architecture and engineering rather than other subjects. This was probably not a coincidence (since Shiber George was an engineer-architect), but also agreed with the desire to counter the forced exodus of young Palestinians: the training of professionals as a project of resistance.  The project was Saba Shiber probably the beginning of political involvement, especially the link between politics and urban planning – the first time for him that the Palestinian cause is the cause mixed with professional.

Practice, education and specialization in the United States

16 The project of his father could not be realized. While completing his second Master, in May 1948 marked the failure of an independent Palestine after the creation of the state of Israel. All plans collapsed. Saba Shiber suddenly became Palestinian refugee in the United States. It was for him the beginning of a period of eight years mixed practice, personal training and teaching at the university (Table 1). In 1948-49, the last time in his life, he worked as a private architect (for a few months in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania) and then as a teacher of architecture and urbanism. From summer 1949, Shiber began his career in urban planning. Until 1956, it combines three activities at different periods, sometimes in parallel.

Table 1: the professional activities of Shiber in the United States

Professional practice: he worked as a municipal planner (Kansas City, Missouri), as a consultant (for the Economic Division of the New York State Planning Board, in Troy, New York), in Washington as representative of a firm of architects (Glaser and Gray) involved in the activities of “urban renewal”, as consulting architect (for the Cornell Housing Research Center). Teaching: he obtained a post of assistant professor of urban planning at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in the city of Troy, taught for 2 years (1949-51), and finally directed the City Planning Department. Education: he completed a doctorate in urban planning in two years at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York.

17 It is here to open a parenthesis on the summer 1954. Having just obtained U.S. citizenship, Shiber went to Lebanon to teach at AUB, his family moved to Beirut after 1948. The objective of this trip was to start training in urban planning. But it was a failure because it did not find the necessary support to the university for such a project. Not wanting to be a professor of architecture, therefore he returned in the autumn in the United States to begin doctoral studies. The deadlock in Beirut had no doubt prompted him to make the decision to invest in a PhD which was still rare at the time.

18 During this period the first signs of his vocation as an organizer / proselyte for urban planning. In his work for the State Planning Board in New York, his role was to set up meetings to introduce the planning retreat. His doctoral thesis was a very general analysis on the formation and reformation urban (Shiber, “Urban Formation and Reformation,” 1956), and saw the already critical and prescriptive tone found in his writings during the years to come.

Lebanese Career

19 After obtaining his doctorate, Saba moved permanently Shiber in Beirut in July 1956. He made another futile attempt to teach urban planning at AUB. After the third failure, Shiber totally abandoned education in urban planning, not even gave no classes on time. Nevertheless, given its long period of training and education, and his belief that urban planning was a vital mission for him, it is surprising that despite its failures to AUB, he made no other attempt to teach urban Furthermore, even when he became a celebrity. Perhaps this reflects he just bitterness that resulted from the negative experience? I suggest instead the hypothesis that preferred redirect his energy. His willingness to introduce urbanism in the Arab countries borrowed other ways: rather than to influence students, he worked constantly to influence the general public, policy makers, government …

20 The main objective of the return of Shiber in Lebanon was in fact not the teaching of urban planning, but its practice. On 16 March 1956, having already submitted his thesis and while awaiting anxiously the results of its “comprehensive examination” of end of study, Shiber received the news of an earthquake that devastated southern Lebanon. More than 400 villages had been severely affected by the disaster. The desire to return to Lebanon to help as an architect-planner seized, especially in the news that the Lebanese government had mobilized in an exceptional way. Having established informal contacts with local officials, and following the establishment of a National Reconstruction, independent ministries, which was endowed with powers and budget implications, it returned to Beirut in early June. He began work immediately as head of the technical office of the Authority (Figure 2). Things began very well. But less than three years later, he left the Authority, frustrated by the many obstacles that had emerged. The Authority was soon transformed the institution model emblematic of the desire to establish a reformed state became gradually emasculated institution after multiple vitriolic attacks against the institution and its director, Emile Boustani. The circumstances of this fall can not be analyzed in this short article. Shiber himself described a few years later.

21 At the same time, he worked as a consultant on issues of urban planning. It is mainly through a new company, The Associated Consulting Engineers (ACE), Shiber that engages in this activity. The firm was founded in 1956. It bore the name in Arabic Dar al Handasah (House of Engineering). This was the first company in Lebanon, and one of the first in the Middle East, explicitly organized on the Anglo-American research department of engineers (including architects and urban planners), comprising a range of specialties in order of the study and implementation of major projects. This model was previously represented in the region by western companies. The creation of the new company with young engineers (most teacher AUB) was a rapid success. The company split in March 1959 in two, one named Dar al Handasah Consulting Engineers, another bearing the English name of ACE. Shiber was one of six new members of that firm (ACE) from its refoundation, after his frustrations with the Lebanese authorities.

Career Itinerant Arab Expert

22 From early 1959, Shiber began the process of consultation to full-time, either through ACE or not. It therefore participates in a wide variety of projects, in Damascus, Khobar, Beirut … On the one hand, he worked on small projects, in general lots of mundane, such as for land owned by the family of his partner to ACE, Victor Andraos. But it is remarkable for its studies on a larger scale began to establish its reputation as an expert in regional planning; the type of studies that were prepared exclusively until that time by American or European experts , usually requiring several weeks or months of work under contract. Shiber did so in the first wave of competition for contracts of foreign experts.

23 His first important work outside of Lebanon was made in Damascus, where he worked between February and August 1959 on a double register, as an advisor for planning (schedule advisor) to the Government (Ministry of urban and rural) and simultaneously for muhafaza (governorate) Dedam. He then moved to the position of deputy director of the office of ACE in Khobar (Saudi Arabia) for a few months in 1959-1960, serving in particular to advise on planning issues for ARAMCO, the oil major. Then he returned to Lebanon as an expert planning for the Department of Public Works during the first half of 1960.

24 During this period he became increasingly active as what might be called ‘prophet of urban planning. We shall return below, but already we see the full range of interventions developed further later, small press articles to the participation in international conferences to presentations to various audiences.

Apogee Kuwait

25 Starting from June 1960, Shiber was invited to Kuwait for a few months, like all the others who had preceded him. Shiber but eventually the work until his death from a heart attack eight years later. The emirate was booming after the discovery a few years earlier huge oil reserves. There had already been testing of urban expansion, but they were limited. With the arrival of Shiber, the willingness to plan for the urbanization was realized.

26 Although the presence of Shiber in Kuwait was almost continuously since its installation there (except for short visits to many conducted throughout the world each year), he moved into different positions and roles in role throughout this period (Table 2).

Table 2: The functions of SS in Kuwait

Assistant Chief Engineer, Public Works Department, in charge of the Departments of Surveying, Town Planning, Architectural Design, Agriculture and Research Consultant-Expert-Member, Technical Committee, Municipal Council Consultant-Expert-Member, Technical Committee, Development Board Planning Expert, Municipality, in charge of City Planning, Architectural Design and Surveying Architectural and City Planning Expert, Planning Board.

27 In these various roles, he established strong relationships with many personalities in the government or the municipality, which allowed him to be absent frequently for short consultations (Table 3).

Table 3: Sample of work as a consultant Shiber

Planning Consultant, Government of the United Arab Republic [Syria], Damascus (1959) Consultant to the Jordanian government on the plan and architecture of the city of Aqaba, the capital of southern Jordan (1961) Consultant on the preparation of a Scheme of Urban and Territorial Libya (1966) Appointed member of the Committee for the “Greater Jerusalem Master Plan” (in the framework of the Federation of Arab Engineers) (1967) Appointed member of the Committee for the Reconstruction of Karameh (a Palestinian village in the Jordan Valley wounded during the War of 1967) (in the framework of the Federation of Arab Engineers) (1968)

28 As if all this were not enough to fill Saba Shiber full time, he was involved in a very diverse range of other activities during this period, with two common dimensions: the controversy and the transnational. Through multiple means, Shiber presented arguments against the status of contemporary Arab cities, and the need for planning.

Shiber man and as an expert network

29 At the same time, much of the activity was Shiber to connect, communicate with other groups to meet with other experts to discuss urban problems and their solution … In this sense , Shiber part to the internationalization of networks of experts on urban issues that had emerged a few decades earlier (such as Hegemann, Abercrombie, Gréber, among the cases in the most famous) and began to spread beyond small circles Western experts. In this role relay Shiber operated on three levels simultaneously.

LANs

30 Locally, Kuwait, he assumed the role of agitator of ideas and opinions on various architectural and urban issues. He was called all kinds of opportunities to advise or otherwise contribute to urban management issues, including outside of his official duties in Kuwait. For example, he was invited by the Housing Committee for the population with limited income (Lajnat buyut Dakhli Thawri al-al-mahdud), to offer his ideas on the location of houses for the economic category of quick and cheap. And he was a member of the technical committee that evaluates proposals for the Pavilion at the Kuwait International Fair of New York in 1964. But at the same time, he acquired the reputation of possessing the know-how for the implementation of contracts, terms of reference, contacts and negotiations with consultants. This aspect of his work is illustrated by the preparation of multiple terms of reference for projects extremely diverse – including some far from town planning – including the tests are found in personal funds won him consultés. This ability to work more on implementation and contract management of urban projects, as the preparation of urban plans. As already noted, they do great originality, and are based on the idea of unity Neighborhood widespread at the time (Figure 2).

Figure 2: Plan of Khaldiyya prepared by Shiber.

Source: Fund staff Shiber.

31 Remarkably, during his long stay in Kuwait, he managed not only to maintain its ties with Lebanon, but to remain integrated in the local urban environment – and even to speak on behalf of local experts. Many of his articles during these years focused on urban issues in Lebanon, Lebanese magazines (especially the Daily Star). The most striking example of this anchorage is that it was the spearhead of the reactions in Lebanon against the choice of Oscar Niemeyer, the famous Brazilian architect, for one of the most prestigious projects in Lebanon during the 1960s The International Fair of Tripoli and permanent. In several articles he wrote or in which it was cited, he called, quite virulent, a frequent use of local expertise for major projects or plans in Lebanon, often given to foreigners – all from someone who was neither born in the Lebanon, or living in Lebanon!

Arab Networks

32 In parallel, it became a well-known throughout the Arab world, where he had managed to build networks remarkable. Sometimes it was that he personally participated in various activities, like when he was invited as a member of technical sub-committee from the High Council of the Union of Arab Engineers to study the project of Greater Jerusalem, quoted above. In other cases, explicitly as the official representative of the State of Kuwait that was sent or participated in activities inter. Thus, it was part of the delegation of the Society of Engineers Kuwait on 9 ^th Conference of Arab Engineers in Baghdad in 1964.

International Networks

33 Shiber also easily while traveling on a global scale, in circles and in a very different circuits. He had become familiar enough to enter the special sphere of international experts in urban planning. Thus, it is regularly contacted by various countries around the world for various missions. For example, his name was suggested for an expert for the United Nations on a contract of six months in Rwanda-Burundi to prepare plans for the new capital. He did not accept this offer, because of its commitment to Kuwait.

34 In addition, he built his own network renewed it regularly, which allowed him to act as a link between the Government of Kuwait and other international experts. There are a good example with its relations with the famous Japanese architect Kenzo Tange. Tange was among those who welcomed him during a visit to Tokyo in September 1963 to give a series of conferences. When Kuwait decided to build a new embassy in Japan, Shiber suggested as an architect Kenzo Tange. He undertook a new mission to Japan in March 1967 to establish the contract and discuss with Tange and his associates of this project. Of course, as always, he combines this with another conference at the International House of Japan at the invitation of the Dean of the Faculty of Engineering, University of Tokyo, the President of the Japan Society of Architects, the President of the Japanese Association of Planning – and Kenzo Tange. This episode is in fact Tange for its introduction into the lucrative market for prestige projects or major countries of the Arab Gulf.

35 The range of activities that can be considered as extra to the practice of Saba Shiber as an expert in urban planning can be grouped in the following manner:

36 Ecrivain. His contributions consisted primarily of articles in newspapers or magazines, he regularly republishing by grouping them into a book. In fact, almost all his books were compilations rather than original texts.

37. Draftsman. It constantly produced drawings or sketches of urban landscapes, especially during its travel (Figure 4). Sometimes, his designs were inspired by photos he cut from magazines. His books were always full of these designs easily recognizable style.

Figure 3: Two urban landscapes designed by Shiber.

Source: Shiber, Faces of the City, 1962, plate 2.

38 Speaking at numerous conferences and universities around the world (Table 3). His participation was always very active in these events (Figure 4). Often, he presented several items for a single conference. This continued until the end of his career: he was heavily involved in the organization of the Eleventh Conference of Arab Engineers, planned in 1969 in Kuwait, where he served as chief draftsman.

Table 3: Some cities Shiber participated in symposia or otherwise intervened

Western Europe: London, Paris, Wiesbaden; Eastern Europe: Prague, Warsaw, Belgrade; North Africa and Middle East: Beirut, Cairo, Kuwait, Tripoli (Libya), Baghdad, Basra, Amman, Shiraz, Africa Khartoum, Addis Ababa; Asia: Karachi, New Delhi, Roorkee (India), Bandung, Colombo, Singapore, Tokyo. Source: “About the Author” in Shiber, Arab Recent City Growth, 1968, p. 831. 831.

Figure 4: Shiber symposium on “Changing Concepts of Human Habitation” in Roorkee, India, December 1965.

Source: Fund staff Shiber

39 Personality regularly interviewed in the Arab press, and sometimes international. Interviews with him were sent, among other things, the British Broadcasting Company and the Voice of America, as well as on radio stations in Cairo, Amman, Kuwait and Beirut (Shiber, Arab Recent City Growth, 1968, p. 831) .

40 Member Organizations. It was completely integrated into the emerging international networks of specialists in urban areas. Among the associations to which he belonged include: Kuwait Engineers Society, International Federation for Housing and Planning, American Institute of Urban and Regional Affairs, American Institute of Planners (since he was granted citizenship in 1954). He was a correspondent in Kuwait for the journal Ekistics. He was also a member of the Monitoring Committee of the Federation of Arab Engineers. He was vice-chairman of the Afro-Asian Housing Organization, from 1967 until his death. Often, its participation was formal rather than individual, when he represented Kuwait at the United Nations Committee on Housing, construction and planning for 1968-1970.

41 Saba Shiber had successfully established during the 1960s as “Mr. Arab Planner”

Concluding Remarks

Shiber as a professional expatriate

42 The uniqueness of his course. If his personal and professional circuit is unique, it looks at the same time, in some respects, to other displaced persons in the Middle East – and specifically the Palestinians. Most Palestinians traveling circuits – trans par excellence – are little known and their stories still to tell and their networks to unravel. Are dealing with the memories of Edward Said (Said, 1999) or those of Hasib Sabbagh, who built a major construction companies in Arab countries (Deeb and King, 1996). But such stories are rare and usually individual. The history of the networks remains to be written. Which traces the journey so complex transnational allow themselves to these individuals? Is it possible to regain some of the banality of life stories as complicated?

Shiber as particular type of trans-national Planner

43 Shiber represents a particular type of trans-national planner: it combines the two dimensions of local planners and foreign expert. “ Managing this dual identity was often not clear; Shiber succeeded in an original manner. Among others, he was foreign expert and intermediate (contact, recommend, sponsor, partner …) towards non-Arab foreign experts. Jens Hanssen introduced the idea of “super-local” as an alternative to transnational, thereby suggesting “a category of individuals who act at a level crossing regularly beyond the local but are deeply rooted in the local context, which they get much of their power “(Nasr and Volait, 2003, footnote 58, p. xxxviii). One could say that Saba was the Shiber super-local copy.

Shiber as Palestinian and Arab

44 Many episodes in the history of Shiber attests to his Palestinian identity never denied. It is rooted in the history of his family who was part of the Palestinian establishment, it is sent by his father with his vision to save the Palestinian youth through vocational training. His student demonstrate his own commitment to this cause, through his two master’s whose stated purpose was the construction of a vocational training for Palestinians. In his work as a journalist, the Palestinian issue was a recurrent topic, as it continued to return to his business expertise, which led to his country of origin when it could (and see Karameh Jerusalem above ). Much of his writings – though much less than those published on the city – was the Palestinian cause (for which he struggled through regular newspaper articles), and the Arab cause. His step – father had an important position in Palestinian political organization. The reason for his departure for the United States, a decision by his father, was not purely professional. Its relationship to politics, and how he managed these double interest is not yet clear. It still seems that these two passions – the Palestine and urban – have remained virtually independent writings on Palestine rarely focused on urban issues and urban planning – and his writings on urban planning were rarely Palestine.

Future directions of research and open questions

45 And finally the questions: Shiber was clearly a missionary activist for a dozen years for the introduction of town planning in Arab countries. In this role, he was alone or others that they joined him and they relayed this? He contributed to the professionalisation of muhandissin Arab urbanism around? Or development of the consultant on urban development, especially by Arab experts? How was made the introduction of the idea of the need to professionally manage the growth of Arab cities? Can we speak of the presence of a general discourse on urbanism in the sixties in the region around it? Beyond the fact that his name was known and he knew many people, what was its significance, its influence in its time, its place in the world of urban planners? What is his legacy today? All these questions remain to be explored.

To read the Bibliography, About the Author, ETC click on the first link:

“Saba Shiber, ‘Mr. Arab Planner’. Career of a planner in the Middle East” By: Joe Nasr

“State development policy and specialised engineers. The case of urban planners in post-war Lebanon:” By: Eric Verdeil

Caricature

Khaldiyya Plan

Urban Passage Design Sketch

Photo of Shiber

Education City Photos

Carnegie Mellon

Carnegie Mellon Detail

Interior: Carnegie Mellon

Cornell: Qatar

Cornell Auditorium Detail

Liberal Arts & Sciences Building 1

Liberal Arts & Sciences Building 2

Liberal Arts & Sciences Building 3

Detail: Liberal Arts & Sciences Building Curtain Wall

Texas A & M Courtyard

Qatar Foundation Pavilion

Qatar Foundation Pavilion 2

Light Play

Al Shaqab Stadium

Qatar Education City Convention Center

Education City: learning what NOT to do

I have once again fallen both in and out of love with a development within the Middle East, excitement leading to disillusionment seeming to be something quite common.  In this case, the culprit is one located just south of Doha, Qatar and takes on the name “Education City”, a project spearheaded by the group the Qatar Foundation.

Education City Site Plan

The premise is to create a campus within the city of Doha that strives to provide some of the best education facilities the world has to offer in a part of the world severely lacking prominent universities. Inspired by Her Highness Sheikha Mozah Bint Nasser Al-Missned, the Qatar Foundation has brought to the region satellite programs from such renowned Institutions as Georgetown University, Cornell, Carnegie Mellon, and Northwestern, resulting in the ability for Qataris and other interested parties to get a world-class education without having to leave the country. And not only does the campus boast both the names of many US-based world-renowned schools, and also highly respected architects such as Rem Koolhaas, Arata Isozaki and Rafael Vinoly as well as a slew of contemporary architecture.

 

After finding out about this development, I was on the bandwagon and ready to explore both the completed buildings as well as the construction sites for future projects. I spent the day walking around the ‘campus’ visiting buildings and talking to people to find out more about the direction everything is headed…and the more I learned the more I realized the one overwhelming problem; the discontinuity between the campus as a whole, whether architecturally or within the education facilities.

 

Qatar Education City Convention Center

Though facilitated by the Qatar Foundation, ultimately the campus will be comprised of many buildings representing specific programs of universities across the world – and the problem presented here seems to be the ease at which students will ‘attend’ the separate schools. Due to the prominent programs represented, none of the main universities wish to be categorized under a new name that would essentially take the place of the name of said school…so this has created obvious barriers in the ability for students to attend classes on the Qatar Foundation campus that are provided by a series of schools. Instead, what seems to be developing are specialized facilities that have no relation to each other except for their proximity. A student who was participating in the Carnegie Mellon program would have a difficult time just taking a class with a professor from Texas Tech despite the fact that the two buildings are directly next to one another. To me, this seems to be a bit counterproductive, as I would assume one of the reasons for the creation of this campus would be to allow students to pick and choose which classes they wanted to take at which universities…maximizing their day to day schedule and knowledge base.

 

Qatar Central Library

The other issue I feel to be bit problematic is the way the campus is planned. As a student at the University of Kentucky, I walked around on a daily basis from building to building and class to class…sometimes passing clear across campus to get to my destination. However, the climate in Kentucky, though quite humid, is nothing compared to the desert climate of Qatar, so having to walk a bit was never a problem. Even in March, it was obvious this wouldn’t be the case for students here. The extravagant lawns and water features and parking shoved amongst the structures create what I would think to be an unnecessarily-long distance even just from the dorms to any one building. And though I am sure this walk is possible, it seems as if with such a new campus development the planners would have taken the climate into consideration and designed a more accommodating environment for the people traveling over it. Even by incorporating architecturally-designed shade structures would benefit the students more-so than the currently-existing barren grounds.

 

Nevertheless, Education City has a lot of intriguing projects both already completed and upcoming, and I look forward to seeing how it develops and whether or not it is a success.

NOTEWORTHY PROJECTS:

Qatar Foundation Central Library (unbuilt) – Rem Koolhaas
Museum of Modern Art (unbuilt) – Rafael Vinoly
Liberal Arts & Sciences Building (built) – Arata Isozaki
Weill Cornell Building (built) – Arata Isozaki
Qatar Education City Convention Center (under construction) – Arata Isozaki
Qatar National Library (unbuilt) – Arata Isozaki
Carnegie Mellon Qatar (built) – Legorreta+Legorreta Architects
Texas A & M Building (built) – Legorreta+Legorreta Architects

RELATED LINKS:

Qatar Foundation Official Website
Blog Post on Education City Convention Center
“World Architecture News” article on on Education City Convention Center
Georgetown University Website Article
Carnegie Mellon Website Article

Manama City, Bahrain Images

Bahrain World Trade Center

Al-Fateh Grand Mosque

Contrast

Age

Qal`at al-Bahrain

Qal`at al-Bahrain

La Fontaine Spiral Stair

La Fontaine Wind Tower

Stair Tower

Shaikh Isa Bin Ali Al Khalifa House

Door Ornamentation

Shaikh Isa Bin Ali Al Khalifa House 2

Shaikh Isa Bin Ali Al Khalifa House 3

the Shaikh Ibrahim Centre for Culture and Research

the curve of the GCC

I’m not sure what compels me to travel along the coasts of landmasses but, yet again, I have found myself following this pattern.  This time, however, the coast is that of the Gulf Countries and the body of water is the Persian Gulf – and, of course, a big factor is that my means of transportation has been relegated to flying as a result of the difficulty I would have had obtaining a visa from Saudi Arabia, the overwhelming “obstacle” in passing between the countries of the UAE, Bahrain, Qatar, and Kuwait.

Though separated by less than 50 miles and created as countries due to a similar progression of events, the development of the islands of Bahrain and Qatar has varied quite vastly.  When the formation of the United Arab Emirates took place, the proposal was to include a total of nine emirates rather than the currently-existing seven; the two additional ones being the countries now known as Bahrain and Qatar.  Though their reasons differed, these two islands decided to become independent of the other Emirates in order to focus solely on the agendas of their rulers.  So, in the years following this decision, both countries succeeded on an economic scale, largely attributed to oil.  And while Al Manamah and Doha have both seen vast growth since the official creation of their respective countries, the routes taken in doing so have varied.  In fact, this variation can easily be compared to the differences between the Emirates of Dubai and Abu Dhabi, an idea that proves to be quite intriguing in understanding the mentality of the country and its government.

Manama, Bahrain was my first stop upon leaving Dubai.  The airport is in a part of the country called Muharraq, seperated from Manama City by a narrow inlet of water, so it required the crossing of a bridge to get into Manama City Proper.  As many of the big cities in the GCC (and Middle East) tend to do, Manama wraps around the coast of the Persian Gulf.  Additionally, the main expressways and points of access are parallel to the North coast.   However, as Bahrain is an island, the coast wraps around the North, East and South sides of Manama, though the corniche is situated along the North and East coasts only.  The downtown/business district of Manama is concentrated to the North…further South is the large Souq and slowly the transition into a seemingly older-city structure with residential buildings and first-floor retail being extremely common.

That being said, the city, though definitely expanding, is doing so at a rate that it has managed to maintain a strong connection to the older parts of the city – the new development has only just barely encroached on the existing buildings, instead pushing out to the edges of the island (Bahrain has done quite a lot in terms of land reclamation along the North and East coasts, thus quite a lot of the newer development has, or is planned to continue in these areas of “new land”).  Though different in many ways, Manama resembles Abu Dhabi in that the development is not at a pace that had spiraled out of control, and the important parts of the existing culture have been respected and maintained.

Doha however, is far more reminiscent of Dubai in the way the city has developed.  Though the construction focuses far less on primarily tourism-based infrastructure, there is an obvious intention to remove the new city from the old city.  And not even solely this separation but it is also what seems to be the desire to replace the old with the new…except for the few ‘relics’ of the past that yeild high turnout from visitors to the country.  Dan, the guy I am staying with, told me that there is currently a movement to completely remove the old parts of the city that are deemed ‘eyesores’ and replace them with new construction, whatever that may entail.

This mentality to completely remove anything that isn’t in pristine condition is something I find truly disheartening.  Much of the culture, like it or not, is contained within the parts of the city that also house cracked and crooked walls, chipped paint and leaky roofs, and to wish that this be erased is just as much an error in decision making as would be to tear down on of the historic forts.  The cluttered shops and ‘used’ apartment buildings add character to the environment that one cannot get from the perfectly manicured landscaping of high-end hotels or the smooth limestone finishes on the easily-replicated condo structures.  This ‘hiding’ of imperfections from the view of the public is a mistake I encountered almost everywhere I looked in Dubai, and with everyone I spoke to (regardless of whether they realized it or not)…and to see the beginnings of the same problem developing within Doha is quite disheartening.

The more I walked around the city the more I saw of Dubai in its progression…and that is not such a good thing.  However, I feel that this can be salvaged if the people within the government and building departments take a role of changing the city by contributing financially to the cleaning of places that are less-appealing rather than the easier approach of disregard and demolish.  And the same goes for other cities in the area as well – it seems that all the money is going towards new projects and new buildings rather than the improvement of the existing.  If more time was taken to correct the minor problems with the older parts of the city (roads, dilapidated structures, and trash to name a few) than these cities would become revived not solely due to the introduction of contemporary architecture and forms.  In all these places the most interesting parts are the narrow alleys and ornate yet modest approaches to construction of buildings all the way down to the drains and door trim, and it will be a great loss if over time, all these aspects are phased out in order to construct some sort of sterile glass and metal mass.

transition

The emptiness of this blog the past week and a half has not been due to lack of thought. Rather, my travels within the Middle East are progressing out of Dubai; today, I fly to Bahrain and begin a journey to further explore the culture of the region.  When time permits, a new blog will be posted, both explaining my final perceptions of the city of Dubai as well as beginning my investigations with the new cities and countries I visit.