Category: Modernity, Migrant Labor, and the Environment

Qatar’s external, outward state identity, which it is trying incredibly hard to promote in the lead up to the 2022 FIFA world cup as all eyes turn towards the nation, is one that is at odds with the internal lived reality within the state for a lot of people in a lot of ways. Most importantly, Qatar has adapted sustainability as an important tenet of its identity moving forward, with promises made regarding the emissions of the world cup as well as vision 2030 and the climate goals for 2050, but is not doing sufficiently proportional work within the nation to promote sustainability. In fact, in many ways Qatari life has doubled down on the desire for luxury, excessive consumerism, and promotion of indulgence as a way to appeal and market to the western petromodern nations, trying to argue that Qatar too is just as developed as the west and thus is worthy of hosting the world cup in response to orientalist criticisms. Music videos for the world cup anthems showcase a bustling city and a skyscraper-dorned skyline that is meant to be difficult to set apart from any other metropole. In trying to appear modern and shed the orientalist association of deserts, camels and ancient mythological lore with backwardness and “savagery,” the state has become the overindulged product of western ideals of modernity that are wholly reliant on petroculture, in a world where it is incredibly and increasingly necessary to overcome those ideals and reliance toward a global movement of mitigation of the climate crisis.

The experience of “wilderness” and “nature” in Qatar invokes a temporality of the past that the state is trying to distance itself from which reproduces the animosity between the false binary of human and nature, as discussed in my first post about the gulf past. The tourists coming to the country who visit the sand dunes may find themselves thinking along the lines of orientalist authors who romanticized and glorified the deserts of the Middle East in a consumerist and inferior way, so instead the most commonly advertised experience becomes to “dune bash” in gas-guzzling four wheelers that subconsciously divert attention away from this past. This relationship of wilderness with time does a disservice to the goals of eco-consciousness because it utilizes harmful solutions to the problem of otherization and orientalism that Qatar faces, which only happens because these experiences in the desert are posited at odds with the luxury and comfort you can find in the “city”. 

This is juxtaposed with the experience of being in the stadiums for the world cup. The air-conditioned stadiums built from back-breaking labor of migrant workers who are mistreated despite the reforms made to labor laws in the country invoke a sense of being in a futuristic space and country while the work that has gone on behind the scenes is an indictment of the “freedoms” granted by petromodernity, which Bergthaller criticizes in saying “yet the idea that the living standards thus achieved in the industrialized world represent the future of humanity—rather than the luxuriating tip of a global pyramid of exploitation—was never more than a pleasant conceit.” (Bergthaller, 429). The future that is speculated through these fabrications is not one of social and economic equality but one in which the disparity between classes is further exacerbated in order to help those most privileged survive the incoming climate crisis. 

The gulf-futurism invoked by the infrastructure in Qatar in places like Musheireb, Lusail, or even the metro is one that is “most effective on an aesthetic level” (Aima). While the metro can be commended for making public transport more accessible and for cutting down on emissions by cars, it is insufficient in both its efficiency and the number of people who use it. The metro stations require most people to drive or take a bus to reach, which is an unfortunate circumstance of creating city structures that are not walkable. Most people who have drivers or their own cars continue to drive anyway because the metro seems like more of a hassle. The compartments in the metro are also divided so that the “family” and “standard” sections are often gender-segregated and reproduce the animosity towards migrant workers who are frequent passengers of the metro. 

Another space that invokes this gulf-futurism is the Al-Kharsaah Solar Plant. While the prospect of turning to solar power is promising, the inauguration of the plant was celebrated with the aesthetic of gulf-futurism that is far removed from the actuality of the plant, and the promises of the plant meeting 10% of energy demands for the country and reducing carbon emissions by 26 million metric tons get lost in the aesthetics of it all – and who would hold Qatar Energy accountable for it if they fail to deliver anyway? There is no proportional work by the government to change the social and cultural environment to encourage people to be more eco-conscious because the government’s role within this gulf-futuristic society is to be the savior while everyone else can continue enjoying their lives of comfort, luxury, excess and exuberance. This is not enough. So long as the government continues to market the state as eco-conscious but does not enact measures requiring people to do their part – because that would mean attributing social and economic power to the people in a way that is not conducive to the state structure – citizens and residents of the country will feel sheltered from the climate crisis until it is too late.

Rahel Aima wrote “The Khaleeji Ideology” to talk about the gulf-futurism in Dubai and, to some extent, Saudi Arabia. While her case study is focused on the spaces and projects in other states, a lot of her argument is also widely applicable to Qatar. Aima criticizes the “idea of fully-automated luxury environmentalism” as the goal to which the state is striving, as “it embraces technocratic solutions to ecological threats, and champions a self-fulfilling pragmatism: technology might not be able to save the world, but perhaps it can maintain life as we enjoy it in the present.” The gap between the external identity of the state and the internal lived experience within the state further widens in this embracing of gulf-futurism. 

Gulf-futurism and the Khaleeji Ideology, as described by Aima, espouses the myth that we won’t have to change our lifestyles in order to save the planet, and this enables the extravagance and luxurious lives that most citizens engage in, as well as the continued growth of consumerism. There is a comfort found in the state’s vague branding of ecological consciousness in the Vision 2030 that provides no real promises of what material changes are being made. There is no social push for environmentalism that is proportional to the increasing threat of climate change. This vagueness allows for people to believe that the state is working for them, and will save them and their luxurious lives. As long as everything looks and feels the same in the present, there is no push for change because the only future orientation that is provided through the state is an indefinite ideal of continued lifestyle and an increasingly technocratic world that will dispel all effects of climate change. As Aima says, “the Khaleeji Ideology is most effective on an aesthetic level.” There is no information about the goals of the state regarding climate change that go beyond this or have any depth. In doing so, the state subsumes ecological consciousness as part of their identity, as part of their goals for the future, but this is discontinuous with the reality of the situation.

Part of the reason why gulf-futurism is insufficient is because of how much it relies on the state to be the savior, on “one man, one vision, one government to carry it out, and people from everywhere else to build it—not just as temporary workers but future residents too.” This mode of government is incompatible with the revolutionary nature of work required to sufficiently mitigate climate change. As long as the burden of this work is placed on a government to which people do not have access or ability to demand more, we will not see much change aside from claiming eco-consciousness as part of the state’s identity in an effort to appeal to the changing tide toward sustainability. But this sustainability is not substantial or effective – or at least not as effective as it needs to be. The changing physicality of the Gulf, like the new proposed Saudi city NEOM, is supposedly futuristic because of its aesthetic and the sci-fi imagery it invokes, but as Aima says, “how can it be sci-fi without social justice?”

The most poignant question in all of this, and the biggest criticism of gulf-futurism is, “how can one call for any kind of futurism when the Earth itself has no future?”

No physical space represents the Gulf present better than the stadiums Qatar has built for the 2022 FIFA world cup. The moral, economic, and ecological stakes are best explored through the experience of being in these stadiums and the knowledge of exploitation that has gone into building them. The petromodernity in Qatar, the push toward turning the state into a tourist destination, and the desire to prove that it is just as modern due to the colonial legacy of standardizing Western modernity all work together to create an outward state identity that is far removed from the internal experience within the country. 

The exploitation of migrant workers is covered up by claims of progress and reforms for migrant workers becoming subsumed as part of Qatar’s identity, particularly in comparison to other Gulf states such as Saudi Arabia or the United Arab Emirates. The outward identity of the state becomes a trailblazer for human rights in the region while the internal experience of migrant workers, especially domestic workers, mostly remains the same because these legal reforms do not always translate into socio-cultural reforms. Racism against South Asians remains as rampant as ever. Those who work hardest to build homes and the infrastructure that enables the state to achieve this elevation are furthest removed from the fruits of this labor, “yet the idea that the living standards thus achieved in the industrialized world represent the future of humanity—rather than the luxuriating tip of a global pyramid of exploitation—was never more than a pleasant conceit.” (Bergthaller, 429) Because this socio-cultural shift is something you can opt-in and opt-out of, there is a gap between the external “progress” and the internal stagnancy. There is a complete absence of this exploitation in the outward experience of being in stadiums, but once you know about the exploitation, it becomes ubiquitous and you see it everywhere.

In the aspiration to “modernize”, urban life in Doha is modeled after Western cities, as seen in the evolution of the Doha skyline, and has gone miles ahead of some standards of luxury and comfort. This outward display of excess and exorbitant luxury is at odds with the Vision 2030 of Qatar, and this increasingly worsens as “it must be remembered that these countries still have an unsustainably large ecological footprint, and that there is little indication that their citizenry would accept a significant reduction of its high living standards in order to limit CO2 emissions.” (Bergthaller, 430) Because ecological consciousness is something you can opt-in and opt-out of, and there is a greater incentive to avoid it entirely, the gap between the current carbon emissions of Qatari citizens and the proposed goal to cut down carbon emissions increasingly widens. In contrast to exploitation of migrant workers, this dichotomy is the most obvious feature of the stadiums. That they are air-conditioned for comfort unlike most stadiums across the world tells us of the comfort the audience demands and simultaneously exposes the immensity of resource exploitation. 

In fact, taking a more radical approach, most environmental activists would say that the world cup itself is at odds with the greater global goal of reducing emissions, especially as it is estimated to generate 3.6 million tons of carbon dioxide. This is not specific to Qatar, but rather a criticism of sporting events of this magnitude as a whole.

This gulf present leads us into speculation about gulf-futurism.

In trying to situate the environmental consciousness of Qatar, it is important to understand the historical human-nature relationship within the country, both as separate and intertwined entities, and the trajectory of “modernity” set in motion by the discovery of oil. The harm caused to the environment of Qatar locally and of the world globally as a whole through oil extraction is directly proportional to the changing relationship and antagonism between “humans” and “nature”. This false binary was exacerbated in the move from a pearl-diving industry to an oil and fossil-fuel based industry. In contradistinction to Cronon’s description of wilderness as being “in the presence of something irreducibly nonhuman, something profoundly Other than yourself,” (Cronon, 2) the pearl-diving industry, though still exploitative, did not place the spheres of human life and aquatic life at odds with one another, but rather as interdependent and of one joint subjectivity.

As this shifted with the advent of oil, “nature” became an Other to be consumed and perceived from the outside, and the central focus became human subjectivity. The same sea within which pearl-divers dove to earn their livelihood is now encountered through paid trips on boats and ships that create distance between humans and the sea. This change is described by Cronon when he says, “as more and more tourists sought out the wilderness as a spectacle to be looked at and enjoyed for its great beauty, the sublime in effect became domesticated.” (Cronon, 6) Today, these “natural” aspects of Qatar have become tourist destinations, often involving paid experiences such as in the mangroves or the sand dunes. What were these spaces like before the discovery of oil? When “nature” becomes something that you can opt-in and opt-out of, and there is an understanding of it as an outward aspect removed from your reality, this antagonism gets worse. On a daily basis, the encounter with the nature for most people in Doha is with trees and plants and pets. This nature is not othered in the same way that the mangroves or the sand dunes are.

I have often felt, whenever I am atop a sand dune, that I am observing wilderness that is untouched by human activity, and so it is a pure and pristine, “remote from humanity and untouched by our common past.” (Cronon, 13) But this is disproven by the very fact that I am present in this space, and that there is a petrol-fueled four wheeler that has driven me here. Why do I feel this way about this vast expanse of sand but not the tree in my front yard? Cronon would say that “we need to honor the Other within and the Other next door as much as we do the exotic Other that lives far away—a lesson that applies as much to people as it does to (other) natural things.” (Cronon, 19) I fall into the trap of human subjectivity and am inconsistent in my Other-ization of “nature” because I feel that the past and historical aspect of the sand dunes is more rooted in a “real” nature than a tree that was planted within my lifetime.

This gulf-past then blends into the gulf-present.

My case study is focused on the curation of urban spaces in Qatar and how they are modeled after Western notions and ideals of modernity and progress. Particularly, I will be taking a look at the incorporation of “nature” within these spaces and the idea that it is the Other – something the audience or visitors can opt in and out of – rather than a part of the daily human experience. Additionally, I will be examining how the excessive exploitation of resources and human labor is affecting both the environment and workers from the Global South, referencing Bergthaller’s Fossil Freedoms to critique the notion of industrial progress as providing freedom for all, especially in a state like Qatar that is built off of exploitation of migrant labor. Through mine and other people’s first-hand experiences in these spaces, I will discuss these multidimensional aspects of interacting with “nature” and the “environment” within Qatar. I also hope to address the distinction made between “artificial” and “organic” encounters with nature and the environment, and why it is that there is a supremacy associated with organic encounters. Another concern of mine in this project will be the disparate burden and responsibility placed on different nation-states based on their geopolitical status within the world. To put it simply, why should Qatar be criticized for striving to achieve the ideal of modernity and progress using the same methods, the same means to the same ends, that Western nations have been doing for centuries? There is also the consideration of the added pressure of being deemed “backward” for not having achieved the same goal while simultaneously being exploited for oil and being disadvantaged by virtue of it. Is Qatar merely imitating the standard set by colonial empires? What does the experience of “deterritorialization” as defined by Heise lend to our conversation on climate action in Qatar? What does it mean to be anti-colonial and anti-capitalist for the sake of mitigating the effects of climate change in a world that still strongly prizes the colonial and capitalist mindset? 

The plethora of concerns and questions raised here will seek to examine what the present situation in Qatar looks like with regard to climate change and human encounters with the environment and answer questions of what, ideally, it ought to look like, looking forward to a world that prizes better relationships between the human and the environment as well as that of humans in relation to other humans.