Masters Of The Pearl. A History Of Qatar 9781789143119

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m a s t e r s of the pearl



MASTERS of the

PEARL

A History of Qatar michael quentin morton

Reaktion Books

For my mother and father

Published by Reaktion Books Ltd Unit 32, Waterside 44–48 Wharf Road London n1 7ux, uk www.reaktionbooks.co.uk

First published 2020 Copyright © Michael Quentin Morton 2020 All rights reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ International, Padstow, Cornwall A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library isbn 978 1 78914 311 9

contents AUTHOR’S NOTE 7 MAPS 8

INTRODUCTION 11 1 THE ART OF SURVIVAL 15 2 A DEBATABLE LAND 29 3 THE KAZA’A OF QATAR 48 4 ‘AM I NOT THE RULER OF THIS PLACE?’ 64 5 OF PEARLS AND SLAVES 82 6 THE POLITICS OF PROTECTION 98 7 THE QATARI WAY 115 8 STRANGE WONDERS 135 9 A STATE OF INDEPENDENCE 151 10 OLD GHOSTS AND NEW REALITIES 163 11 SHADES OF POWER 183 12 THEATR E OF THE DAMNED 205 EPILOGUE 222

Timeline 226 NOTES ON the Main Characters 228 Genealogical Tables 234 Glossary 235 References 237 Select Bibliography 251 Acknowledgements 252 Photo Acknowledgements 254 Index 256

Author’s Note

S

ince this book is aimed at both general and specialist audiences, I have avoided diacritical marks and used spellings derived from Western sources, mainly uk Foreign Office and India Office files. For a name like Muhammad, which can be spelt in a variety of ways, I have applied one spelling and applied it consistently through the text, unless it appears that a particular individual spells his name differently. Where an Arabic place name contains the definitive article, such as Al Khor, I have only included it where it is in common usage. Although the British referred to them as ‘amirs’, Saudi leaders were known to their followers as imams; in this account, the title ‘amir’ is used. I have referred to the Arabian Gulf rather than the Persian Gulf – unless the context requires otherwise – because the book is about the Arabian side of the Gulf, and without making any judgement on the matter.

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Qatar peninsula

Regional map of the Arabian Gulf

A string of artificial islands in Doha’s West Bay Lagoon, the Pearl-Qatar was the first development to allow foreign nationals to buy freehold property. The name carries connotations of an earlier time when the wealth from pearls was the mainstay of Qatar’s economy.

Introduction

O

n 30 June 1937 two launches were making their way along the northern shore of the Qatar peninsula on a return voyage to Bahrain. On board were two Bahraini sheikhs, their retainers and a British adviser, Charles Belgrave. They made slow progress against a strong headwind, and after some distance anchored by a shoal near a place called Zubarah to enjoy a meal. For the Naim tribesmen aboard, it was a poignant moment – located in the northwest corner of the peninsula, Zubarah was the haunt of their people, many of whom owed allegiance to the ruler of Bahrain. A few of them idly scanned the shoreline with binoculars; the area was peaceful now, with only ruins to signify its once-prosperous past. And then everything changed. They were not expecting to see anyone on the shore, apart from the occasional fisherman. Instead, they saw a convoy of Qatari trucks trailing dust in its wake. Soon the air was filled with their shouts and cries as they watched an appalling scene unfold. The trucks pulled up at a Naim settlement, where bedouin guards and soldiers spilled out and opened fire on the inhabitants. Some of those on the launches tried to jump into the sea and swim to the shore in order to assist their kinsmen. However, owing to the dangerous currents and the reception awaiting them, it was a futile endeavour and they were restrained. So near and yet so far, the launches made for the open sea to avoid being blown onto the beach. Over the next few days, more details filtered back to Bahrain. Although there were conflicting reports about the numbers killed, the outcome was clear: the Naim had suffered a severe defeat. While some tribesmen swore allegiance to Qatar, many others migrated with their families to Bahrain, where their black tents became a feature of the high 11

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ground near Riffa. Eventually, they found that the island’s grazing could not support their flocks and herds, and they moved on to Saudi Arabia. Bahrain retaliated against Qatar by removing its customs privileges and prohibiting its citizens from landing in Bahrain. At this point the story starts to sound strangely familiar, resonating with a more recent blockade imposed on Qatar by its neighbours. In a different time, this incident would have been dismissed as a local squabble between two minor potentates, but their fortunes were changing. The wealth from hydrocarbons – oil first, then natural gas – allowed ‘an obscure tribe on the outskirts of Arabia’ to become a major player in the world. The oil-rich Arabian Gulf, formerly regarded as an exclusively British preserve, became a vital strategic interest for the Western powers and its disputes assumed a global dimension.1 From that moment, Qatar’s upward rise seemed unstoppable. Its crowning glory came in 2010, when it won the right to host the 2022 fifa World Cup. It was a remarkable achievement, but a controversial one too. As its ruler, Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani, stepped up to receive the award, allegations of bribery and corruption were already swirling around the podium, bringing calls for Qatar to share the tournament or be stripped of it altogether. None of this surprised those who had been watching Qatar in recent years. There was a range of issues, from the controversial kafala system of sponsorship for migrant workers to claims of bias against the government’s funding of the Al Jazeera news station, where the country’s integrity had been called to account. Qatar was praised for mediating international disputes, but was increasingly identified with radical causes. A strategic ally of the United States, Qatar hosted the main usaaf (United States Army Air Forces) base in the region and yet appeared to fund terrorists. Senator John Kerry, who visited the capital, Doha, in 2009, summed it up thus: ‘Qatar can’t continue to be an American ally on Monday that sends money to Hamas on Tuesday.’2 In June 2017 Saudi Arabia, Bahrain and the United Arab Emirates (uae) decided to confront the Gulf ’s ‘problem child’. Together with Egypt, they presented a list of thirteen demands, backed up with a diplomatic and transport blockade. There were times when the blockade verged on farce – the image of cows being flown in from Iran to meet a milk shortage in Qatar will reside in the memory for a long time. Visiting Doha at the height of the blockade, one got the impression that nothing was amiss. ‘Oh yes, prices spiked when the blockage was 12

Introduction

announced, but things are back to normal now,’ I was told by one Qatari who was clearly unfazed by the whole business. But hundreds of camels died of starvation and thirst after the border with Saudi Arabia was closed and their herders were unable to get them back to their native land. Families were broken up, Qatar disappeared off maps and planes were forced to change their flight paths.3 As the standoff went on, attitudes hardened. Qatar defied its detractors by strengthening its links with the Arabs’ bête noire in the Gulf, Iran, and with Turkey – a country whose soldiers had last been seen in Doha in 1915. What was especially surprising about the dispute was that it was an open, public spat between Gulf nations which had, for generations, kept their arguments out of view. Such things were unheard of in the days when agreements were marked with a handshake and a brotherly kiss. This book tells the history of Qatar up to the end of 2019. At the time of writing, there were faint signs of a thaw in relations between Saudi Arabia and Qatar after Iranian attacks on shipping and oil installations brought a realization that the common enemy was Tehran, not Doha. But it will take a lot more to mend the bitter rift between the Gulf states, especially when the Bahraini foreign minister said that Qatar had ‘burned all its ships of return’. Perhaps brothers will be brothers again, the blockade will be lifted and a different story will be told – but that is for another day.4

At the heart of the story are the ruling families of the Gulf. Unlike the West, where monarchies are largely symbolic, these families have real power. Having led their tribes for hundreds of years, they provide stability and continuity of rule, yet they also come with their dynastic baggage intact. The Al Sabah of Kuwait, the Al Saud of Saudi Arabia, the Al Khalifa of Bahrain, the Al Thani of Qatar and the Al Nahyan of the uae have variously been friends and foes in the past, but their inter-family rivalries are not easily forgotten; and in the context of a volatile Middle East, they are potentially dangerous. The main thread here is the Al Thani, the ruling family of Qatar, whose wealth originally derived from pearls. In 1863 Muhammad Al Thani told an English visitor, William Palgrave: ‘We are all from the highest to the lowest slaves of one master, Pearl.’ He was not exaggerating – everything revolved around the pearl trade. Indeed, the mindset 13

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of the pearl trader and the skills of acquiring and using wealth for political ends have endured into modern times. Masters of the Pearl turns the quote on its head: the Al Thani are no longer slaves to the pearl, but masters of another kind of pearl, the wealth from hydrocarbons – and they intend to use this power to spread their influence far and wide.5 There are many other strands, besides. This is the story of those who lived in Qatar’s desert, villages and towns, of the seafarers who harvested its sea, of the slaves who were forcibly brought there and those who stayed on after they were freed. In the 1930s the country faced ruin when the pearl trade went into decline, then the oil wealth flowed and many thousands of foreigners came to find work in the great boom that followed. Qataris found themselves outnumbered in their own land by a ratio of four to one, and were hard-pressed to save their cultural identity as an Arab and Islamic nation in the midst of a rapidly changing way of life. I have a personal connection with Qatar. My father D. M. (‘Mike’) Morton was a geologist who was based there for several years, and I lived in the Dukhan oil camp with my family in the 1950s. I was aware from a young age that Qatar had a past stretching back into prehistory, since one of my earliest memories is finding a flint arrowhead in a wadi bed and handing it to my father, who donated it to the British Museum. More recently, when I told a friend that I was writing a history of Qatar, their first reaction was to ask about the recent controversies – ‘how are you going to deal with them?’ – as if that was the full sum of Qatar’s story, but I already knew there was far more to the answer than the question implied. This history is not a glossy construct, honed and polished to meet the exigencies of the present day; there is no political agenda here, simply an attempt to tell the story as it is. In the course of my research, I came to realize that many events of the past explain what is going on now, and it is not only for the headlines – Al Jazeera, the fifa World Cup or the recent blockade – that the history of this small, far-off land is important. It is because the themes are universal, the story compelling and the characters as intriguing as any you might find in the eternal drama of the human spirit. The old cliché still rings true: ‘All of life is here.’

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The Art of Survival ‘The past resembles the future more than one drop of water resembles another.’ – Ibn Khaldun, MUQADDIMAH (1377)

I

n June 2018 the Mekkah newspaper reported that the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia was planning to dig a canal that would separate the Qatar peninsula from the mainland, turning it into an island. Announced in the midst of a diplomatic feud between the two countries, the project envisaged a 48-kilometre (30 mi.) waterway running from Salwa in the west and Khor al-Udaid in the east, and included a tourist resort, nuclear waste dump and military base. The Saudi government made no official comment on the story, but a number of Saudis celebrated the news, with an adviser to the crown prince declaring that they were ‘changing the geography of the world’. Unsurprisingly, Qataris were outraged and comparisons were made with the great battles of the Prophet Muhammad.1 There was a quiet irony in this, however, for Qatar might well have been an island in the dim and distant past, cut off from the mainland by a great river that flowed out of the Arabian interior. It is hard to imagine that a landscape which is so dry and devoid of life was once green and teeming with it, but only 6,000 years ago this was a more temperate clime; hunters gathered around watering places, leaving behind flint arrowheads and stone tools for modern archaeologists to find. Then the climate changed and Qatar became the place we recognize today: the sea retreated and the great river disappeared. Now there are no rivers in Qatar, or in Arabia as a whole, only the dried-up river beds called wadis that swell into raging torrents when the rain pelts down. ‘Qatar is the land God forgot,’ Arabs would say, alluding to the desolate nature of the 10,400-square-kilometre (4,000 sq. mi.) peninsula, which is a largely stone and sand desert with precious few wells 15

M AS T ER S o f t he P E A R L

scattered about – mainly in the north – and hardly any trees in sight. Inland settlements were the exception, and the desert remained the preserve of nomads, the early bedouins, who migrated across their diyar, following the rains. The sea was Qatar’s saving grace, offering rich pickings of fish and pearls, and the settlers who came here created a ragged line of small camps and fishing settlements strung out along the shore.2 The sea in question is the Arabian Gulf, that body of water that surrounds Qatar on three sides. More like a lake than a sea, its outlet narrows to a width of 47 kilometres (29 mi.) at the Strait of Hormuz. The Gulf brought more than trading opportunities, however, for it is relatively shallow on the Arabian side, allowing a profusion of oyster beds that sustained a thriving pearl trade. A wealth of marine life inhabits its waters, providing a vital food source for the communities that made a living from its shores. But there is also an abundance of coastal shoals and reefs, making navigation difficult and dangerous for all but the most experienced nakhudha. The waters of the Gulf endow the coast with great humidity, which lessens as you venture inland. In the summer the northwesterly wind known as the shamal can prevail, and in the late summer and autumn

A massive sandstorm sweeps over Qatar as it heads towards the border with Saudi Arabia on 15 February 2004. This photograph was taken from the International Space Station.

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The Art of Survival

the kaus or humid sharji winds can blow from the southeast, creating sandstorms that smother the landscape. During winter and spring, the climate is cool and mild, although Qatar can also experience sudden, violent storms. Rain brings contrast and relief to the desert: the freshness of the dawn, the clarity of the sky and a feeling that life has started all over again. The power of the elements is dramatized in the folk tales of the Gulf. There is a story about the ‘She Donkey, Lady of Midday’, a halfwoman, half-donkey who goes out and eats children when the sun is high – a cautionary tale used to discourage youngsters from going out in the noonday heat. Another tale, ‘Bu Draeyah’, tells of a sea creature that lures sailors into the water’s depths and kills them. But the fears of those who lived in the pearling towns were real enough. Less than a century ago, the seafarers of Bida’a, Wakrah and Al Khor – to name but a few – set sail for the pearl beds of the Gulf, their slanting masts disappearing into the deceptive calm of an early summer morning while their loved ones were left behind to pray for their safe return. Pearling was a dangerous business, and crews would spend months away from their homes. The year 1925, when an exceptionally violent autumn storm saw as many as 5,000 lives lost at sea, was remembered as the ‘Year of Drowning’. Qatar remained an enigma to the West, even when there were extensive contacts between the Gulf and the Mediterranean world. Indeed, early European cartographers barely recognized the place. One seventeenth-century map, probably based on travellers’ tales, mentions ‘Catura’ on the Arabian coast, but there is no sign of a jutting peninsula, only a flattened coastline with a few towns dotted along it. For many years, ‘Qatar’ referred to a town on the eastern side rather than the peninsula as a whole. There were several different spellings, such as ‘Katr’, ‘Kattar’ and ‘Guttur’ until the name ‘Qatar’ stuck in the twentieth century. There is still confusion among foreigners about how to pronounce it – apparently ‘Gutter’ is the preferred version – and trying to explain the origin of the name is an interesting but ultimately futile exercise, involving abstruse discussions about rainfall, smelted copper, burnt incense, camels, red cloth and so on. As you might expect, however, modern cartographers have remedied the anomalies on the map and, when sandstorms are not obscuring the terrain, satellite photographs confirm Qatar’s proud existence. Although in recent times the peninsula has disappeared – as happened 17

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recently when a map displayed in the Louvre Museum in Abu Dhabi showed a blank space where Qatar should have been – it is impossible to miss, for it sticks like a defiant thumb into the seemingly placid waters of the Gulf. Nevertheless, it is a small country about the size of Yorkshire in England, or the state of Connecticut in the northern United States. The early people of this land made their living from pearling and fishing, and established their first connections with the outside world through maritime trade. At Ras Abrouq, pottery sherds from the Ubaid period (7500 bce–6000 bce) have been discovered, indicating a link with Mesopotamia. It is also known that a scarlet dye made from local molluscs around Al Khor Island was exported to Babylon; this was later used for the Qatari flag, its colour darkened to maroon by exposure to the sun. Other discoveries link the peninsula to the Dilmun civilization, which existed on Bahrain between about 2450 and 700 bce and was the centre of a trading network stretching from Mesopotamia to Magan (Oman). Islam arrived in 628 ce when the Prophet Muhammad sent his envoy to Munzir bin Sawa, who was the Sassanid governor of eastern Arabia. He accepted Islam, with the result that the Arab tribes also converted, although it is likely that this happened over decades rather than overnight. The Christian name for the region was ‘Beth Qatraye’, and there is evidence of a Christian presence on the peninsula that eventually died out towards the end of the seventh century ce as followers turned to Islam or emigrated elsewhere. Arab geographers used to refer to the Qatar Peninsula as part of ‘Greater Bahrain’, which encompassed eastern Saudi Arabia, Qatar and the island of Bahrain, but that term did not impart any lasting sense of government, state or administration. By the thirteenth century ‘Greater Bahrain’ had fallen into disuse, ‘Bahrain’ referred to the Bahrain archipelago and Qatar was a few coastal settlements under the leadership of local chiefs. Among the early settlements was Murwab on the northwest shore which, during the Abbasid Caliphate (750–1258 ce), had 250 houses, a fort and two mosques; the fort is the oldest known in Qatar. In the thirteenth century, the peninsula was renowned for its horses and camels, and – hence one theory about the origin of its name – the production of red woollen cloaks, which were exported abroad. The arrival of the Portuguese in the Gulf and their conquest of Bahrain in 1521 marked the start of a lengthy power struggle in the 18

The Art of Survival

region that continued into the nineteenth century. The Qatari tribes were often divided and prone to outside influences, and their towns and villages vulnerable to attack. The peninsula was used as a base for the so-called ‘pirates’ who operated from its shallow creeks and waters, its towns were periodically bombarded by British gunboats, assaulted by Persian, Bahraini and Omani navies, and occupied by the armies of Nejd. The historical documents can only tell us so much: there are possible mentions of Zubarah, Bida’a, Fuwairat and Al Khor in the 1681 records of the Carmelite Convent, and Furayha is mentioned in an Ottoman document of 1701. But, as the archaeological sites have been painstakingly excavated, a more dramatic picture emerges, for it is now apparent that the coastal settlements were repeatedly occupied and abandoned over the years, a cycle that was determined by the boom and bust years of the pearl trade, the vicissitudes of tribal conflict and foreign intervention. All in all, it seems that Qatar was quite an eventful place to be.3

Our story really begins in Nejd, in the heart of Arabia. The name denotes high land or a plateau and describes a desert running between Hail in the north and the Rub al-Khali in the south. It was an unpromising place for trade, since it was largely deserted and far from the coastal trading routes of the Gulf and Red Sea. However, it did have a large number of oases, which acted as a magnet for human settlement; from one of these places the ruling Al Thani family of Qatar derived. Their forebears belonged to the Ma’adhid, part of the Bani Tamim tribal confederation which made a living by growing dates and cereals in the string of oases around Washm, an area about 130 kilometres (80 mi.) to the northwest of Riyadh. From here a market system and trading networks developed, in which the Bani Tamim played a prominent role. The seven settlements of Washm kept to their pastoral occupations, were relatively self-contained and showed no immediate enthusiasm for the Islamic radicalism that swept across Arabia from the mid-eighteenth century.4 The Ma’adhid lived in one of the larger settlements, Ushayqir. Renowned as a centre of learning, Ushayqir was on the western side of Washm and vulnerable to attacks from the sharifs of Mecca, as well as being disrupted by local rivalries. It seems that, for whatever reason – drought, famine or conflict – the Ma’adhid decided to leave Ushayqir 19

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around 1700 ce and settle in the Yabrin Oasis, about 320 kilometres (200 mi.) to the southwest of modern-day Doha. And so they left Washm before the rise of Wahhabism, a radical Islamic movement which sprang up in Arabia during the 1740s. The Wahhabis are often described as a military force in their own right, but in fact they were the religious wing of an army led by Muhammad bin Saud, the sheikh of Dariyah, a small town in Nejd and seat of the Al Saud dynasty. The Wahhabi movement was named after its founder, Muhammad ibn Abd al-Wahhab, himself a member of the Bani Tamim. He was a Hanbali preacher who preached a religious doctrine of going back to the basics, stripping religion of all its baubles and demanding that nothing should come between man and God. The combination of military prowess and religious fervour made the Al Saud–Wahhabi alliance a formidable one, and it was with a certain dread that their enemies spoke of the ‘Wahhabi’ amir. ‘I am the book, you are the sword’ is a saying that sums up Muhammad ibn Abd al-Wahhab’s pact with the Al Saud when they joined forces in 1744, which was reinforced by the Al Saud leader being an imam of the Muslim community. From Dariyah, Wahhabi forces made conquests and tribal alliances across Arabia, extending their domain from shore to shore to establish what historians have called the First Saudi State. Their use of violence was based on the Islamic concept of jihad: that those who did not devote themselves exclusively to God were idolaters and therefore should die, but only if they had received his message, understood and then rejected it.5 In practice, how did this work? We might picture a single envoy riding out of the desert with a letter to a sheikh demanding that his tribe submit. If the tribe conceded, they would pay zakat, a religious tax that was collected at regular intervals by Wahhabi tax collectors. If a tribe resisted, a ferocious and ruthless attack would follow, and the custom of jihad, or holy war, might be invoked. But that was one of several possible scenarios, for there were many ways in which contact might be made, whether through visiting scholars, returning traders or a ragged army rising out of the dust.6 A tribal sheikh had a number of strategies he could use to avoid outright warfare. For example, he might negotiate an agreement under the aegis of a neutral sheikh acting as mediator, or he might assess his own military position and, if it was weak, pay zakat to stave off the threat, or his merchants might press him to settle matters in the interests 20

The Art of Survival

A restored mud-brick dwelling at Ushayqir in the Nejd region of Saudi Arabia, where Qatar’s ruling family originated.

of trade. Alliances were important, and the practice of dakhala – seeking the protection of a more powerful sheikh – was the most effective device of all. However, although such tactics were tried and tested in a trad­ itional setting where both sides recognized their worth, they were not always successful against the Wahhabi threat.7 And so reactions to the Wahhabi advance were mixed: in Washm, for example, settlements such as Tharmada and Ushayqir resisted, others like Qara’in were equivocal, while Shaqra joined the Wahhabi cause. Those in opposition suffered economic attrition and sporadic military interventions until the whole of Washm had capitulated by the end of 1767. The process happened over a long period, a matter of decades rather than a single campaign, since this was no sudden conversion. By then the Ma’adhid and the Al Thani forebears were long since gone, and had moved on from the Yabrin Oasis to settle at Ruwais and Zubarah on the northern coast of the Qatar peninsula.

In these years, we see the leading dynasties of the region starting to emerge: the Al Saud of Nejd, the Al Sabah of Kuwait and the Al Khalifa of Bahrain – the Al Thani of Qatar were relative latecomers to the feast. 21

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The ancestors of the Al Khalifa family came from the Al Aflaj region, 320 kilometres (200 mi.) southwest of Riyadh in central Arabia. In the late seventeenth century, like many other tribal communities, they decided to leave their home and seek their fortune elsewhere. They settled in Al Hasa and Qatar before moving to Kuwait. At some point they became part of a tribal confederation, the Utbah, or Utub, which means ‘those who are not in agreement’. The Utub were already a significant naval power in the Gulf, having some 150 ships armed with light guns.8 At this stage, the clan was led by Khalifa, who would go down in the family history as Al Kabir (‘The Great’) and give his name to the dynasty that followed. Once in Kuwait, the three leading clans of the town reached an accommodation: the Al Sabah would rule, the Al Khalifa would focus on mercantile affairs and the pearl trade, and the Al Jalahimah would stick to seafaring. Kuwait, known as Al Qurain (called ‘Grain’ by Europeans), was a busy trading port, and the bonds between the Al Sabah and the Al Khalifa strengthened as the Utub as a whole prospered. According to a contemporary Dutch report, by 1756 the Utub had three hundred ships, most of which were small and used for pearl fishing: ‘they excelled in diving,’ it was noted.9 However, despite marriage ties between the two clans, relations between the Al Khalifa and Al Sabah cooled. The reason is not entirely clear, but the growing success of Kuwait as a trading centre was probably part of it. With the Al Khalifa controlling the mercantile affairs of the port, and prospering as a result, there was scope for resentment among the other families. In the Dutch report, the head of the family at that time, Sheikh Muhammad bin Khalifa al-Kabir, appears to have been wealthier and have had more ships than the Al Sabah chief. These were restless years. Kuwait was insecure, being threatened from the north on account of its strategic position at the head of the Gulf, and from the Bani Kaab tribe on the Persian side. The pearl trade in Kuwait was not the most lucrative in the Gulf and more attractive areas beckoned. For these reasons, Muhammad bin Khalifa left Kuwait to join fellow pearl merchant Ahmed bin Rizq at Zubarah, which brought the Khalifa and Jalahimah clans to settle there too. Again, there is some argument about these facts: one Khalifa historian maintains that they arrived in 1762 and built up the settlement there, while the British historian John Gordon Lorimer gives the date as 1766. The archaeologist Geoffrey Bibby suggested the discovery of blue-and-white Chinese sherds indicated a sixteenth-century town. 22

The Art of Survival

Thus Zubarah may have been a trading town before the Al Khalifa arrived; why else should they and others have moved there? Certainly, that and the other north coast settlements were well placed for access to the pearl banks. However, according to Lorimer, the settlement of Huwailah in the northeast was more significant. It was inhabited by the Musallam of the Bani Khalid tribal confederation and was the largest place on the coast – with its deep harbour and fort, the port had probably been an important centre of pearling and maritime trade for decades.10 Having arrived at Zubarah, the Al Khalifa immersed themselves in the trading and pearling activities of the district. According to one source, Sheikh Muhammad bin Khalifa funded the construction of several mosques, schools and hostels for visiting merchants who wished to trade there. He also built a fort, which was named Sabha (also known as Murair) after a fort in their ancestral homeland. A canal, or possibly a creek, connected the fort to the sea which allowed boats to bring provisions to the garrison. A group of tribes and clans inhabited the town, and their chiefs looked to the wealthy Al Khalifa for leadership.11 However, it appears that Sheikh Muhammad was reluctant to take on the mantle at first. No doubt he could see that the Musallam at Huwailah and the Bani Khalid at large would view him as a threat, and

The archaeological site at Zubarah.

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take action against him. But Muhammad was well schooled in the arts of survival. He eventually agreed to become the chief of Zubarah and strengthened his ties with the local tribes through marriage. He also agreed to pay zakat to appease the Musallam and, when he stopped paying, the hostilities began. From the Khalifa oral tradition, we learn that around 1766 the conflict culminated in victory for Sheikh Muhammad at Sumaisma, north of today’s Doha. He then declared himself ruler of the area and exacted the allegiance of the local tribes; and Zubarah’s victory over Huwailah was complete. In 1767 famine in Nejd brought a fresh influx of refugees, as did plague and wars in subsequent years. One event that infused Zubarah with new life was the arrival of Basri refugees. This happened after the Persian siege of Basra, which ended in defeat for its citizens in April 1776; the Persian occupation of the city lasted for three years. A number of merchants and Kuwaiti refugees came to live at Zubarah; and since Basra had been an important centre of trade, their exodus brought a realignment of commercial networks, with the pearl and general trade of eastern Arabia with India now focused on Zubarah. ‘Basra’s demise is Zubarah’s splendour,’ went the saying.12

As the Basri merchants knew, there was a certain allure to Zubarah that made it one of the leading ports of the Gulf and a melting pot of people, trade and foreign influences. But that was no consolation for those living in the shadow of Zubarah’s success. As the town’s trading links grew and prospered, so it became involved in the regional struggles for control over the trading routes of the Gulf; prosperity brought trouble. Among those casting envious glances towards Zubarah was the sheikh of Bushire and Bahrain, Nasr al-Mathkoor. The Matreesh tribe, from which Sheikh Nasr was descended, originated from Oman and had settled in Bushire in 1646. Nasr was a Persian vassal, which effectively put Bahrain under the control of the Persian shah, Karim Khan. From 1777, under orders from the shah, Nasr made the first of several attempts to capture Zubarah, but without success. In late 1782 Sheikh Khalifa – who had succeeded as head of the Khalifa clan on the death of his father, Muhammad, four years earlier – went on a pilgrimage to Mecca, leaving his brother Ahmad in charge. According to local historians, Ahmad sent his servant Salim to buy some goods from the island of Sitrah off the coast of Bahrain, but local 24

The Art of Survival

Shia Muslims quarrelled with his party, and Salim was attacked and killed; his companions were injured and forced to flee. In revenge, the Utub raided Bahrain and inflicted much damage to the town of Manama. Among their prizes was a Persian vessel, which had come to the island to collect the annual tribute. The attack prompted the first mention of Qatar in British records – in October the East India Company’s Resident at Bushire reported that ‘Arabs from Zubarah on the Arabian shore made a descent on the island of Bahrain’, resulting in a battle and the loss of ‘several lives on both sides’.13 Sheikh Nasr was determined to strike back. He sought help from his Persian overlords, but they were too distracted by a civil war that had been raging since the death of Karim Khan four years earlier. In the event, Nasr sent his nephew Muhammad al-Mathkoor with a force of 2,000 men against Zubarah. In November the Persian fleet blockaded the port, and negotiations took place between the opposing sides with the retired Qasimi sheikh of Ras al-Khaimah acting as mediator – it was a common practice for neutral sheikhs to mediate in this way – but the Utub refused to give way, apart from agreeing to return the plunder from their raid on Bahrain. The stage was set for another battle. With Sheikh Ahmad’s men holding the high ground, and the bulk of his army outside the walls of the town, the Utub were ready to meet Muhammad al-Mathkoor’s challenge. According to some accounts, Ahmad ordered his women and children to be held in a warehouse primed with gunpowder and oil so that, in the event of defeat, they would be set alight rather than fall into enemy hands. In the brutal fight that followed, the Persians were unable to break down Ahmad’s defences. At a critical moment, men of the Al bin Ali tribe attacked the Persian rear, causing Muhammad al-Mathkoor’s men to flee in panic. Unable to reach their ships, they were killed on the shore. Muhammad and a number of his leading followers were among those who perished that day.14 From his fort in Manama, Nasr al-Mathkoor must have looked on events with rising dismay. Reeling from defeat in battle, racked by conflicts between Shias and Sunnis – and within the Shia community – thwarted by ongoing upheavals in Persia, his power base was slipping away. He travelled to Shiraz to seek the Persian governor’s assistance, leaving Bahrain in the hands of his deputy. Meanwhile Sheikh Ahmad bided his time, acting only when a group of Shias from the south of the island urged him to intervene. He assembled an invasion fleet from 25

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Zubarah and landed his army at Sitrah to find the Mathkoor forces without Persian reinforcements. By the end of May 1783, after a battle and two sieges, the Mathkoor were defeated and the island passed into Utub hands. The Al Khalifa now ruled Bahrain, and Ahmad became the first of his line to govern, his brother Khalifa having died while on pilgrimage to Mecca. For his heroics, Ahmad earned the title of Al Fatih, ‘The Conqueror’. Zubarah’s rise to prosperity was brief, and storm clouds were soon gathering again. The power of the Bani Khalid in Al Hasa was broken in 1795 when they were defeated by the Wahhabi armies of Nejd. Led by Ibrahim bin Ufaysan and assisted by the Naim tribe, the Wahhabis besieged and took control of Zubarah, forcing its inhabitants to flee to Bahrain. In 1800 the island was invaded by the forces of the sultan of Muscat and the Al Khalifa fled; it took the might of the Wahhabi and Qatari tribes to restore them. By now, the Wahhabis controlled the whole of the eastern seaboard, but their victory was short-lived. In 1811 the Al Saud amir, Saud bin Abdul Aziz, was forced to withdraw his garrison from Zubarah in order to face the Egyptian commander, Ibrahim Pasha, who was threatening Jeddah and Mecca in the west. The fleet of Sultan Said of Oman, a long-standing adversary of the Wahhabis, appeared off the Qatar shore and bombarded Khor Hassan (modern Khuwair) and Zubarah, which was largely destroyed in the ensuing firestorm. The inhabitants fled again, many leaving for good. In 1820 the British brig Psyche visited Zubarah. This was one of three ships surveying the shoals and inlets of the Gulf, looking for ‘pirate nests’ – the British were keen to track down pirates because of the threat they posed to their shipping. On board was George Barnes Brucks, an assistant to the captain, who would later take command of the survey. Although not a surveyor, Brucks was a sailor of the old school and carried out his duties with great diligence and fortitude in the enervating humidity of the coastal waters. During their meanderings, the crew navigated their way around the Qatar peninsula. Zubarah was, according to Brucks, ‘a large town, now in ruins. It is situated in a bay, and has been, before it was destroyed, a place of considerable trade.’15 The glory was no more.

26

The Art of Survival

What was Zubarah like in its heyday? In the hurly-burly of history, with its battles and dramas, it is easy to forget that humdrum daily life continued in the meantime. Although we do not have a contemporary account, modern-day archaeological excavation has given us a snapshot of the ages in the different layers of the town. First there was a small settlement of tents and huts, probably inhabited by fishermen and their families. Then a larger town, laid out in a grid pattern in the 1760s and ’80s, with houses of varying size and design built around courtyards. These were made of ‘roughly hewn beach rock’, which might have given the town its name. A better quality stone was used for the more elaborate dwellings, and sealed and protected by a lime-based plaster. The decorations were simple – on the wall plaster of one house, for example, is the etching of a dhow, a reminder of how important maritime trade was to the town. Its wealth was reflected in its emergence as a centre of scholarship as merchants brought religious and educational texts from faraway places such Aleppo, Baghdad and Basra for local scholars to use.16 All this is of passing interest now, for this was a place of changing fortunes, described by one archaeologist as ‘a Gulf version of the 19th-century gold rush towns in the United States – a place of rapid

The fort at Zubarah, built as a police post in 1938, is now an archaeological museum.

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change and fast money’. Evidence of post and stake holes, ovens and fire pits by the shore suggests that, at its height, the town’s population was swelled by the influx of transient workers – perhaps visiting pearl divers who came to join the permanent fleets during the annual ‘white gold’ harvest, the pearling season from May through to September. Although pearls were an important part of the local economy, there is also evidence of other activities, small industries and artisans, and open-air enclosures that were probably used for keeping livestock. What emerges is the picture of a bustling town with a wide range of trades and a strong entrepreneurial spirit.17 Actually, Zubarah was already in decline by the time the Omani ships arrived in 1811. That is a conclusion of modern archaeology, based on excavations of the town. A number of principal buildings had been stripped and abandoned before the attack. It is likely that some people returned afterwards and rebuilt part of the town, and there are signs that an inner wall was constructed on the remains of earlier collapsed buildings. The new settlement shrank to about one-fifth of its earlier size. The commercial area was also scaled back, with new buildings put up in a makeshift manner. The Omani bombardment was the death knell for a declining settlement, and a plague in northern Qatar eight years later saw another exodus from the area to places such as Bahrain, Doha and Wakra. The history of Qatar made a false start with Zubarah. Although there was life after the destruction, the town never regained its past glory. If things had turned out differently, perhaps Zubarah rather than Doha would have been the modern capital of Qatar, but instead it was a doomed city that left a bitter legacy for generations to come.

28

2

A Debatable Land ‘It has, perhaps, been a debatable land, between Oman on one side and the Wahabee power on the other.’ – Acting Political Resident, 4 September 1873.

A

long the coast from Zubarah is the village of Jemail. It lies deserted  now, a draughty witness to a bygone age. The crumbling walls of seashell and mud, picked and pockmarked by wind-blown sand, reveal its outline, but it is no longer a place for the living. There are no roofs, and the door lintels are broken or smashed. On the pillars and walls of the ruined mosque, messages have been scrawled, ‘Nasr was here’ or – more humorously – ‘Don’t enter after dark.’ There is a fallen beauty about the place, a presence without a soul: the curved arches remain, and the bullet-shaped dome of its minaret still stands proud. The village faces the sea, a sign of a past life of fishing and pearls, and the beach seems to stretch for thousands of metres, meeting a strip of the blue Gulf in the far beyond. Villages such as Jemail have the story of Rahma bin Jabir al-Jalahimah etched into their walls. Rahma was, depending on which account you read, either a dashing freebooter or petty tyrant. In his heyday, he was known as the ‘Old Fox’. He hailed from a coastal village to the north of Zubarah named Khor Hassan. A man of simple tastes, he was never one to vaunt his fame. He dressed in simple clothes that would have made him indistinguishable from the crowd had it not been for his fearsome looks. The chatter of bedouins and seafarers spread his name far and wide, though for many he was a terrifying figure. It was this mixture of admiration and fear that reverberated around the seaports of the Gulf. The people of Bushire courted and cherished him, but also dreaded him. Rahma was born in Kuwait around 1760. He belonged to the Al Jalahimah clan and a few years later moved with them to Qatar. In 1782 they took part in the invasion of Bahrain, which saw the Al Khalifa 29

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emerge as rulers of the island, but left the Al Jalahimah lacking in spoils. They challenged the Al Khalifa at Zubarah with the result that their base at Khor Hassan was attacked and their leader, Rahma’s father, was killed. That event sparked Rahma’s lifelong quest for vengeance against the rulers of Bahrain. Having prevailed against his brother, Abdullah, for leadership of the clan, Rahma was free to pursue his own dark obsession. His village, Khor Hassan, was dilapidated, with a coral-stone fort overlooking a shallow anchorage. A channel running between two reefs enabled smaller ships to access the village; Dauhat al-Husain along the coast also became a bolt-hole. By dint of his reputation, others were attracted to his cause, those who had scores to settle with the Al Khalifa, or those who simply yearned for a life of piracy. His custom was to sail with five or six ships of the larger baghla type with crews of between two hundred to three hundred men on board each vessel. Avoiding British ships, he would attack and capture other vessels that caught his eye, whether they were from Kuwait, Basra, Bahrain, Muscat and even Bushire. At the height of his fame, Rahma’s followers numbered around 2,000 men, mostly slaves from Africa and all living off the proceeds of his plunder. He was a harsh leader – on one occasion, he put mutineers into a tank normally used for drinking water. The hatch being shut at the top, the men were suffocated and then thrown overboard. There are many stories about Rahma. Over the next decades he can be seen at various times, twisting and turning in the winds of intrigue and fortune. In his desire to form alliances against the Al Khalifa, Rahma generated much of the turbulence that swept through these years. The bloodshed was unremitting: according to local legend, after one naval battle the people of Bahrain and the northern peninsula found so many body parts in their catches that they stopped eating fish for several weeks. Despite having lost his hand and eye in that engagement, Rahma escaped in a small boat, or possibly clung to a piece of wreckage, and reached the shore of Qatar. When Rahma began his exploits, the Dutch era in the Gulf had ended and the French had lost their main foothold in India. Through the East India Company, the British were emerging as a major player in the Gulf. In 1763 the company gained a foothold in Bushire with an exclusive monopoly to import woollen goods into Persia, and established a Residency there. It was not only for trade that the British came to focus on the Gulf, since the region was an important piece of the 30

A Debatable Land

strategic jigsaw between Great Britain and India; and so protecting their own ships from pirates became a priority, and the role of their chief representative, the Resident, acquired a wider remit. In British eyes, tribal warfare on land was fine, but warfare at sea was not – that was ‘piracy’. However, despite Rahma’s repeated attacks on shipping, they did not intervene. Lorimer even described his campaigns as ‘lawful warfare’. What he really meant was that Rahma was tolerated as long as he did not threaten British-flagged shipping, and that was certainly true for most of his career. One reason for their restraint was that they did not wish to offend the Wahhabis, who were Rahma’s allies for a time; another reason was that the peninsular coast was too treacherous to allow their larger ships to approach Rahma’s bolt-holes for a bombardment. When Rahma did attack a Britishflagged ship once, he was quick to make sure that its cargo of horses were returned to its owners.1 Otherwise, Rahma carried on his piratical ways. In 1809 he killed Sheikh Duaij bin Abdullah, the second son of the sheikh of Kuwait, earning the deep enmity of the Al Sabah family, but his main fixation was always with the Al Khalifa. Two years later, around the time of the Omani attack on Zubarah, he left Qatar and moved to Dammam on the eastern coast of Arabia to carry on his campaign against Bahrain, attacking their merchant ships and pearling fleets. The Omanis planned to install Rahma as the ruler of Bahrain once the Al Khalifa had been defeated, but that did not happen and, in taking sides with the Omani sultan, Rahma infuriated the Wahhabi amir. In July 1816 the Wahhabis blew up Rahma’s fort at Dammam and threatened to seize his family from Khor Hassan. In the nick of time, Rahma rescued them by sea and then returned to his old haunt of Bushire, taking around five hundred dependants with him.2 By the time the English traveller James Silk Buckingham came across him, Rahma’s body was testament to his violent life. His battlescarred face was fierce and repulsive. He had only one eye and a boneless arm which he could still use to wield a dagger. His body so defied medical science that, when visiting Bushire, a group of English surgeons asked to examine him. Arriving with his entourage at breakfast time, he sat at a table and took tea. When asked if he could still dispatch an enemy with his boneless right arm, he drew a crooked dagger and, with the support of his left arm, twirled it about while announcing his intention of using it to cut as many throats as he could. The surgeons were 31

Al Jemail, like many coastal settlements along the coast of northern Qatar, was abandoned and reoccupied at several times in the past.

much amused and when Buckingham tried to express his disgust at the whole performance, they descended into howls of derision. In 1817 Rahma tried to persuade Sultan Said of Oman to renew his attack on Bahrain, but the latter had too many domestic troubles to assist. So Rahma returned to piracy, targeting his former allies the Qawasim of Ras al-Khaimah by attacking twelve of their boats, destroying eight and taking the remainder back to Bushire. A year later he was back at his fort at Dammam, taking advantage of a Wahhabi collapse in the face of an Egyptian onslaught. When the Persians organized an expedition against Bahrain, Rahma was keen to take part, but his ship ran aground on the Persian coast. The British pressed the sheikh of Bushire to act as guarantor of Rahma’s future conduct. Although the sheikh agreed, Rahma was not minded to play that game, and soon resumed his old ways. Rahma the pirate, his gnarled face bearing the cuts of a thousand knives and his tangled locks glistening in the moonlight, cursing the Al Khalifa at every turn; no doubt his fearsome visage – real or imagined – was enough to make his enemies quake. In 1820 the Al Khalifa 32

A Debatable Land

decided to buy off their bogeyman. In other circumstances, that might have worked, but Rahma was a restless soul. In the pearl-fishing season of 1821, he attacked a fleet of Utub ships, capturing seven of them and killing twenty men. This caused the Utub to ask the British to intervene. An approach was made through the Persian government to hold Rahma to account, but by then he had left Bushire and was again seeking the protection of the sultan of Muscat.3 In 1822 Rahma and the Al Khalifa submitted their differences to the Resident in Bushire, Colonel Ephraim Stannus, in the hope they might be reconciled. However, when peace was finally agreed, Rahma returned to Dammam and blockaded Qatif, intending to force its people into paying him tribute. The British stationed two cruisers off Dammam, but eventually withdrew them without taking direct action. That cleared the way for a fresh round of hostilities between Rahma and the Al Khalifa, who had quarrelled again. After Rahma appealed without success to the Resident, the Bahraini ruler Abdullah bin Ahmad sent his nephew to attack Rahma’s fleet, while his allies the Bani Khalid advanced on Rahma’s base at Dammam. Rahma’s final scene resembles the climax of a modern-day Hollywood blockbuster. Having taken his fleet to the enemy, his ship Ghatroosha was grappled to the Bahraini flagship and, standing on the deck of his own ship with his eight-year-old son in his arms, Rahma lit a torch from the burning coals of his kudu, went below and set light to the gunpowder kegs of the ship’s magazine. There was a terrible explosion: In a few seconds the sea was covered with the scattered timbers of the exploded vessel, and the miserable remains of Rahma bin Jabir and his devoted followers. The explosion set fire to the enemy’s buggalow, which soon afterwards blew up, but not before her commander and crew had been rescued from their impending fate by the other boats of the fleet. Thus ended Rahma bin Jabir, for so many years the scourge and terror of this part of the world.4 Rahma’s son Bishr, who had commanded his father’s land forces, surrendered the fort at Dammam, and was pardoned. It was a generous act on behalf of the Bahraini ruler, Sheikh Abdullah bin Ahmad, and one that he would later rue, for Bishr would carry on his father’s campaign against the Al Khalifa for many years to come. 33

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The island of Bahrain, bedecked with palm trees and blessed with freshwater springs, was the seat of the Khalifa family. This was once the site of the legendary paradise of Dilmun, known in mythology as the land ‘where the sun rises’. But, despite their idyllic surroundings, the Khalifa were a troubled family. They had, it will be recalled, de­­ camped to Bahrain from Zubarah in 1782, but they never abandoned their self-proclaimed right to rule over the Qatar peninsula.5 The rule of Sheikh Abdullah bin Ahmad Al Khalifa (r. 1795–1843) has all the elements of a Shakespearian tragedy – he inherited a kingdom, contended with rapacious sons, battled warring relations and eventually lost everything. He ruled Qatar and Bahrain for almost fifty years – jointly with his brother Salman, then with his nephew Khalifa and finally alone, until he was deposed by his great-nephew, Muhammad bin Khalifa. The main problem (as with other ruling families in the Gulf ) was factions competing for a greater share of the wealth from the pearl trade, which led to resentment, dissent and even warfare within the family; and, as the wealth grew, so did the squabbles. It was surely enough to make King Lear spin in his grave. Sheikh Abdullah’s flaw was similar to the tragic king’s: he indulged his children to the detriment of his sheikhdom. Despite his sons’ repeated defiance, he could never bring himself to silence them. Familial disputes often disrupted his reign, and left Bahrain vulnerable to external threats, while his hold over Qatar was tenuous at the best of times. Although Abdullah occasionally lived there, the local tribes were volatile and unruly and, as Lorimer remarked, ‘his writ cannot be said to have run freely.’6 When circumstances required, Abdullah could be ruthless. The Al bu Ainain clan were probably the founders of Doha, having built a fort there under their sheikh, Buhur bin Jubran, and were the most powerful tribe in the area, but in 1828 his successor, Muhammad bin Khamis, killed a Bahraini, bringing retribution. Abdullah destroyed their fort and resettled the tribe in Fuwairat, Ruwais and Zubarah. Yet he appears to have achieved very little. Qatar remained a hotbed of intrigue and dissent (this was hardly a conquest), and reflected the symbiotic nature of tribal relations, for whenever troubles erupted in Bahrain, there were reverberations across the water. As happened in 1835 after three of Abdullah’s sons fell out with him over a young lady who was betrothed to their cousin, Muhammad bin 34

A Debatable Land

Khalifa. Local historian Nasser al-Khairi tells us that the sons left on a hunting trip to the south of the island, but were accused of plotting against Abdullah and fled Bahrain.7 In Qatar they found refuge with their maternal uncle, Sheikh Isa bin Tarif, who was headman of the Al bin Ali tribe in Huwailah on the northeast coast. Today, the ruins of Huwailah have been buried beneath modern buildings, its fort no longer visible and its only remains being a few scatterings of pottery on the surface, but in those days it was important as a main settlement of the Al bin Ali tribe. Initially, the arrival of his nephews put Sheikh Isa in a quandary. First, he tried to mediate between father and sons but then, perhaps seeing in their troubles a chance to claim Bahrain for himself, he decided to invade the island and overthrow Sheikh Abdullah. Other tribes such as the Al bu Ainain joined his cause, and the Wahhabi amir, Feisal bin Turki, sent several hundred men to support him. Forces were assembled and ships commandeered as the rebel force prepared to make the short crossing to Bahrain. Alerted to Sheikh Isa’s plans, Abdullah appointed Muhammad bin Khalifa to command an army to quash the rebellion. Taking his brother Ali with him, Muhammad landed at Wakrah and advanced on Huwailah while Ali took the sea route. Once there, Muhammad found Sheikh Isa’s forces ranged against him; there was a fierce battle and Ali’s ships bombarded the town. Sheikh Isa was defeated and surrendered, agreeing to go into exile with four hundred of his followers. They first went to Abu Dhabi before settling on Qais Island in the Gulf. Meanwhile Abdullah’s renegade sons were duly reconciled with their father, but they would soon return to their feckless ways. By now Abdullah preferred the sea breezes of Khor Hassan to his fort on Muharraq Island. In fact, the ageing sheikh seemed to lose interest in Bahraini affairs, leaving his people to the mercy of his unruly sons. Muhammad, on the other hand, was the rising star of the family, energetic and ambitious, and victorious on the battlefield. He already had a claim to succeed through his grandfather Salman, but his greatuncle Abdullah stood in his way. When Abdullah declined to rein in his sons, Muhammad declared war against him. The two men met in battle at a place called Al Nasfah on Bahrain Island; Abdullah and his sons were defeated and went into exile to Dammam, which was about the only place where his authority still held firm, but their story was by no means over. 35

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Located near Huwailah, Jebel Jassasiya is renowned for its rock carvings which depict, among other things, pearling boats with oars and sails. One theory is that they were carved by sailors to pass the time while waiting for the pearling fleet to arrive.

Succession, war and deposition – that was the cycle of those turbulent years. Muhammad might have ended the Khalifa tradition of joint rule and reigned supreme, but he was not without rivals, in particular Ali, who now double-crossed his brother and plotted to bring back Abdullah. The old sheikh needed no encouragement. He headed back to Bahrain with a band of bedouin brigands, pillaged Manama, alienated the local population and regained the throne. Muhammad fled to Riyadh, but Ali was soon regretting his decision to back his great-uncle. Ignored and sidelined, he re-established contact with Muhammad and together they planned to remove Abdullah for good. ‘My brother and I against our great-uncle’ was a variation of an old Arab proverb, but its meaning was clear.8 In early 1843 Muhammad and Ali joined forces and began their campaign, finding allies in Qatar that included Bishr, the son of the late Rahma bin Jabir, who clearly felt no qualms about an alliance with his former enemies. Muhammad landed at Zubarah, captured the Murair fort and prepared to invade Bahrain – it was said that he had so many men at his disposal that there were not enough boats to transport them; in the end they were ferried to Bahrain in two batches. Muhammad’s and Ali’s forces combined before proceeding to Al Hunaynia, where they engaged and defeated Abdullah’s men. 36

A Debatable Land

Muhammad then took the capital of Manama, advanced on Abdullah’s fort on Muharraq and defeated him decisively at the Battle of Al Saya. Beaten again yet still unbowed, Abdullah returned in exile to Dammam in April and was soon back in action. Anxious to take advantage of the start of the pearling season, he set about harassing Bahraini boats, thus hitting Sheikh Muhammad in his pocket. But in 1844 Abdullah lost Dammam to a combined Wahhabi-Bahraini force and was forced to find sanctuary in Kuwait, then Persia, and back in Kuwait, though these meanderings did not put an end to his mischief. He was forever searching for new openings and fresh alliances, and it was fitting that, when he died five years later, he was visiting Muscat in an attempt to win over Sayyid Said to his cause. In the meantime, others had taken up his fight. Sheikh Isa bin Tarif had been allowed to return with his people to Bida’a, displacing members of the near-bankrupt Sudan tribe who went to live in Lingah on the Persian coast. Sheikh Isa lived quietly at first, but then changed sides, turning against Sheikh Muhammad and allying himself with Abdullah’s son, Mubarak. In 1847 their forces engaged Muhammad’s at Umm Suwayya. The ensuing battle, which is commonly known as the Battle of Fuwairat, lasted half a day. Sheikh Isa and eighty of his followers were killed: ‘The hopes of the ex-sheikh perished with him,’ wrote Lorimer. Muhammad took possession of Bida’a and appointed his nephew Ahmad as governor. He then removed Isa bin Tarif ’s children, the remnants of the Al bin Ali and their supporters from the town.9 And so turns another page in our history. The Battle of Fuwairat affirmed Muhammad bin Khalifa’s domination of the Qatar peninsula, and the Al Khalifa’s position in Qatar was, for the time being, assured. However, dynastic events could set traps and, as it transpired, Abdullah’s grandson, Nasr bin Mubarak, would later emerge as a contender for the Bahraini throne. Meanwhile, local sheikhs retained a degree of autonomy over their own affairs and, with Bida’a and Doha cleared of the Al bin Ali, there was a power vacuum for others to fill. A traditional fishing village in the Gulf, boats drawn up on the beach, fishing nets strung out on wooden frames and palm-frond huts gathered along the shore – that was Doha and its neighbouring settlement of Bida’a in their early days. Doha’s name is believed to derive from the Arabic ad-Dawha, referring to the long, curving bay along which it stands. A stone’s throw to the north, Bida’a’s name was probably taken from a bedouin word denoting a ‘new’ settlement. Bida’a was in 37

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fact larger and older than Doha; however, the two settlements were so close together that the British often confused them, describing both as Bida’a. In 1801 the Sudan tribe settled in Bida’a from Hormuz, but the British representative in Muscat, David Seton, deemed them pirates and sent the Duncan to attack the town, albeit without success – the waters were too shallow for the vessel to get within range, and the ship withdrew. By 1820 two forts protected Bida’a, which was now described as ‘once a considerable town’. It had a core population of 250 men, which swelled to more than 1,000 when the pearl divers and sailors arrived for the season. But it retained its reputation for piracy and British firepower revisited the town a year later. It was a dramatic intervention – an East India Company brig, hc Vestal, destroyed many houses and caused more than three hundred people to flee to various islands in the Gulf, although they soon returned to the town.10 During the 1820s survey, George Brucks saw a settlement of four hundred people, mainly members of the Naim, Dawasir and Al bu Kuwara tribes, with the Manasir and other wandering tribes also visiting. The leading sheikh of Doha was Buhur bin Jubran of the Al bu Ainain clan, probably the most influential figure in the locality. The Political Resident, Captain John MacLeod, visited in 1823, but was not impressed. A number of trading vessels at anchor in the bay were not displaying flags prescribed by the General Maritime Treaty, the antipiracy agreement signed three years before. Since Doha was under Bahrain, whose sheikh had signed the treaty, MacLeod took the view that the boats were in breach of it; however, he decided not to press the matter there and then – Brucks’s survey was taking place at the time, and the British needed to keep on good terms with the sheikh – so he took it up with the ruler of Bahrain at a later date. Five years later and the Al bu Ainain were gone from Doha and it was the turn of the Sudan tribe of Bida’a to be damned by their association with piracy. In 1841 the British received intelligence that the notorious pirate Jassim bin Jabir (known as Raqraqi), was hiding in Qatar. On this occasion, the British bombarded Bida’a and required their sheikh to pay a fine, which was settled in cash and jewels, but left the tribe on the verge of financial ruin. By 1850 Bida’a still had its fort and Doha retained a round tower, which was probably the last relic of the Al bu Ainain fort that had once stood there. Since then, evidence of those two forts has disappeared, 38

A Debatable Land

but the site of a third structure remains. Built between the two towns, the Musallam Fort was part of an Al Khalifa drive to strengthen their control over the area. It subsequently became Al Kut, the fort for Ottoman soldiers, then the seat of government and finally a prison before being flaunted as one of Doha’s oldest landmarks. With the decline of Zubarah, the centre of power shifted from the northwestern to the eastern side of the Qatar peninsula as the pearling settlements of Doha and Bida’a grew and became more prosperous. Pearls were their main (and virtually only) export and, when pearling activities expanded in the waters to the east of Qatar, the coastal towns grew more affluent. ‘By continual gathering of merchants and others at Bida’a [meaning Guttur], which before was a place of no fame, it became an important place,’ the munshi of the Political Residency in Bushire, Abdul Kassim, reported.11 By the turn of the century, there was a pearling fleet of 350 ships, sixty trading vessels and some ninety fishing boats. The towns’ maritime involvement in the deep-sea trades can still be seen in the materials and designs of a few old buildings of the coastal cities and towns. Indeed, it is possible to sketch a map of Qatar’s historical trading links from the beams of those structures, which were brought from India and the eastern coast of Africa. Otherwise, camels were

The Suq Waqif – the original heart of the old city – in Doha, Qatar.

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gathered for the week-long overland journey to Riyadh, and bedouins came in from the desert to trade. As the nineteenth century unfolded, so these towns grew and their boundaries became blurred, especially when a smaller settlement known as Little Doha (Doha Saghireh) appeared on the strip of land that lay between them. Although their merger would not be formally complete until the late twentieth century when Bida’a was incorporated into Doha, their fortunes were entwined at an early stage.

The ruling family of Qatar – the Al Thani (‘House of Thani’) – takes its name from Thani bin Muhammad, who was born in Zubarah in the eighteenth century and took part in its heroics, from which the tribes received a share of the bounty. However, unlike the Al Khalifa, his family did not make the move to Bahrain. After the ruin and abandonment of Zubarah, Thani settled in Fuwairat on the northeastern coast where the Ma’adhid and Al bu Kuwara resided. The Al Thani, it will be recalled, sprang from the Ma’adhid, a ‘perfectly respectable minor sub-tribe’ which was now part of the dominant Al bu Kuwara confederation.12 Despite the lack of any documentary records about the early life of Fuwairat, the archaeological evidence indicates that it was occupied on at least three separate occasions from the eighteenth century. A second site at Zarqa, less than a kilometre inland, comprises a ruined fort, mosque and a number of other buildings, as well as agricultural areas and wells. Following the decline of Zubarah, Fuwairat was the main centre of the north. Other towns on the east coast such as Al Khor were growing, being populated by the Mahanida, who were closely allied to the Bani Hajir. In Fuwairat the Al Thani were well placed to participate in pearling activities of the Gulf; in time, the head of the family would have become a tajir, as the richest merchants and traders in pearls were known. As such, they were at the top of the mercantile hierarchy, outranking the pearl dealers (tawawish) and the retail merchants. The most powerful tujjar extended their reach to other countries and their activities to owning dhows and warehouses, creating family networks trading in all aspects of the pearl business. In so doing, they became major employers, since the pearl trade engaged virtually all the male population at the height of the season, and took on the responsibility 40

A Debatable Land

for defending the pearling interests of their town against foreign encroachment and attack.13 Other members of Thani bin Muhammad’s family were directly involved in the trade at this time, being dhow owners in their own right. His second son, Muhammad, was born around 1800 and was raised in Fuwairat; he took over the pearl business after succeeding his father as head of the family. Although the British were dealing with the sheikhs of Doha and Bida’a, they also sought Muhammad’s co-operation against pirates seeking refuge in Fuwairat. In March 1841, at Brucks’s urging, Sheikh Abdullah of Bahrain warned him not to harbour the pirate Raqraqi. The letter was addressed to Muhammad as the ‘Chief of Fuwairat’.14 Muhammad bin Thani moved to Doha in the late 1840s, after Isa bin Tarif and his followers had been removed from the town and when the Al Khalifa were encouraging the Musallam to settle in the area in order to counterbalance the Sudan who had returned to Bida’a. He settled in the Salata quarter, where there was no major tribal group, only old-established Sudan and the Musallam sections, who were close to the Al Thani. His influence was soon felt. In February 1851 the Political Resident, Lt-Col. Samuel Hennell, noted that Doha was a place ‘belonging to Ben Sanee [bin Thani]’.15 In the same year Lieutenant James Tronson, the commanding officer of the hc Tigris, reported an attack on a buggalow belonging to Sheikh Muhammad ‘bin Thonny’, a merchant of Doha. The vessel was on its way to Bahrain when it was raided by Manasir tribesmen in a vessel stolen from Bida’a. They took its cargo, including pearls worth 3,000 thalers – Maria Theresa ‘dollars’, one of the main currencies of the Gulf at that time – from Sheikh Muhammad’s boat. From these scant details, we might surmise that Muhammad was a man of considerable wealth and status in the locality at that time.16 After being in the ascendant, Fuwairat went into decline. In March 1851 Lieutenant Frederick Manners on the Tigris visited the town and found it almost deserted, with a dozen or so men pulling down houses for their rafters, presumably for reuse in Bida’a, where most of the inhabitants had relocated. In 1879 a section of the Al bu Kuwara under Muhammad bin Said reoccupied Fuwairat after a dispute with the Al Thani sheikh, and eight years later the Residency Agent was reporting that the town had 1,500 men, three hundred houses and one hundred boats. The Al Dalham section of the Al bu Kuwara tended to side 41

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with the northern Ahl al-Shimal tribes who were loyal to the sheikh of Bahrain.17 For Muhammad bin Thani, the key to survival in these turbulent times was to twist and turn with the changing winds. When the Wahhabis invaded Qatar in 1851, he was instrumental in removing Ali bin Khalifa, brother of the Bahraini ruler and his representative in the town, by seizing the tower guarding Doha’s water supply and admitting the Wahhabi forces of Faisal bin Turki to the town. A few weeks later, when they departed on a promise of zakat, Muhammad agreed to Ali’s return and stayed on as sheikh of Doha after Ali was reinstated. Although a Bahraini sea blockade injured the Al Thani’s pearling interests, they survived those difficulties and resumed their activities when the blockade was eventually lifted. But the damage had been done. In Bahraini eyes, the Al Thani sheikh was treacherous, and they were ready to move against him had circumstances been favourable; however, they were not. The Al Khalifa had their own troubles in the shape of the Bani Abdullah – the disaffected family of the late warlord Sheikh Abdullah bin Ahmad, led by his son Mubarak. They had settled at Dammam on the Hasa coast, a move that brought the Wahhabis into play. By 1859 Bahrain was blockading the Hasa ports and harassing pearlers from Qatif and Dammam. Muhammad bin Khalifa, the Bahraini ruler, placed himself first under Ottoman protection and then under the Persian flag in order to avoid British retribution for breaching the maritime peace. The British – their patience exhausted – decided to intervene. In 1861 Bahrain became a British protectorate, a move that rebuffed Ottoman and Persian claims, stilled the Wahhabi threat and brought Muhammad bin Khalifa to heel. ‘Incidentally,’ wrote Lorimer, ‘we may remark that, but for the vigilance with which the independence of Bahrain was watched over by the British Government during this period, the principality might have become attached to Hasa.’ Bahrain was now within the Trucial system, which prohibited warfare at sea. The agreement made no specific mention of Qatar, but it did refer to Bahrain and her ‘dependencies’, the implication being that the peninsula was still under Al Khalifa rule. At some point during the mid-1860s, Bahrain agreed to make annual payments to the Al Saud for the protection of the people of the peninsula.18 We have a glimpse of life at this time in the account of an English traveller, William Gifford Palgrave, who visited Bida’a and Doha in 42

A Debatable Land

early 1863. Despite scepticism in some quarters about the accuracy of his subsequent book, Personal Narrative of a Year’s Journey through Central and Eastern Arabia (1865), his account of the pearling towns of the peninsula appears to be authentic, even if seen through an occidental lens. He met Muhammad bin Thani in his majlis, which was spread and hung with mats; the sheikh presented a ‘slightly corpulent’, shrewd and wary old man, renowned for prudence, good manners and driving a hard bargain, who looked more like an ‘avaricious’ pearl merchant than an Arab ruler. As Sheikh Muhammad famously told his visitor, ‘We are all from the highest to the lowest slaves of one master, Pearl.’19 It was lulu, lulu, lulu all the way from the divers who risked respiratory diseases and brain damage to fetch the precious prize from the seabed, through to the sailors who hauled it in, the nawakhidah who owned or hired the boats and the crew, many of whom were slaves, to the tawawish who haggled the price of the final haul and the sheikhs who took the taxes and even traded in pearls themselves. At the top of the pile were merchants such as Sheikh Muhammad bin Thani who owned boats and traded in pearls. When we look for explanations for the actions of the Al Thani sheikhs in the past, the trail inevitably leads back to pearls, for everything was done to protect and expand the family’s pearling interests.20 Although he mixes up Bida’a and Doha, Palgrave’s description of the latter is bleak and unrelenting, calling it ‘poor and naked’ with something still ‘poorer and nakeder’ behind it. The people’s real homes were the boats that ‘stud the placid pool’ or ‘stand drawn up in long black lines’. There was a long, narrow and dirty marketplace, where Bahraini shopkeepers and artisans plied their trade, and ‘a mass of little narrow dingy houses, separated by irregular lanes’. Palgrave estimated that, when all the seafarers and traders were home, the population was around 6,000 souls – if correct, the town had grown rapidly over the past decade – and a few migrants who came from Al Hasa to try their luck. The refuge towers on the higher ground were a reminder of the ever-present danger of attack from the Manasir and Murrah tribes, who swept in from the desert and disappeared just as quickly.21 There were two mosques in the town, dating from the last Wahhabi incursion and signifying their influence in the area. In fact Palgrave had arrived at a critical time in Qatar’s affairs, balanced as they were between the power of Bahrain, the Wahhabis and the local sheikhs. It was generally accepted that the Al Khalifa had jurisdiction over Qatar, 43

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though it was not entirely clear what that entailed. Palgrave makes brief mention of Muhammad bin Khalifa having a ‘presidential’ role in Qatar, which involved his making an occasional visit to Doha to choose a young bride only to divorce her a few weeks later; but his writ ran deeper than that.22 This was dramatically illustrated by an incident in Wakrah. When Palgrave visited, all seemed well as he rode a donkey down to the pearling town, which was a few kilometres south of Doha, and met its chief named ‘Muhammad’, presumably Muhammad bin Said of the Al bu Kuwara. The place had a thriving look, and Palgrave was made most welcome during his brief visit. By the end of April, however, the young sheikh had been taken to Bahrain in chains, where he would spend the next eight years in prison; his ‘crimes’ were secretly corresponding with the Wahhabi amir and being lenient towards maritime offenders. In his absence, Muhammad bin Thani emerged as the ‘pearling king’ of Doha and its neighbouring towns. The following years saw the emergence of the Doha confederation, an alliance of like-minded sheikhs who aimed to protect and extend their interests in the pearling beds of the eastern coast, and whose commercial success set them on a collision course with the Al Khalifa of Bahrain and the Al Nahyan of Abu Dhabi. A sign of the sheikhs’ growing assertiveness came in 1867 after the Naim headman of Wakra, Ali bin Thamir, had complained about nonpayment of zakat to his tribe; part of the tribute that Bahrain collected for the protection of Qatar was payable to the Naim. The Al Khalifa wali ordered his arrest, causing such outrage among the sheikhs of Wakrah, Doha and Bida’a that they came together under the leader­ship of Muhammad bin Thani’s son, Jassim, and demanded Ali bin Thamir’s

The Doha seafront reimagined with the past overlaid with the present.

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A Debatable Land

release. The wali was forced to flee Doha and take refuge in Khor Hassan; it is said that his captive was released from his cell by Jassim in person. However, the Doha sheikhs got cold feet when they heard that the Bahraini ruler was raising a battle fleet against them. They could no longer count on Wahhabi support since Feisal bin Turki’s death two years before, so they decided to parley with Muhammad bin Khalifa, sending Jassim to Bahrain as their emissary. However, as soon as Jassim arrived, he was arrested and thrown in jail. When nothing was heard back in Doha of his fate, there was great consternation that he might have been murdered or even committed suicide. Actually, Jassim was alive and writing poetry about his confinement: How many a servant whom God doth cherish is tried, Unjustly in jail to perish I see my eyelids tempt a slumber but fail, My sorrows cannot be numbered.23

In October 1867, the ships came to Qatar. A combined fleet of some 2,700 men and 94 vessels from Bahrain and Abu Dhabi attacked Bida’a, Doha and Wakrah. The towns were ‘blotted out of existence, the houses being dismantled and the inhabitants deported’. The Al Thani chief had a lucky escape when he was captured and then released after agreeing to pay a ransom of 1,000 krans (approximately £4,500 today). The devastation at once conjured up thoughts of revenge. Indeed, revulsion at the attack was so widespread that the Qatari tribes (including the Naim of the northwest) came together in an alliance against Bahrain. In June 1868 they sailed to attack the Al Khalifa, but a Bahraini fleet intercepted and defeated them off the Qatari coast at Damisah. Although the Qataris suffered many casualties, they did manage to take enough hostages to make a prisoner exchange for Jassim, who was then able to return home.24 However, the sheikhs of Bahrain and Abu Dhabi had not reckoned with the Political Resident, Colonel Lewis Pelly. ‘An immensely ambitious and active man, determined to make a name for himself,’ the 43-year-old Pelly headed a punitive expedition which, owing to a shortage of suitable ships, did not appear until early September. When hms Scind hove into view off Wakrah with Pelly on board and the gunboat Hugh Rose in tow, a deputation of Qatari sheikhs came on board and ‘confessed to their breaches of the maritime truce’; and 45

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they added that they had been angered by Muhammad bin Khalifa’s plunder and destruction of their towns and property. They agreed to sign a declaration to keep the peace at sea and deliver up Muhammad, should they find him – the sheikh had fled Bahrain and was believed to be hiding in the vicinity of Khor Hassan.25 On 5 September Pelly rendezvoused with the gunboats hms Vigilant and hms Clyde, and a number of coal ships in tow – it was common practice to bring both coal tenders and steamers under tow to save fuel – and next day sailed to Bahrain on the Hugh Rose. Pelly had in mind to break the power of Muhammad bin Khalifa and replace him with his more amenable brother, Ali, by using the 1861 treaty of protection against him, for Muhammad had breached that agreement by waging war at sea. Two days later, the Bahraini sheikhs signed a declaration to outlaw Muhammad bin Khalifa, pay a fine of 100,000 thalers in four instalments and keep the maritime peace in future. Ali bin Khalifa (r. 1868–9) duly became the ruler of Bahrain. On the morning of 7 September the gunboats Clyde and Hugh Rose sailed up the creek that led to Muhammad bin Khalifa’s fort on Muharraq. From a distance of 275 metres (300 yards), they opened up their 25-centimetre (10 in.) guns and, after ‘a considerable pounding’, destroyed the fort and its cannons, while the sheikh’s three warships anchored nearby were set alight. Armed with an ‘admirable’ rocket, Clyde took up position under Sheikh Ali’s fort in a public display of British ‘moral support and recognition’ for the new ruler of Bahrain.26 Pelly then returned to Wakrah, where Sheikh Muhammad bin Thani and other Qatari sheikhs came on board hms Vigilant. On 12 September they reached an agreement whereby the Resident acknowledged Muhammad as ‘the principal chief of Guttur’ and the sheikh made the declaration to abide by the maritime truce. In a supplementary agreement made seven months later, Pelly arranged for certain ‘Guttur’ tribes to pay tribute totalling 9,000 krans (approximately £4o,000 today) to Bahrain through the Al Thani chief; the purpose of those payments was to buy protection from attack by the Al Saud and the Naim.27 Pelly’s intervention left a bitter legacy in Bahrain. The island was racked by civil war, Sheikh Ali bin Khalifa was killed and his brother Muhammad imprisoned, but it was Pelly’s recognition of the Al Thani sheikh as the principal chief of ‘Guttur’ that fatally weakened the Al Khalifa’s hold over the peninsula. Was this the first recognition of 46

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The British Navy burning pirate dhows in the Arabian Gulf, 1868.

Qatar as a separate political entity? Some historians think so. The fact that the sheikhs and tribes of ‘Guttur’ were required to co-operate with Muhammad bin Thani is seen as further evidence of his power over them. But, geographically speaking, was ‘Guttur’ really the same as the Qatar we know today? Not really – Pelly’s document only concerned those tribes that belonged to the Doha confederation, those who were in the commercial alliance of the eastern pearling towns. Although the Al bu Kuwara were on the list of tribes paying tribute, that was only the section living in Sumaisma, not those in the north; the Naim on the list were those of Wakrah, not those who inhabited the northeast, the so-called Ahl al-Shimal group; and the bedouin tribes of the south were nowhere to be seen. In essence, there was a geographical and political split between the Doha confederation and the rest of the peninsula that would endure well into the next century. That is why, despite the 1868 agreement, British officials still spoke of Qatar as a ‘debatable land’, and Bahrain pressed its claim to Zubarah into the modern day.28

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3

The Kaza’a of Qatar ‘The establishment of the Turkish ascendancy may be a good thing, or it may be bad.’ – Charles Aitchison, note of 19 July 1871

I

n the summer of 1871, a dhow put in to the fishing village of Aqariyah  on the western coast of Bahrain for its crew to replenish their supplies of fresh water. Among the passengers was a messenger who had been implicated in the killing of the Bahraini ruler, Sheikh Ali bin Khalifa, two years before. Once his presence was known, a band of Ali’s relatives descended on the village, seized and killed him. It later transpired that the messenger had been travelling under the auspices of the Ottoman government, so the episode had far-reaching ramifications. The Ottomans saw it as a pretext to pick a quarrel with the current ruler of Bahrain, and demanded blood money from him; the British saw it as an Ottoman ruse to undermine their protégé, and resisted their claim. Intriguingly, one of the letters found on the messenger’s body was from the Ottoman commander in Al Hasa, Nafiz Pasha, addressed to Sheikh Jassim of Doha. It was returned unopened, but another letter gave a clue about its contents. ‘The Turkish Government are mindful of Qatar in view to putting down their enemies so that their friends may rejoice,’ it read. ‘Please God you will soon receive news that may gladden you.’ In these circumstances, it was a fair assumption that the letters were connected with Ottoman designs on the peninsula. Led by Midhat Pasha, the energetic governor of Baghdad, there had been a dramatic step change in their ambitions towards Arabia and the Gulf. Taking advantage of internal conflicts in Nejd, Midhat backed Abdullah bin Faisal to replace his brother Saud as amir in Riyadh and installed an Ottoman administration in Qatif; and next stop was Qatar.1 As it happened, it was Sheikh Abdullah bin Sabah Al Sabah, the ruler and qaim-makam of Kuwait, who made the first approach. In July his vessel, accompanied by an Ottoman steamer, anchored off 48

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Bida’a and the sheikh came ashore with four Ottoman flags. Sheikh Jassim accepted one flag and flew it above his house in Doha, while the other flags were taken to Wakrah, Al Khor and Khor al-Udaid respectively. The Wakrah flag was originally earmarked for the ‘now old and infirm’ Sheikh Muhammad bin Thani, but he refused to accept it, preferring to fly the traditional Arab flag instead. The Al Thani were split between Muhammad, who preferred to deal with the British, and Jassim, who was willing to accommodate the Ottomans.2 Colonel Pelly was sufficiently alarmed by events to dispatch Major Smith on hms Magpie to Bida’a to investigate; he found the reports to be true. Jassim explained that, since the Ottomans had already conquered Qatif, there was no advantage in resisting them. He also expressed a degree of resentment towards the British who had failed to ‘do his subjects justice’ in a recent piracy case.3 In August the Ottomans took the Hasa Oasis. The ousted Saudi amir, Saud bin Faisal, fell back on Qatar, using the peninsula as a base for his raiding parties to harry and attack the Ottoman army. In the autumn his followers caused great alarm in Doha by demanding provisions from local people and cutting off their water supply. Such was the chaos that Pelly advised the Hindu merchants known as Banyans (who were British subjects) to leave town with their families, and warned that any who remained did so at their peril. In response to Saud’s threat, a detachment of one hundred Ottoman troops with a field gun landed in January 1872, and were billeted in the Musallam Fort between Bida’a and Doha. The Al Thani sheikhs had good reason to tolerate the Ottomans in those early days. By allowing a garrison in the fort, they were opting for the least of several evils – the warring Wahhabis, the troublesome Khalifa, the controlling British. The dreadful bombardment of the towns in 1867 was still fresh in the memory, and Qatar remained vulnerable to attack by sea and land; and there was no shame in seeking the protection of a more powerful entity when it was based on the well-established Arabian tradition of dakhala.4 The British asked the sheikhs why they had hoisted the Ottoman flag and the response was: ‘Truly you may be sultan of the sea, but who will defend us by land?’5 In theory, the structure of the Ottoman administration was well defined: vilayet–sanjak–kaza’a. In the Gulf region, the largest unit was the vilayet (province) of Basra which oversaw the sanjak (district) of Nejd. Qatar was designated a kaza’a (administrative division) of Nejd, 49

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with its own Ottoman representative and administrative unit. Sheikh Muhammad bin Thani was appointed qaim-makam (governor) of Qatar, and Seyyid Abdullatif Effendi was the Ottoman representative and qadhi (judge). Because the principal contact with the Ottomans was through the Al Thani sheikhs, the bonds of tribal society were preserved, and the traditional life was largely undisturbed.6 And so the Ottomans settled in. ‘The town of Al Bida’a is the administrative centre,’ reported Major Ömer Bey, their first commander. ‘It has approximately 1,000 houses and a population of 4,000.’ The Musallam Fort was soon known to locals as Qalat al-Askar (‘Soldiers’ Fort’) and a small settlement sprang up around its walls. The soldiers collected their drinking water from Msheireb (‘a small water well’), which was just outside the walls of the town and, by Lorimer’s time, had vegetable gardens and a watchtower with eight soldiers to guard it. The Al Thani family and Ottoman officers tended to take their drinking water from Nuaija, a cultivated area some 3 kilometres (2 mi.) south of Doha. On the face of it, the arrangements seemed to work.7 But once the threat from Saud bin Faisal had faded, there was no apparent reason for the troops to stay in Doha and, as far as the local sheikhs were concerned, they could ‘go away’. In 1875 Lieutenant Fraser, the Assistant Resident at Bushire, visited Doha and found the Al Thani sheikhs ‘heartily tired’ of the Ottomans. The Ottoman commander insisted on the Al Thani sheikhs consulting him about everything, which they found ‘extremely irksome’, and Jassim, he noted, would ‘gladly rejoice at their departure’. In the autumn of 1876, Captain Guthrie, commander of the May Frere, visited Doha and learnt that the town was paying around 10,000 krans per annum to the Ottoman government, which was more than the tribute Qatar paid to Bahrain. However, fearing they might be deported to the Ottoman capital of Constantinople if they complained too loudly, the sheikhs spoke in whispers.8 Although the number of Ottoman troops fluctuated between thirty and 250 men over the following years, their main purpose was to maintain a garrison rather than carry out extensive military operations. For the men stationed there, it must have been a morale-sapping existence: dwellings of ‘miserable mud houses’, a lack of rations, poor health with eye disease and scurvy predominating, a failure to rotate the garrison every six months and enforced idleness made for a disagreeable posting. It was not all gloom and doom, however, for there were times when 50

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Al-Kut, originally the Musallam Fort, was known as the Soldiers’ Fort (Qalat al-Askar) during the Ottoman presence and then served as the ruler’s palace and seat of government.

the people and the military came together, with locals asking for the fort cannon to be fired on special occasions, and scurvy was eventually eradicated after the men’s nutrition improved.9 Any illusions that the Ottomans might pacify the country were soon dispelled; their forces were ill-equipped for dealing with tribal raiding and piracy, their ships and men more suited to showing the flag than pursuing pirates and bandits. For many years they did not keep any vessels permanently in the Gulf ports, preferring to use Basra as their base. Eventually, a ship was stationed off the Qatar coast to prevent arms smuggling from Bahrain, but that was too little, too late. Disturbances were not investigated until weeks afterwards, if at all. Ottoman soldiers were unfamiliar with the desert terrain, and forbidden to march for longer than four hours from Doha. Bedouin mercenaries were highly mobile, able to disappear and hide in the safety of the sands. At first, the British waited on events, hoping the Ottomans would cooperate to suppress piracy. However, as it dawned on them that the Ottoman presence might acquire legitimacy under international law, and the Ottomans proved to be ineffective in policing the Gulf anyway, attitudes hardened. One by-product was that Bahraini rights to Qatar fell by the wayside; the British were not going to brook any meddling by the Al Khalifa sheikhs when they had bigger fish to fry. 51

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In fact there were two conflicting views behind the facade of British diplomacy: the Foreign Office was more alert to the wider arena and Europe in particular, where foreign policy aims might be served by making compromises in the Gulf. The India Office, on the other hand, was against the Ottomans in the Gulf, seeing them as a challenge to Britain’s primacy there. As the debate went back and forth, the failure to resolve these differences brought vacillation, with the British maintaining the status quo while admitting nothing of the Ottoman claims.

Jassim bin Muhammad Al Thani (r. 1878–1913) was born in the 1820s, at a time when stories of the notorious pirate Rahma bin Jabir were circulating in the town of Fuwairat, where he grew up. Perhaps his boyhood was filled with these tales, but his life was destined to take a different turn. The Thani family had a connection with the sea, but that was through pearls rather than piracy, and Jassim showed no intention of following in Rahma’s footsteps. He would surely have gained a strong sense of his family’s ancestry and place in the world. It was a place that would grow and prosper under his father’s chieftainship, and even more so under his own. After the family moved to Doha, Jassim became a wealthy merchant in his own right, residing in a fort in the relatively prosperous Salata district of the town, where the present-day National Museum stands. However, these years were not without their difficulties, and relations between father and son were often strained. One area of disagreement was relations with the British, whose protective treaty with Bahrain was a source of great unease in Qatar. While his father was ready to do business with the Political Agent, Jassim pursued an independent line – as the episode of the Ottoman flags demonstrated, he had a mind of his own. When William Palgrave met Jassim in 1863, he was hunting in the desert with his retainers, twenty horsemen, falconers and half a dozen hawks. Palgrave’s description of the young sheikh is an interesting one: Jassim appeared to me even less amiable than his father: narrow-minded and less well informed than the old man, while at the same time he was more pretentious and haughty. He affects the Nejdi in dress and manner, but has far more devotion at heart for the diva pecunia than for the precepts of the Koran.10

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This contrasts with what we know about Jassim in his later life. It was true that he dressed in the Nejdi style, but there was far more to the man that this simple pen picture can convey. He was an imam, leading his people in Friday prayers and dispensing books and charity, a judge and mediator of tribal disputes, a successful pearl merchant and poet; one who was – in his own words – marked out for higher things: ‘I lifted injustice for no personal gain / But to see the weaker freed again.’11 His works, published in Diwan al-Shaykh Jassim bin Muhammad Al Thani in 1910, are not only about the wrongs of the world, but include romantic and religious themes, and passages in praise of his father – despite their disagreements, Jassim still held Muhammad bin Thani in great regard. On 18 December 1876 Muhammad bin Thani died, leaving Jassim as head of the local tribes at the age of 53. The Ottomans duly appointed him qaim-makam, although that gesture had little practical meaning since Jassim had been ruling on his father’s behalf for several years. The Ottomans struggled to impose themselves on Qatar: there was an administrative council, except that it never actually functioned, and few appointments were made over the following decades – a postman, a handful of administrative officers and a harbour master for Doha (who was reassigned to Qatif ). The net result was that the Ottoman presence barely extended beyond the walls of the Musallam Fort. There were certain advantages for Jassim in having the Ottomans in Doha, nevertheless: they enhanced his authority, provided nominal protection and allowed him to project himself both as sheikh of Qatar and as the qaim-makam of the Ottoman kaza’a. He could now defy the Al Khalifa and build up his position under what he hoped would be a light-touch Ottoman presence; this was essential if he was to make the transition from pearling chief to tribal leader. In reality, the arrangement was of mutual benefit to both Jassim and the Ottomans: Jassim could threaten the Al Khalifa while masking Ottoman ambitions over Bahrain. It was a game of double bluff but, as Jassim built up his authority and started to defy the Ottomans, things became horribly complicated.

In fact, Jassim’s long struggle had begun before the death of his father. He was effectively leader of his clan, but many challenges lay ahead: he had to resolve the question of Zubarah if he was to bring the peninsula under his control, stamp his authority on the inland tribes in order to 53

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suppress their raiding, and play out his rivalry with the sheikh of Abu Dhabi over Khor al-Udaid. It required stealth and cunning as much as heroics, and had to be done without provoking the British, who might end his schemes with a few shells lobbed from a passing gunboat. Zubarah had been largely deserted since its destruction. The Naim were regular visitors and inhabited a few settlements there, but it was unlikely that they would give up their grazing rights without a fight, for they owed their allegiance to the ruler of Bahrain, Isa bin Ali Al Khalifa (r. 1869–1932), who considered Zubarah his ancestral home and still entertained notions of sovereignty, with family members visiting the area on hunting trips and to visit the graves of their forebears. For that reason, the Naim had the support of the Al Khalifa, and intended to stay put. The Naim’s arch-enemies were the Bani Hajir, a far-flung tribe residing in Qatar, eastern Arabia and roaming towards Kuwait. They were renowned ‘pirates’ who attacked shipping along the coast, although one section had settled in Al Khor and worked in the pearling trade. Nasr bin Mubarak, pretender to the Bahraini throne, was tied to the tribe by marriage. He was made for a life of plotting and intrigue, having inherited the claim of his grandfather, Abdullah bin Ahmad Al Khalifa, and become the head of the Bani Abdullah. He was also destined to become Jassim’s son-in-law (c. 1880). Fortified by these connections, and driven by his personal ambition, Nasr eyed the coast of Zubarah as the perfect launch pad for an invasion of Bahrain. In the late summer of 1874 Nasr led the Bani Hajir as they assembled on the northwestern coast of Qatar. At one point there were 3,000– 4,000 tribesmen gathered there but, after seeing two British gunboats patrolling the crossing to Bahrain, they held back. The delay gave the Naim time to recall their men from the pearling grounds and, by the time the Bani Hajir had turned their minds to attacking Zubarah, the Naim were ready and waiting for them. They roundly defeated the Bani Hajir, killing 25 and wounding eight of their number. Many of the defeated Bani Hajir retreated to Bida’a to lick their wounds. In 1875 it was reported that two hundred were living there, apparently with the intention of assisting Jassim ‘some day to strike a blow at Zubarah and Bahrain’. By July 1876 the tribe had split into two factions, one being the Ayyal-i-Shafi led by Nasr bin Mubarak and the other being the Ayyal-i-Shawan led by the Naim sheikhs of Zubarah. Although Jassim had been at odds with the Bani Hajir in the past, 54

German traveller Hermann Burchardt on a journey from Hofuf to Qatar, January 1904.

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Nasr’s men and the additional manpower they brought were essential for his next move.12 In September 1878 a Naim attack on a dhow belonging to the Sudan gave Jassim the pretext he needed. In concert with Nasr bin Mubarak, he assembled a force of around 2,000 men and attacked the Naim settlements at Zubarah. By November they had driven the tribespeople from their last village and corralled around five hundred of them in the Murair fort. The Political Resident, Lt Col. Ross, arrived, and Jassim made his peace with the Naim chiefs, taking 33 of their horses as a prize. Zubarah ceased to be permanently occupied, and some of the Naim went to live in Bahrain while others opted for Bida’a. Despite these events, and a British warning not to interfere, the Al Khalifa still exercised their rights on the peninsula. When the Bahraini ruler’s brother Ahmad came on a hunting visit to the west coast of the Qatar peninsula in December 1881, Jassim sent a delegation from Doha to welcome and invite him to an entertainment in the interior, but Ahmad insisted that protocol was observed and that first Jassim visit him, which he duly did. Of course, as a prominent pearl merchant, Jassim’s main trading and financial centre was Bahrain; therefore it was in his interests to remain on good terms with the Al Khalifa, outwardly at least. But Jassim was, in the words of his brother, ‘a plotter of new projects every day’, and Lt Col. Ross was soon reprimanding him for his intrigues. Jassim seems to have taken this badly, venting his anger on the British-protected Banyan traders of Doha. These were Hindu merchants and middlemen in Qatar’s pearl trade, an old, clannish community who had been known as traders in the Gulf since at least the sixteenth century.13 Banyans were intelligent, quick-witted and used a system of calcu­ lation that no outsider could grasp. Their clock struck sixty times each day, which was reckoned from sunrise to sunrise and divided into eight parts of three hours each – it was said that, because of this, they enjoyed a longer day than anyone else. The fact that they were British subjects and referred their disputes to the Resident also set them apart from Qataris; they were ‘among them but not of them’. Even more to the point, they were competitors to Jassim’s pearling interests.14 In 1882 Jassim expelled the Banyans and their families, bringing a predictable response from Ross – the dispatch of a fire-breathing gunboat – and an order to pay compensation of 8,000 rupees. At first Jassim refused to pay, and when Agha Mohammad Rahim Safar, a 56

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munshi from the Political Residency in Bushire, arrived with a letter of reprimand from Ross, he found Jassim in a defiant mood. The munshi, alluding to a certain Colonel Ahmad Arabi who had recently led a nationalist revolt in Egypt, mischievously asked if Jassim was going to be another Arabi. ‘I am two Arabis!’ Jassim retorted. ‘If pressure and force is used against me, I shall be obliged to embark with 10,000 men and go to Bahrain and kill all the Banyans, kill you and anyone I want in Bahrain.’15 Unswayed by Jassim’s bravado, Ross threatened to bombard his fort, whereupon the sheikh conceded and paid the amount demanded. The Ottomans took no part in these proceedings, although several Turkish soldiers came on board Ross’s ship to ask for medical treatment and expressed their hopes that Jassim would be well punished. The Porte (as the Ottoman government in Constantinople was known) did protest afterwards at this British interference, but the Foreign Office dismissed their complaint on the basis that the ‘Turks’ had no jurisdiction in Qatar. Jassim remained unrepentant and next we find him trying to force the Banyans to return their compensation payments – until Ross found out, that is.

By all accounts, tribal raiding was a traditional pastime among the bedouin tribes, though not the quaint local custom that some might have us believe. Throughout this period, the Bani Hajir carried on their ‘lawless, troublesome, mischievous’ attacks, some of which had far-reaching ramifications. One of the worst incidents happened in autumn 1876 in Doha harbour, only a short distance from Sheikh Jassim’s residence. An Abu Dhabi boat was attacked, two men were killed and a slave was carried off during the raid, as well as pearls and other property. Compensation was assessed at 2,649 thalers, but, despite a com­­ plaint being made to the Ottoman authorities, nothing was paid. Sheikh Zayed of Abu Dhabi held Jassim accountable, and the whole event aggravated the already strained relations between the two sheikhs.16 The Doha sheikhs looked to the Ottomans for protection; they were now paying them between 9,000 and 10,000 krans a year, but receiving a poor return. The Ottomans showed little appetite for pursuing the raiders; on an earlier occasion, following a piracy committed near Khor Shaqiq, the Ottoman gunboat Iskanderia had cruised along the coast to investigate the tribe’s activities only for its commander to 57

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find that ‘Sheikh Jassim himself was partly to blame for the disorder that prevailed.’17 No matter that the Ottoman authorities had doubts about their troublesome protégé, they stood by him – in May 1879 the mutasarrif of Nejd visited Doha to formally invest Jassim as qaim-makam. But these were years of great confusion, and tribal raiding was endemic. In 1881 the Manasir and Awamir tribes attacked close to Doha, and the Ajman tribe took 450 camels out of the peninsula. Three years later local people were so fearful of the Ajman tribe that they kept their pearling fleets in port that season. In April 1884 a branch of the Bani Hajir raided the east coast, killing a son of the sheikh of Wakrah who was related to the Al Thani. Jassim planned to retaliate by attacking their base at Dhahran, but Ross restrained him, fearing for the safety of Bahrain if the attack went ahead. In June the Ajman engaged the Manasir in battle at the Banaiyan wells and lost. That took the wind out of their campaign and gave Doha respite from their attacks.18 But the sands of allegiance were forever shifting. The Al bu Kuwara section under the leadership of Said bin Muhammad declared hijra and left Doha and settled in Fuwairat in protest at Jassim’s appointment as qaim-makam. In October 1885 about one hundred people from Wakrah emigrated in ten boats to Ghariyah after quarrelling with Jassim, who in turn attacked the village. It was a serious loss of face for Jassim, made worse by the wheeler-dealer headman of Ghariyah, Muhammad bin Abdul Wahhab (not to be confused with the Nejdi preacher of the same name). He formed an alliance of like-minded tribes, cultivated Jassim’s critics in the Ottoman administration and generally positioned himself as the new qaim-makam in the hope that the Ottomans would accept one of Jassim’s several offers to step down. One of his actions was to encourage the Ottomans to establish a customs house at Doha, which would have deprived Jassim of his own income from customs dues and driven away the pearling boats. On a tour of the coast, the officer in charge of the Ottoman gunboat Mirrikh suggested that the people of Ghariyah might be allowed to live in peace under Muhammad bin Abdul Wahhab. Unsurprisingly, that remark found no favour with Sheikh Jassim, whose followers were still camped out on a nearby hill. Muhammad’s intrigues with the mutasarrif of Nejd continued and in 1886 an exasperated Jassim launched another attack on Ghariyah and expelled Muhammad back to Bahrain. From there he went to Darin on the Hasa coast and was joined by about 58

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Ajman bedouin on the move in the Arabian desert, 1911.

250 of his dependants from Ghariyah; but when the Ottoman hierarchy refused to accept Jassim’s resignation, it was apparent that Muhammad’s cause was lost, and he was reconciled with Jassim later in the year. Meanwhile, tensions between Jassim and the sheikh of Abu Dhabi were rising. They had many things in common: both ruling families had roots reaching back into the distant past, their sheikhdoms depended on the pearl trade and had few resources besides, and both had been threatened by the Wahhabis in the past. But the ruler of Abu Dhabi was no less than Zayed bin Khalifa Al Nahyan, and his part in the 1867 bom­­­ bardment of the Doha towns had not been forgotten. Jassim and Zayed were challenging each other for control of the pearling banks east of Qatar, and ‘the enmity between the two sheikhs was much embittered’ by their rivalry over the place called Khor al-Udaid.19 What was its appeal? There is a creek that gives way to an inland sea, making it ideal for smaller pirate boats to shelter from the British gunboats that could not venture into its shallow waters without running aground. Udaid also became a refuge for dissidents from Abu Dhabi, namely members of the Qubaisat, a pearling tribe that settled there in a series of migrations between 1837 and 1871. They established a village on the southern side of the creek, and drew their water from 59

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inland wells about a mile distant. If they switched their allegiance to Sheikh Jasim, then his control over the pearling banks would be extended. This was no more than a local difficulty until the Ottomans arrived in Doha in early 1872. Until then, Britain had not given much thought to the inlet’s status, and it never really mattered to them anyway, apart from when it came to hunting pirates. A British report observed: ‘In point of appearance it would, perhaps, be difficult to select a more wretched, desolate, and barren-looking spot in the whole of the Gulf.’ However, the Porte claimed the Qatar peninsula as a whole, and the Ottoman flag was soon flying over Khor al-Udaid. It became apparent that their ambitions did not end there, for they claimed Abu Dhabi and the distant Buraimi Oasis as part of the sanjak of Nejd. However, the Qubaisat sheikh of Udaid, Buti bin Khadim, was a canny soul. He played it safe, paying the Ottomans an annual tribute of around 50 thalers while flying the Turkish or Trucial flag ‘as occasion required’.20 The khor still served as a hideout for pirates, and in 1877 hms Teazer was sent to subdue Murrah raiders operating from there. The inhabitants were forewarned and melted into the haze before the ship appeared, with a number of tribesmen seeking Sheikh Jassim’s protection. In January 1880 the Qubaisat accepted Sheikh Zayed’s peace offering, given after a British initiative, and most of them returned to Abu Dhabi. However, Sheikh Buti owed money to the pearl merchants of the Doha confederation and defaulted as soon as he was out of their reach. To make matters worse, Sheikh Zayed was a surety for the debt. Over the next few years, through a series of raids and counter-raids, the underlying feud between Jassim and Zayed built towards a dreadful climax. On 30 May 1888 – during the holy month of Ramadan when fighting was traditionally prohibited – a raiding party of 250 tribesmen under Zayed’s son Khalifa reached Doha. An advance guard of thirty riders entered the town and started raiding houses. The Ottoman soldiers stayed in their fort and Sheikh Jassim was away at Dha’ain, leaving his son Ali to repel them. After chasing off the raiding party, Ali and his men ran into an ambush. Sheikh Jassim described the tragic events that followed in a letter he wrote to the Al Saud amir a few days later: They attacked them about the time of morning prayer on the eighteenth day of Ramadan and they were taken unawares. They set up an uproar, and whoever came out of his house in response 60

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to the call, was slain in front of the door of his house, and God so decreed that Ali my son was among those who were slain, there were fifty other leading men of the town slain, and an equal number or perhaps more, wounded . . . And I and my tribesmen arrived after the whole thing was over.21 Ali had been his father’s favourite son, praised in his poetry and given the nickname ‘Jo’an’ (meaning ‘hungry’). Now Jassim was torn ‘between rage and grief ’ and vowed to exact vengeance on his enemies, but when he cast around for allies to take the fight to Abu Dhabi, he found few takers: the Rashid of Jebel Shammar faded away and the sheikhs of the Trucial Coast rebuffed him, leaving only two Nejdi tribes to come to his aid. A Kuwaiti pearl merchant, Yusuf al-Ibrahim, supplied Jassim with Martini-Henry rifles, ammunition and money.22 In early 1889 Jassim took some 150 horsemen and three hundred camels to the Liwa Oasis. His order was plain enough; they should ‘kill whomsoever they found – men, women, children, the old and the blind’. Thus instructed, his men did not hold back and, by Jassim’s own account, 520 people died at Al Jowa alone. Date palms were cut down and villages were razed in the process.23 Afterwards, Jassim declared: ‘I am hopeful in God, as he has given me aid against the oppressor, and has revenged the poor and humble, that he will again give me revenge for my son who was killed.’24 According to one report, Jassim’s men came upon a village called Shah Baghul and found six men working among the date palms. The men were seized and begged for their lives, but Jassim would not listen and had their throats cut. A blind old man led by a child came and asked Jassim for mercy, but the sheikh ordered both to be killed. In Liwa, Jassim’s men cut off a woman’s arm when she refused to hand over her child, and then killed the child. People working among the date groves took refuge in a fort called Khanur, and barricaded the gate with bags of rice. After Jassim’s men broke in, looted the rice and returned fire, the fort was filled with smoke, all the men, women, children and animals inside were killed, and the two towers of the fort with people inside were set alight and burnt to the ground. ‘Mercy was shown to none, and Jassim himself did not wish one to be spared,’ the Residency Agent noted.25 Jassim returned to Doha and fortified the town. In April rumours swirled that Sheikh Zayed was on his way with 1,500 men to attack the town. The sheikh fell back on Msheireb and sent out his spies to watch 61

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Zayed’s approach. The Ottomans stepped up measures to defend Doha, and there was talk of reinforcements being sent, but their troops were still not allowed to advance more than four hours’ march from the town. Having been warned off by the Ottomans, Zayed confined his force to the area around the base of the peninsula, attacking the nomadic tribes that had sided with the Doha confederation before pulling back to Abu Dhabi. When Jassim planned a counter-attack, intending to dispatch armed men and ammunition by boat to Sila, to the east of Khor al-Udaid and well into Abu Dhabi territory, Ross reprimanded him for breaching the maritime peace, and he had to back down. The year 1890 saw more raids and running battles, with the advantage largely resting with Jassim. As part of his defensive measures, he ordered the villages of northern Qatar – Abu Dhalouf, Ruwais and Fuwairat – to be evacuated and their inhabitants resettled in places such as Bida’a and Al Khor. In 1891 a Qatari raiding party managed to reach a point beyond Abu Dhabi town and avoid capture before returning home. ‘This mischief will not come to an end until either Jassim or Zayed should die,’ wrote a despairing British official. However, in 1906 the Political Resident Major Percy Cox wrote to Zayed recognizing that

Khor al-Udaid is a popular tourist destination and dune-bashing venue, but in the late 19th century it was the focus of an intense rivalry between the rulers of Qatar and Abu Dhabi.

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Khor al-Udaid belonged to him. At that point the conflict had fizzled out, although it would flare up again many years later, long after the two sheikhs had passed away.26 Those looking for reasons behind the current fallout between the uae and Qatar may point to several causes. Among them is the fact that Abu Dhabi (now part of the uae) and Qatar have a ‘history’. No one is suggesting that the death of Jassim’s favourite son and his revenge massacre at the Liwa Oasis have a direct bearing on today’s blockade but, like the dispute over Zubarah, these events are woven into the modern narrative of a conflict between two sheikhs, the descendants of the nineteenth-century protagonists who fought their desert battles and argued over the desolate inlet of Khor al-Udaid. They are not forgotten, for blood runs deep.

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‘Am I Not The Ruler of This Place?’ ‘Hafiz Pasha, the wali of Basra, attacked us by land and sea, with the forces of the Imperial Ottoman army, without rhyme or reason.’ – Jassim bin Muhammad Al Thani, 1893

T

he green-encrusted bullet casings had lain in the sandy grit of central Doha for more than a century before archaeologists dug them up. They confirmed what was already known, that modern rifles were introduced into Qatar in the late nineteenth century. This is more than a footnote in history for, while the muzzle-loading flintlock musket had been around for many years, the arms trade brought a new and dangerous dimension to tribal warfare in Arabia. When Sheikh Jassim set out in early 1889 on his fateful expedition to Al Jowa in the Liwa Oasis, his men were equipped with something rather more deadly than the musket – the Martini-Henry rifle. This breech-loading rifle of 1871 became standard issue for the British and Ottoman armies (although the latter relied on a copy of the original). For those tribes who could lay their hands on it, the MartiniHenry was a great advance on the slow and unreliable muzzle-loading musket, which tended to explode with alarming regularity. Breechloading rifles could be carried easily, fired and quickly reloaded on a horse or camel and, with the help of extensive smuggling networks, the Martini-Henry had become the ‘most common rifle in Arabia’ by the start of the twentieth century.1 That was a major headache for the British who knew that the rifles – some of which were ex-army stock – were being smuggled through the Gulf to the Makran Coast and thence to Afghanistan for use against their own soldiers. As well as suppressing piracy and the slave trade, British naval patrols in the Gulf were stopping dhows to search for arms. With the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 there was a steady rise of arms being imported from Europe to Muscat, where the French dominated the arms market. When steamships began to displace dhows 64

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in the Gulf trade, many nawakhidah were forced to look for new sources of income, and gun running was among them. The bedouin warrior, having acquired his rifle by whatever means, set about personalizing it. The sights were knocked off, strips of tin or brass wrapped around the barrel to keep it clean and polished, the wood pared down to make it lighter, and what remained was patterned with little studs and then kept in a leather holster by the side of his camel saddle. All these things produced a weapon that was perfect for the tactics of desert warfare – riding fast and hitting hard, a tactical retreat into the sands and then a sudden return to attack another part of the enemy’s flank. As we have seen, Sheikh Jassim obtained his Martini-Henry rifles for the Liwa campaign from Yusuf al-Ibrahim, a wealthy pearl merchant and landowner of Kuwait who had family ties with the ruling Al Sabah family and was prominent in the affairs of that sheikhdom. His family was a well-established trading dynasty with links to Bahrain, Qatar and India, and it was through Yusuf that Jassim’s pearls were sold in the Bombay market. Their wealth was founded on extensive date plantations around Shatt-al-Arab, and their pearling interests, which they used to build up a numerous trading fleet and become the largest Arab trading house in Kuwait. Jassim also owned date palms in the same area, probably acquired on the advice of his friend and ally Yusuf. There was a deeper bond between the two men: the al-Ibrahim ancestry, like that of the Al Thani, can be traced all the way back to Washm, having derived from the town of Tharmada, which is about 40 kilometres (25 mi.) from the seat of the Al Thani ancestors, Ushayqir. While the al-Ibrahim derived from the Bani Sa’d section of the Tamim, the Al Thani came from the Hanthala section. Their destinies were en­­­ twined, even after they had left the Arabian heartland to seek different fortunes in the wider world. Yusuf, in 1888, after learning that Jassim had lost his son Ali, gave his full support to his friend by supplying him with rifles, ammunition and money for his Liwa campaign. In the spring of the following year the Political Resident was reporting that ‘The Turkish soldiers . . . praise much the equipment of Jassim’s army, which, they say, is supplied with Martini rifles.’ The terrible irony of that statement would be revealed four years later when the Turks found themselves on the receiving end of Jassim’s formidable weapons.2

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The Ottomans knew it would be difficult to control the local tribes without Jassim as their qaim-makam, and they tried to flatter him with another title, kapucibasi, an honorary award which literally means ‘head of the palace doorkeepers’. But Jassim, still angry at the Ottomans’ feeble response to tribal raiding and lack of support against Abu Dhabi, was unimpressed; and when they revived the idea of a customs house in Doha, his financial interests were threatened. In 1891 Jassim again resigned his position, left Doha and went to live in the desert. This was one of several ‘retirements’ during his rule that was designed to put pressure on the Ottomans and unsettle the peace; it was his habit to send a town crier through the streets to announce his departure and inform the people that they were now in the hands of the ‘Turkish Kazi’.3 In early 1893 the recently appointed wali of Basra, Hafiz Pasha, being determined to install a customs post and an assistant qaim-makam, decided to proceed to Doha ‘with the object of setting matters right’. He arrived towards the end of February, having travelled overland with two hundred soldiers, one hundred mounted gendarmes and forty cavalry only to find the sheikh missing. Jassim – who had heard that the wali intended to take him ‘dead or alive’ – was camped out in the desert with an estimated force of 3,000–4,000 tribesmen, mainly Manasir and Bani Hajir armed with Martini-Henry rifles. Hafiz summoned him to return to the town, but he refused, pleading illness. His brother Ahmad negotiated on his behalf, suggesting that a small party from each side should parlay in the desert; the wali, being suspicious and mindful of losing face, declined. After a month of fruitless talks, Hafiz ‘resolved on forcible action’.4 Ramadan had just begun when Hafiz made his decision. On the night of 25 March he placed Ahmad and twelve notables of Doha in custody. The following day, his troops set out for Wajba, where Jassim’s forces were reported to be assembled; the sheikh had already cut off the main track from Al Hasa to block reinforcements coming from Kuwait. According to Jassim’s poem about the battle, it began before daybreak at a fort called Sabha near Raiyan, about three hours’ march from Doha, and went on until evening. The Ottomans were outnumbered and outgunned; Jassim estimated that five hundred of their troops perished, although another source puts the figure at 118. Hafiz Pasha retreated to the Mirrikh anchored in the bay and ordered the ship’s cannon to open up on the town, with the result that many women and children were killed, while others fled in terror.5 66

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Nevertheless, Jassim had the upper hand. He was able to force the release of his brother and the twelve other hostages, while agreeing that the remnants of the Ottoman cavalry could return to Al Hasa. But Jassim’s victory was by no means complete. While Hafiz Pasha remained off the coast, licking his wounds and planning his next move, there was always the possibility of reprisals. Although his immediate military situation was impossible, the wali had friends in high places and the means to summon more soldiers to the province. Jassim for his part was anxious to settle matters quickly: he was running out of money and unable to pay his pearl divers their advances for the year. The Battle of Wajba, as it is generally known, was at an end. Now both men were anxious to present themselves to the Ottoman hierarchy in a favourable light, and sent their differing accounts to the Grand Vizier in Constantinople. Jassim maintained that he had acted in selfdefence, and declared his loyalty to the sultan. ‘I humbly beg that an official be sent here to investigate the cruelties and oppression to which the people were subjected,’ he wrote. ‘It was Hafiz Pasha who compelled us to commit things we did not wish to happen and to retaliate.’ The wali naturally disagreed. He maintained he had been forced to act in order to pre-empt an attack on Doha, and asked for more troops. He concluded that ‘Jassim’s intention is to obtain autonomy of the said kaza’a and seize Al Hasa and the neighbourhood by means of his desert brigands.’6 Gradually, people returned to Doha. A fact-finding commission was appointed and visited the town on the Mejdersan. Sultan Abdul­ hammid ii, who had been kept informed, ordered Hafiz to be discharged before the commission reported its findings. In June 1893 the commission reported that Jassim was to be pardoned on condition that he return the 1.4-kilogram (3 lb) cannon and 152 Martini-Henrys taken on the battlefield, and collect outstanding tax arrears for the district. Jassim resigned as qaim-makam, but the sultan refused to accept his decision and Jassim stayed on, delegating many of his duties to his brother Ahmad and retiring to Lusail. In these events lay Jassim’s real victory. It hinged on his remarkable connection with the sultan. As far as we know, the two men had never met; however, they forged a better understanding between each other than with the intermediate Ottoman officials and soldiers, those whom Jassim likened to ‘chickens pecking without beaks’. There was also a large dose of realpolitik in the sultan’s actions, for he recognized that 67

Ottoman soldiers photographed in Doha by Hermann Burchardt, January 1904.

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– if Jassim was harshly treated – there was a real danger of Qatar falling into British hands; they had already tried to mediate in the dispute.7 There is an interesting aside to this episode. The Al Saud leader, Abdul Rahman bin Faisal, had fled from Riyadh two years before and, after a period of roaming, found refuge with the Al Thani in Qatar. Once there, it appears that he assisted the fact-finding commission’s work, since he was duly rewarded for ‘services rendered to the state’ by a decree of 21 June 1893. The sultan allowed him to reside in Zubair or Kuwait and granted him a monthly salary of 2,500 kurush (Turkish currency) and his retinue 100 kurush each. Nine years later, having resettled and regrouped under the leadership of Abdul Rahman’s son, Abdul Aziz, the Al Saud recaptured Riyadh, which in due course was to become the capital of today’s Saudi Arabia. Thus, it might be said, the aftermath of the Battle of Wajba saw the first tentative steps towards the modern Saudi state and the emergence of Arabia’s most formidable leader, Abdul Aziz or, as he would be later known, Ibn Saud.8

Jassim returned to his old schemes in the spring of 1895, taking advantage of the troubles of the Al bin Ali. They were an old tribe whose power in Qatar had been broken after the death of their leader, Isa bin Tarif, in 1847, but they still had a substantial presence in Bahrain – Lorimer reckoned they had five hundred houses – and were linked to the Al Khalifa through marriage on the maternal side. However, they had their differences with the ruling family, most notably when Sheikh Isa bin Ali Al Khalifa tried to have a number of their tribesmen seized after they quarrelled with a goldsmith; there were gunshots and two men died. The leader of the Al bin Ali, Sultan bin Muhammad bin Salamah, declared hijra, leaving the shady groves of Bahrain and seeking refuge on the less promising coast of northern Qatar; but he was well connected there, being the grandson of Isa bin Tarif ’s former deputy and an old friend of Sheikh Jassim. He arrived at Ruwais with 1,500 followers and some fifty boats, whereupon Jassim gave his blessing for them to proceed to Zubarah, rebuild the fort and settlement, and raise the Ottoman flag. It was no coincidence that the mutasarrif of Nejd, Ibrahim Fawzi Pasha, visited Zubarah and an Ottoman mudir arrived shortly afterwards with six soldiers. There were also reports that Nasr bin Mubarak and his Bani Hajir were preparing to join them. 69

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For Bahrain, the Al bin Ali at Zubarah – in close proximity to the island and having Jassim’s backing – posed a ‘serious menace’. Sheikh Isa demanded that they should leave immediately and return home, while the British ambassador in Constantinople protested to the Porte about their part. In early July 1895 hms Sphinx landed John Gaskin, a British political officer, on the Zubarah shore. He brought two letters, one from the Resident and the other from Sheikh Isa, both addressed to Sheikh Sultan urging him to return to Bahrain. After a brief contretemps with the mudir and his men, Gaskin managed to see Sheikh Sultan and hand over the letters. Sultan read them, but was defiant. ‘He talked big,’ wrote Gaskin, ‘stating that he was no slave or subject to Sheikh Isa.’9 There followed a game of tit-for-tat. On 15 July hms Sphinx seized nine Al bin Ali boats and took on board Sheikh Salim bin Hamad, a prominent Al bin Ali sheikh who was ready to make his peace with Sheikh Isa; but when ten Bahraini boats arrived to pick up his family, the Ottomans seized nine of them. Despite receiving a warning to back off, the mutasarrif intimated that an invasion of Bahrain was imminent and advised all British citizens to leave the island within the next seven­ teen days, and an Ottoman gunboat, the Zuhaf, was seen cruising along the coast. In early September the British warships hms Pigeon and hms Plassy arrived off Zubarah to find Jassim’s fleet flying Ottoman flags in preparation for an attack on Bahrain; Jassim claimed they were acting on the orders of the mutasarrif. Indeed, the mudir ordered the British ships to leave, and threatened that the Ottomans would join the attack if they did not do so. When Captain J. H. Pelly, Senior Naval Officer Persian Gulf, appeared off Zubarah on hms Sphinx the following day, it seemed that Jassim’s invasion force was ready to embark – the full moon that night was propitious for a sea crossing, and marked the end of the seventeen-day ultimatum issued by the mutasarrif. Fearing the worst, Pelly issued an hour’s ultimatum to Jassim to dis­­ perse his ships and, when that went unanswered, he took the offensive: I opened fire, the Pigeon assisting, at 3.45 p.m. that day keeping up a steady, continual shell fire until sunset. I then despatched three boats, manned and armed, in command of Lieutenant Commander Cartwright, taking inflammable stores with them for the purpose of burning as many of the dhows as possible, keeping up a blank fire during their absence from the ship to 70

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scare away the natives. They succeeded in burning eight of the dhows, the total number of dhows destroyed as far as can be ascertained from the ship is about forty-four.10 The Ottomans departed, leaving Jassim to his fate. He surrendered the following day, whereupon Pelly seized 120 of his ships and took them to Bahrain. He was fined 30,000 rupees, and an order was issued that the rest of his fleet would be destroyed if he defaulted. When he was unable to pay the full amount, the British accepted a third of that amount, releasing a third of the boats and destroying the rest. That was a severe blow for Jassim and his men, who relied on the boats for their livelihood. The Al bin Ali dispersed from Zubarah, with most returning to Bahrain and few settling in Wakrah. Although Sheikh Sultan bin Mohammad sailed for Basra, his ship had to anchor off Ras Tanura due to bad weather and Amamera tribesmen came on board and killed him. The Amamera were affiliated to the sheikh of Bahrain, and their deed would not be forgotten by the Al bin Ali clan – it was the start of a blood feud between them, and led to a fight off the Qatari coast some five years later which brought the intervention of the Political Agent in Bahrain. Again, at the back of events around Zubarah were Ottoman designs on Bahrain, apparent in their backing of the Al bin Ali in their dispute with the Al Khalifa, although some suspected that they secretly wished Jassim’s downfall. Now, after the destruction of Jassim’s fleet, another twelve months would pass before they raised the matter of Zubarah, and then the British swatted away their protest with ease; the Ottoman flag was seen flying there no more.

The place that the Arabs knew as Qatar in the closing years of the nineteenth century was vastly different to the one that the British and Ottomans saw. For most of the time local people carried on their routines, which revolved around their religion, their livelihoods, their families and their sheikhs. The British and the Ottomans hardly impinged on their daily lives; it was only when local issues threatened their interests in the Gulf that the same old question returned: who exactly was accountable for the troubles of Qatar? The answer had largely been confined to maritime issues, but now there was a new and dangerous aspect. 71

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Dhows during the Qatar National Day festivities in Doha.

Jassim was emerging as a regional player. This was apparent from events in Kuwait where, in May 1896, Sheikh Mubarak of Kuwait killed his brothers Muhammad and Jarred and usurped the sheikhdom. When the news broke, Jassim pledged to support his old friend and ally Yusuf al-Ibrahim, in his efforts to avenge the killings. They began arming the Bani Hajir and urging Qataris to obtain weapons with a view to mounting an invasion of Kuwait. With Yusuf buying four hundred camels so that everyone could take part in the upcoming campaign, it appeared that the whole population was being mobilized against Mubarak. In November 1897 Jassim, in company with Yusuf, set off with his army to attack Kuwait, gathering more tribesmen as he went, hoping to link up with the forces of Ibn Rashid, the amir of the Al Rashid of Jebel Shammar in northwestern Arabia. However, in December, when he was camped at Rawdat al-Araij at the base of the Qatar peninsula on his way to Kuwait, news arrived that the Rashidi leader had died of natural causes. Without him, Jassim’s campaign against Kuwait was doomed, so he dispersed his army and returned to Doha. In April 1898 Mubarak’s tribesmen attacked the Bani Hajir and carried off a large number of their cattle, but Jassim’s pleas to the Otto­ mans for assistance fell on deaf ears. ‘This caused him to be disaffected,’ 72

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Lorimer tells us. In September, taking advantage of the departure of the regular Ottoman gunboat from the harbour at Doha, Bani Hajir tribesmen raided the Ottoman fort. Jassim was enjoying one of his regular sojourns in the desert at the time, but there were strong suspicions that he had been involved in planning the attack.11 By the time the Sphinx visited Doha in November things had quietened down, although the town was in a ‘dilapidated state’. The Ottoman troops remained aloof and were not involved with the business of the town, which was left to the locals. According to the visiting naval officer, Lieutenant Robinson, ‘the yoke on the Arabs’ neck appears light, and, with a fair amount of cohesion amongst themselves could, for a period at any rate, be easily thrown off.’ The Ottoman administration, having tried and failed to set up its own mudirs at Zubarah, Wakrah and Khor al-Udaid, looked weaker than ever; and perhaps now was the time for the Al Thani to enter into treaty relations with Britain.12 The idea certainly appealed to Jassim’s brother, Ahmad, who was ruling the town in his absence. In 1902, having met and discussed the matter with Ahmad, Gaskin recommended a treaty of protection. However, the proposal failed to find consensus: the Government of India was in favour, but the Foreign Office preferred to reach an overall settlement with the Ottomans. Nothing happened and so when the Viceroy of India, Lord Curzon, conducted his famous tour of the Gulf in December 1903, there were no Qatari sheikhs in attendance. It was all rather difficult for Sheikh Ahmad. His brother Jassim ruled in name but had retired; Ahmad ruled in fact but visiting notables still paid court to his brother. The two of them did not always see eye to eye, especially in their dealings with the Al Saud. Jassim was a Muslim of the Hanbali sect, empathized with the Wahhabis and identified strongly with their homeland of Nejd, dressing in the Nejdi style, discussing religious matters with its scholars, distributing books and making charitable donations for its poor and needy. He was close to the Al Saud chieftain – for example, he stayed with the Al Thani for a year during his exile in the 1890s. But it was not a connection that appealed to Ahmad, and he remained suspicious of Saudi–Wahhabi intentions. This became apparent in the summer of 1905 when the next amir of Riyadh, Abdul Aziz ibn Saud (‘Ibn Saud’), was seeking to expand his territory in new directions, and Qatar was in his scope. Ibn Saud came close to the peninsula, visiting the Jafura desert, where he accepted tributes from local sheikhs. Jassim welcomed him with gifts of 8,000 73

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crowns, rifles and rice; however, Ahmad warned Ibn Saud that if he proceeded into Qatar, he would resist him. As it happened, the hot weather forced Ibn Saud to turn around and return to Riyadh. He promised to resume his tour the following spring and visit the sheikhs of the Trucial Coast as well; but owing to his ongoing weakness on the domestic front, the Saudi leader was unable to follow it through. Captain Francis Prideaux, the Political Agent in Bahrain, got a good measure of the two brothers when he visited Qatar in November 1905. The pretext for his visit was to discuss an ongoing case in the High Court of Bombay and other sundry issues; but there was a political subtext as well. On his arrival at Lusail, Prideaux was told that Jassim was living at his gardens in Bu Hasa (Abu Hasiyyah), some 19 kilometres (12 mi.) to the northwest, so transport was arranged and he travelled there to meet him the following day. The old patriarch was in his twilight years, frail and almost blind, but alert and otherwise healthy; it was said that he had had more than one hundred wives. Over several sessions, Prideaux discussed various issues with him as well as taking his statement for the court proceedings and gathering local information for Lorimer’s Gazetteer of the Persian Gulf, Oman and Central Arabia. There was a surprise in store. Jassim’s son-in-law and pretender to the Bahraini sheikhdom, Nasr bin Mubarak, appeared. It was an awkward encounter for Prideaux, since the British had never recognized Nasr’s claim. Although Prideaux listened politely, and sympathized to a degree, he remained non-committal. Ironically, when he asked Nasr why he had not turned his hand to the pearl trade, his grandfather interjected that ‘it would not be fitting for a prince to engage in commerce’. Their meeting ended inconclusively, but when the Ottomans heard about it, they stopped Nasr’s pension. Despite renouncing his ‘rebellions or piratical activity’, Nasr never achieved his aim of returning to Bahrain.13 His business at the sheikh’s camp done, Prideaux travelled to Doha. He found Sheikh Ahmad affable and welcoming, an ‘extraordinary character’ who was ‘extremely astute’, despite his habit of bursting into infectious roars of laughter whenever pressed on an issue, making him appear slightly unhinged. He was defiant towards the Ottomans, claiming to have nothing to do with them: ‘Am I not in possession of my father’s house, and ruler of this place?’ he declared. Upon which Prideaux gently pointed out that the Ottomans did have power over him. ‘Yes, God’s curses on them, but what can I do?’Ahmad despaired. Rather than 74

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seeking a treaty with the British, he simply wanted their permission to reside in Zubarah, but this was declined.14 There was a tragic end to Ahmad’s story. In December he was shot dead by a disgruntled Bani Hajir tribesman named Bin Muammam, who fled into the desert; it was suspected that Jassim’s son Khalifa was involved, though nothing was proved. A blood feud loomed. When the tribal elders came to Jassim’s camp to express their regret, they threw down their weapons in front of the sheikh and offered to submit themselves to any suitable punishment. But they got rather more than they bargained for: at the end of the meeting one of Ahmad’s retainers attacked and killed a Bani Hajir sheikh. ‘The air became much cleared in consequence’ and, when the Bani Hajir tracked down and killed Bin Muammam, the blood feud was closed.15 Nowadays Doha is a short plane hop from Manama, but in those days it was at least a day’s sail away, so communication was slow and ponderous. Added to that, stormy weather stopped local boats from sailing so that communications were disrupted and confirmation of Ahmad’s death did not arrive in Bahrain until a few weeks later. On 9 January 1906 Prideaux sent his condolences to Jassim, wistfully observing: ‘One cannot see through the veil of futurity and the ways of the world are so curious.’16 Jassim was now forced back into the fray. He resumed his duties as qaim-makam, but the rigours of chieftainship would have been a strain for a man in his eighties; therefore he needed to name his successor quickly. Indeed, the Ottomans were pressing him to do so, but that was more easily said than done. Although he had eleven sons to choose from, only three were old enough to take on the role, and none of those showed any particular inclination to rule. At the end of 1906, after consulting the tribal elders, Jassim appointed his sixth son, Abdullah, as governor of Doha. The decision was not universally welcomed by those of the Al Thani who were envious of Abdullah’s control over the customs duties of the town. While Jassim lived, there was little they could do about it, but, after his death, ‘everything will be known,’ his son Muhammad darkly mooted.17 Born in Bida’a in 1871, Abdullah was a successful pearl merchant in his own right, but he seemed more devoted to religion and the pearl trade than politics. However, having taken on his father’s mantle, he made a good impression as a tribal leader. In May 1906 he was away in the south, leading an expedition against rebellious tribes. In July he 75

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was leading another campaign towards Salwa, and his advance party strayed into Al Hasa, killing twelve bedouins. He mediated between the people of Doha and the Ajman tribe, and allowed members of the Bani Hajir to camp in Qatar. For his efforts, he was the target of an assassination attempt by one of his own tribesmen, who killed two other people before being felled himself. Jassim was still active in these years. In August 1906 a ‘notorious pirate’ named Ahmad bin Salman took refuge in Doha, staying with Jassim’s relative, Abdullah bin Ghanim. The Political Resident Major Percy Cox sought Jassim’s co-operation, but the sheikh denied all knowledge of Ahmad’s whereabouts. ‘By God!’ he declared. ‘If it be in my power to arrest him, I will send him over to you. This person we have excommunicated ever since the time evil emanated from him.’ Getting wind of Sheikh Abdullah’s search parties, Ahmad fled the town disguised as a woman. He was next seen in a desert camp on the Hasa shore, resulting in hms Lapwing visiting Qatif without success, and Ahmad the Pirate disappeared once more.18 The tribal situation in Qatar remained volatile, and Jassim’s control was by no means assured. Although Gaskin had asserted that all the

hms Lapwing (launched in 1889) was one of several British gunboats used to suppress piracy and gun running in the Gulf.

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towns of the peninsula were under the sheikh’s control, Prideaux was of a different mind, writing: I am told the people of Khor Hassan, Abu Dthuluf [sic], Ruwais, Fuwairat, Dthakhira, Sumesma and Khor Shaqiq [in the north of the peninsula] have never paid revenue to the sheikhs of Bida’a and will scout [scoff at] the idea of being their subjects.19 This was partly confirmed when Prideaux investigated a case at Abu Dhuluf where a Persian boat seeking shelter from the weather had been plundered by the townspeople. The headman told him he was a subject of Sheikh Isa of Bahrain, and that Prideaux’s enquiries should be made there. ‘It was a considerable surprise to me to find that the people of this part of Katr should still ostensibly call themselves Bahreini [sic] subjects,’ wrote Prideaux, though judging by his earlier report, perhaps not that much of a surprise.20 In 1907 there was an economic downturn, triggered by a drought brought on by exceptionally hot weather, poor crop harvests in Asia and a volatile silver market. Although the Bombay pearl market was controlled by Indian and Arab merchants, they were indebted to British buyers, who were now calling in their debts. Sheikh Abdullah spent three months trying to sell his father’s pearls, but returned empty-handed. Jassim started looking for alternative sources of income, and settled on having his own customs house in Doha, imposing taxes on local shipping to raise revenue and replenish his flagging coffers. That put members of the Al bu Ainain clan of Wakrah in a rebellious mood. In the summer of 1908 they appealed to the Ottomans, who promised to protect them and install a military post, but that proved meaningless in the face of British opposition. The Al bu Ainain refused to pay the taxes, and there was an attempt on the life of the town governor, Jassim’s son, Abdur Rahman. Despite Jassim’s assurances that he would try to settle the dispute, the ‘tribe of 1,000 males’ left Wakrah on a hijra first to Kuwait and then to Qasr as-Subaih, 48 kilometres (30 mi.) north of Qatif, where they came under Ottoman protection. Even the Al bu Kuwara felt alienated and tried to leave Qatar under Jassim’s rule.21 Finally, there was the perennial problem of rivalry within the Al Thani. The issue of succession was a running sore, with Abdullah’s elder brother Khalifa having been passed over by their father, and there were others, too: the sons of the murdered Ahmad were disaffected, and were 77

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constantly intriguing against Abdullah. No doubt Jassim hoped that these troubles would dissipate when Abdullah was proclaimed sheikh of Qatar on 13 May 1913, but the future of the ruling house was by no means assured, and these tribal and family struggles for influence would run for generations to come.22

Almost four decades had passed since Ottoman flags were first hoisted over Qatar, but there was no end in sight to the four-way struggle between the British, the Ottomans, the Al Khalifa and Sheikh Jassim. In fact, the next phase was being played out over 3,200 kilo­me­ tres (2,000 mi.) away in Constantinople: in 1908 the Young Turks came to power and a failed counter-revolution a year later saw the removal of Sultan Abdulhammid ii in favour of his largely powerless brother, Mehmet. The real power lay in the hands of the revolutionaries of the Committee of Union and Progress, and the Ottoman Empire was transformed into a constitutional monarchy with a new sense of purpose in the world. For too long the two powers had circled around each other in the Gulf, the British upholding the status quo, the Ottomans occasionally challenging it. Now the Young Turks brought a more assertive foreign policy and a stronger challenge to the British in the Gulf. They laid claim to Zakhnuniya Island, a desolate spot on the Hasa coast just below Uqair, which Bahrain disputed, and persisted with their claim to Qatar. It was a complicated picture: the Foreign Office and the India Office were still divided over their approach, and there was the larger picture of Ottoman interests in the Middle East to be taken into account. The Anglo-Ottoman Convention of 1913 settled these claims; the Ottoman claim to Qatar was dropped on Sheikh Jassim being recognized as its ruler. A line was drawn in blue ink on a map to separate British and Ottoman spheres of influence in Arabia; this famous ‘Blue Line’ ran due south from a point opposite Zakhnuniya Island deep into the desert – by a secret annex, arrangements were made for Bahrain to sell Zakhnuniya Island to the Turks. Article 11 of the convention stated that ‘the peninsula [of Qatar] will, as in the past, be governed by the Sheikh Jasim-bin-Sani [sic] and his successors.’ Britain and the Porte did not recognize Bahrain’s sovereignty over the peninsula, including Zubarah. The sheikh of Bahrain was informed that he no longer had the right to levy tribute from Qatar and, while the British had previously accepted 78

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he had ‘important rights’ there, no one thought to consider those, and they were conveniently forgotten.23 Although the convention went unratified, it nevertheless defined the British position on Arabian boundaries for decades to come. The Otto­­man presence in Qatar was at an end, on paper at least. However, Sheikh Jassim was not around long enough to savour the moment. On 12 July 1913 the Political Agent in Bahrain, Major Arthur Trevor, received news that the sheikh was ailing: one of his legs and one side of his body were swollen. Trevor wondered if the sheikh had suffered a stroke and observed that ‘it looks rather serious for a man of Sheikh Jassim’s age’. An Arab doctor cauterized the octogenarian but, despite a reported improvement in his condition, a fresh swelling appeared on Jassim’s chest and, on the night of 17 July, he was ‘gathered to his forefathers’, as his passing was euphemistically described. An Arab of the old time to his last breath, he was buried at his beloved Lusail.24 First and foremost in his life, he had been drawn by his pearling interests. The pearl might have been his master to begin with, but Sheikh Jassim had mastered the pearl. He left a fortune, bequeathing most of it to his children after reserving an amount to be distributed among the poor. The value of his pearls was said to be 600,000 rupees, which approximates to £7.5 million today. In addition, loans were owed to him in the region of 150,000 rupees, and he owned slaves worth 100,000 rupees, and camels and horses valued at 200,000 rupees. Jassim also bequeathed 10,000 rupees in his will to the descendants of the preacher Muhammad Abd al-Wahhab, and made gifts to the Saudi amirs Ibn Saud and Abdul Rahman, indicating his shared identity and close relations with Wahhabism and the Al Saud.25 Perhaps more important than the money he left behind was the legacy of his rule. The peninsula was not unified under his chieftainship – the north was still a bone to be chewed and the south was the haunt of the nomadic tribes – but Jassim confirmed his family’s merchant trad­­ition and ascendancy in and around Doha, setting future generations on a path that would carry them forward into the modern day. As any Qatari will tell you, Sheikh Jassim was the founder of the nation. This might sound like simple jingoism, but there is more to the ‘cult’ of Jassim than flag-waving and patriotism. In the 1970s, with the onset of many new challenges – the oil wealth, the pressure of development, the influx of foreign workers – there was a growing need to define and preserve Qatar’s identity. Islam and an 79

Built in the early 1900s with an open first-floor gallery to catch the sea breezes, this building became the grand majlis at the centre of Sheikh Abdullah’s palace, was restored in 1975 as the Qatar National Museum, and is now part of the new museum complex.

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Arabian heritage were at the heart of it, even though a significant number of Qataris originated from Iran and Africa. Retrieving a few ancient artefacts and accoutrements from the pearling and nomadic life to display in a museum was all well and good, but it was Jassim’s story that really stood out. Retold many times, the narrative of a leader who defied his enemies against seemingly impossible odds struck a deep chord with Qataris, young and old. And, if Jassim’s story has anything to teach later generations, surely the present ruler and his father have learnt its lesson well.

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Of Pearls and Slaves ‘In a land and period of few material resources, possession of enslaved workers meant having someone with whom to share the workload. For a very few, it represented economic advantage and a display of wealth.’ – Bin Jelmoud Museum, Msheireb, Doha

I

t was said that the best pearls were obtained in deep water, where the whitest and heaviest were to be found, and the most ideal in shape, a perfect sphere, no less; hence the deep waters around Halul Island were a pearlers’ favourite. In the shallow beds, where the harvest could be plentiful, the pearls were less weighty with a touch of colour, thought to be caused by the effect of sunlight. The pearl merchants of the Gulf were imbued with an unfailing belief in the superiority of their own product, scoring the quality of pearls according to a number of notional ‘coats’ they gave them: Karachi pearls were worth one coat each, Ceylon pearls three, the Red Sea and Socotra five – and at least seven were awarded to the humble pearl of the Arabian Gulf. The very best pearls, to be found around Kharg Island, were given an illustrious eight. One of the finest pearls was found in 1867 at a depth of sixteen fathoms of water near the island of Shaikh Shuaib; it was purchased by a merchant for 15,000 krans, was sold in Paris for about £8,000 (about £900,000 today) and eventually purchased by a banyan and taken to India to make an eye for an idol. The story of these years is the story of pearls. They were at the centre of everything: the men leaving their homes to spend weeks on the pearl banks; the divers, many of them slaves, going to depth many times a day without any safeguards or reward; and the nakhudha keeping a close eye on their haul until the travelling merchants came, or they returned to port and found a merchant to haggle with. Lorimer estimated that of Qatar’s population of 27,000, the number employed in pearling amounted to 12,890, namely 48 per cent of the population. Since the population figure included women and children, we might conclude that almost all the men were involved in pearling, albeit on a seasonal 82

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basis. In Qatar, the total number of pearling boats in 1907 was 817, compared with 917 for Bahrain and 1,215 for Trucial Oman (today’s uae), with crews ranging from sixteen to eighteen men per boat.1 There were the haulers, the cooks, the singers, the crew, the loved ones left behind. Pearling more than anything determined the human patterns of this land, giving it structure, imposing routines and bringing wealth. Over the three pearling seasons of a year, men would come and go to the ports, some taking up other jobs between seasons, becoming fishermen, sailors, herders or nomads again. There were good years when the ships would come back from the banks, their crews chanting to the beat of a solitary drum. There were the financiers, the boat builders and the men brought in to guard the towns while the pearling fleet was away. And then there was the whole network of traders; the local markets where the pearls were bought by merchants, who in turn delivered them to the markets of India, Mesopotamia and Persia. At the start of the twentieth century, pearling was enjoying its heyday and Qatar was at its heart; it was calculated that average prices had more than doubled between 1877 and 1907, with the total value of pearls reckoned to be £1,434,399 (approximately £173 million today). The eastern ports of the peninsula were well positioned to exploit the pearling beds which were, according to Lorimer, the finest in the Gulf: In the great bay between Trucial Oman and Qatar the depth of water averages from 10 to 15 fathoms, but there are occasional deep places of 20 to 23 fathoms and many submarine knolls carrying only 3 to 9 fathoms; the last are the principal scene of pearling operations in this part of the Gulf.2 All manner of boats were used, but most common was the sambuk; the largest pearling boats being the barqarah and batil, which could carry up to forty men. Doha had a fleet of 350 boats, followed by Wakrah with 150, Khor Shaqiq with 80, Dhaayen with 70 and Fuwairat with 35, among others. When Sheikh Muhammad bin Thani observed that they were all servant to one master, he was not exaggerating but simply stating a fact: the pearl was the master, and a fickle one at that. The position was little changed in 1908 when Lorimer was writing that ‘the principal and almost exclusive source of livelihood in Qatar is pearl-fishing, supplemented in some places by the breeding of camels.’ In many Gulf towns, private 83

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investors provided the finance required to run a boat for the season, though in Qatar the ruling Thani family owned many of the pearling vessels.3 There were three pearling seasons: the ‘cold diving’, known as the ghaus al-bard, running for forty days from mid-April, when divers tended to keep to the shallower waters; the ‘great dive’, or ghaus al-kabir, which was the busiest time, lasting from the end of May to mid-September; and the ‘return’, or raddah, which began shortly afterwards and ran for about three weeks. During the winter season, men and women would wade the shallow creeks and waters to search for pearls and then return to their homes at night; these pearls were often discoloured and considered inferior. There were no hard-and-fast rules about the exact dates of the diving seasons, which could be interrupted by inclement weather and Ramadan, when all pearling was suspended. Each nakhudha would navigate his boat to the pearling grounds, sailing without charts, using familiar landmarks on the shore and the features of the sea as his reference points; then he would sail from bank to bank, fishing as he went, or staying in one place and allowing his boat to slowly drift across a bank. The pearler’s day was a settled routine of mealtimes, prayer and diving, interspersed by singing and clapping, followed in the evening by the main meal, coffee and a hookah pipe when the work was done. Each pearling fleet would have an ‘admiral’, a senior nakhudha or sheikh who would signal the end of the season; any nakhudha who returned early without a good excuse would be severely dealt with by his sheikh. That said, it was often necessary for boats to return to port for emergencies, replenishment or repairs. Out on the pearling banks, it was an age-old scene. Equipped with earplugs and nose clips, with a rope and a weight to drag him down, a diver would descend to the seabed to collect the oysters. An average diver would make up to fifty dives a day to depths of 8 to 12 fathoms, staying underwater for up to forty seconds before tugging on his rope for the siyub to haul him up from the seabed. In between dives, the divers would wait in the water, hanging by their ropes, waiting for the next call. The best divers could dive as deep as 16 fathoms and last for more than a minute underwater, although extended dives brought an increased risk of injuries. In truth, pearl diving was generally a perilous occupation. If a diver was pulled to the surface too quickly, they would suffer from the bends and there was always a risk of being attacked by sharks, swordfish and sea snakes. In the long term, divers could suffer 84

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A small pearling dhow in the Arabian Gulf.

from weak eyesight and respiratory problems, as well as permanent brain damage. The diver’s haul would be gathered up with others and piled on the deck. At some point during the day, they were prised open under the close supervision of a nakhudha. Any pearls found were graded and kept under lock and key; the opened shells were either discarded back into the sea or kept to sell as mother-of-pearl, though this trade was more commonly carried on in the Persian ports and Bahrain. Occas­ionally, itinerant pearl merchants would come to the pearl beds in small boats to haggle a price for the pearls with the nakhudha before he returned to port; otherwise, he would wait until he was ashore and sell his catch to the musaqqamin or go directly to a tawash; the proceeds would be divided between the nakhudha and crew. By the time a nakhudha had paid his crew, paid off his loans and settled his outstanding debts, there was little if anything to spare; and there was always the next season to think about. If it had been a bad season, perhaps interrupted by storms or epidemics, then a nadkhuda might be out of pocket at its close and forced to borrow more money. Once caught in a cycle of poor harvests and increasing debt, it was 85

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difficult for a nadkhuda to reverse the decline. The same applied to those below him, for if the nakhudha had no money, he could not pay his crew, who themselves went into debt. In Lorimer’s time, there were in Qatar 2,000 free Africans, and 4,000 slaves not living in their masters’ houses. Since the main activity was pearling, many of those slaves would have been sent to work on the pearling boats – it has been estimated that slaves accounted for at least one-third of all divers, and they also took up other roles, including that of nakhudha. They would have paid all of their earnings to their owners, and they were often indebted to their owners who saw their purchase price as the slave’s starting debt. That was often a large amount of money, which accompanied a slave throughout his life and could be passed on to his sons on his death.4 While debt was a widespread problem for free divers in the Gulf, it appears that Qatar was an exception. ‘Practically all of the men are out of debt, and the atmosphere of freedom and equality, good fellowship and comfort is a refreshing contrast to the conditions in Bahrain . . . They are bedouins or descended from bedouins,’ wrote the American missionary Paul Harrison, describing conditions in the 1920s. As a Qatari merchant told him, when a diver was in debt and had returned to his tribe, nobody could reach him. In those circumstances, merchants would not lend money to divers, so there was no debt.5 It was symptomatic of the weakness of the Qatari merchant class, which held little influence over the inland tribes. Unlike Bahrain and Dubai, where there were large communities of Arab, Persian and Banyan traders, Qatar’s merchant class was relatively small. The Banyans had left Doha after Sheikh Jassim’s campaign against them in the 1870s and, by the early 1900s, there was only one Indian trader living there, leaving only a small number of merchants in the town; otherwise, the Al Thani sheikhs dominated the scene.

After all the haggling, sifting and grading had been done, most of the pearls would be sent to Bombay, where they would be sold or re-exported to places such as Baghdad, London and Paris. This connection with the global markets brought ups and downs for the pearling towns of the Gulf: the demand for pearls from Europe in the late nineteenth century saw a doubling of prices every couple of years, but the downturns brought great hardship along the coast.6 86

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As well as receiving profits from the pearl trade, the Al Thani ruler derived an income through taxes. In Doha, for example, four thalers were paid annually for each nakhudha, hauler and diver, and two thalers for each radhif. Some tribal communities, notably the Sudan in the Bida’a quarter, were excused payment, and the many boats belonging to the Al Thani sheikhs were free. In 1908 the amount actually collected was estimated at 8,400 thalers per annum (approx £114,000 today), all of which was taken by the ruler. Similar arrangements were in force for Wakrah, where the sheikh received 3,400 thalers. In other places, there was no tax as such, but a charge for the number of men that were hired to protect a town while the pearlers were away at sea.7 In January 1904 Hermann Burchardt took the first photographs of the town and reported on the pearl trade: A long row of larger boats used in pearl diving testified to the importance of this enterprise. In the pearl season, the number of inhabitants here swells by thousands; all foodstuffs rise in price, and often 1/4 talleri is paid for a goatskin of fresh water. An old, intelligent Arab said that pearl diving is not such a profitable livelihood at all. It involves a respectable amount of capital, for equipping a good sailboat with food and advances for the crew require at least 15,000 rupees, and only in exceptional cases can one count on greater interest than 4 per cent.8 There was another dimension to all this, for the pearl banks had a ‘political as well as a commercial aspect’, according to Lorimer. By this he meant the role of the British in protecting the pearling boats from aggression and resisting the interest of other European powers in the pearl-fishing grounds.9 While in theory pearling was open to everyone, in practice it was controlled by the fleets of the pearling centres. The Bahraini fleet had the richest banks and the administrative, legal and financial apparatus for organizing the largest fleet and the main pearl market: its supervision of debt, absconding crew, marketing, and the opening and closing of the various seasons was the strictest. Although conflict could arise between the various groups within these fleets, all that had ended with the Maritime Treaty of 1853. With the new security, coupled with technical changes (charts, size of ships, and so on) allowing new pearling banks to be opened up far from shore, and the changing financial 87

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system which resulted from pearling being drawn into the world economy, the second half of the nineteenth century saw a pearl boom and a change in the shape of the political geography of the region, notably the rise of the new pearling centre at Doha and its confederation of pearling sheikhs. Their real rival was Abu Dhabi; Bahrain remained their market.10 In those few cases where sheikhs of the Trucial Coast purported to grant concessions to outsiders, the British treated them as null and void, and persuaded them not to make any further agreements without their consent. Qatar remained outside the protective umbrella until the Anglo-Qatari Treaty of 1916, although the British authorities still intervened when necessary. In fact, when European companies managed to bring vessels to the Gulf for pearling operations, they soon abandoned their endeavours after finding local conditions too arduous. The vagaries of pearling can be seen from the reports of British officials of the time. They are peppered with references to the conditions, such as ‘the year’s catch of pearls was, owing to continuous bad weather, less than the two previous years, and the prices were about the same.’ The effect of the First World War was evident: a prohibition against the export of pearls to Europe from India depressed the market. Once the war was over, the pearl market experienced a resurgence and prices rose by 50 per cent. After all the ups and downs, 1918 was a good year.11 Another problem was the growing interest in mother-of-pearl, typified by the German firm of Wönckhaus & Co., which began exporting the shiny insides of oyster shells to Hamburg in 1897. In the past, shells were opened for their pearls and then thrown back into the sea, where they could act as an irritant to trigger the growth of new pearls on the seabed. When the mother-of-pearl market arrived, empty shells were no longer thrown back into the sea, thus depriving oysters of an important factor in their development. There were other irritants such as sand, but the effect of discarding fewer shells back into the sea was seen as one reason for the decline of pearling in the 1920s. That reason can be called into question, however, since what really destroyed the trade was the arrival on the global markets of artificially produced pearls, known as cultured pearls, from Japan. Created by businessman Mikimoto Kokichi, artificial pearls were more plentiful and much cheaper than naturally produced Gulf pearls, being sold for as little as one-tenth of the price. As a result, cultured pearls rapidly 88

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made inroads into the global markets. There was talk of making cultured pearls in the Gulf, but it came to nothing; and although artificial pearls were banned from the area, the downturn of the local industry was relentless. From then on the pearl-fishing fleets of the Arabian coast shrank, and populations fell as people left the towns to look for work elsewhere. The Great Depression added to their woes, bringing economic recession to the area; by the 1930s it was increasingly apparent that pearling’s glory days were over. Between 1918 and 1941, Doha’s population dropped from 27,000 to 16,000 inhabitants. A visitor to the town would have been struck by its dilapidation, reflecting the loss of income from pearls and the extent to which the trade had once sustained whole communities. The sea harvest was Qatar’s life, but now that was gone. Alan Villiers, an Australian who sailed with Arab dhows in the 1930s, provides a striking image of the decline in the Gulf with his description of a large, abandoned house that had been the home of a pearl merchant: [He] still had sacks full of pearls but there was no market. He had bought the pearls before the slump but could never sell them; he had held them and held them, and still held them though he had lost his home, his ships, his business, everything. He only had the pearls and they were worth a fraction of the money he had invested in them. He could not bring himself to part with his beloved jewels at so low a price, and now they were all that remained to him.12 By 1944, there were only 6,000 workers left in the Gulf pearl trade, as opposed to 60,000 twenty years before. It teetered on until the 1950s, but was doomed. In 1958 the Political Resident wrote: ‘For the first time in very many years no pearling boat left Doha harbour, and the hulks of what used to be a considerable fleet lie rotting on the coast.’13 It was in the pearl trade that the fortunes of the Al Thani once rested. As Palgrave had observed, ‘all thought, all conversation, all employment, turns on that one subject; everything else is mere by-game, and below even secondary consideration.’ This obsession with the acquisition of wealth has been a defining feature of the ruling family ever since and, although pearls have been replaced by hydrocarbons, the principle of using wealth as an instrument of power is the same. In Qatar, the sheikhs had a relatively short time to transition from the 89

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A traditional Gulf pearl merchant.

end of one era to the start of another; their sensibilities and attitudes were those of the pearl merchant, and it was through those eyes that they saw the coming of oil.14 These days the pearl trade is commemorated in a number of ways. There are the obvious signs such as the artificial island complex named The Pearl-Qatar, the sculpture of an open oyster shell known as the Pearl Monument and the pearl exhibitions of Qatar Museums. But less familiar to visitors are the stories and songs passed down through the generations. The crews of the pearling dhows had a repertoire of songs 90

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that they sang as they went about their work. This sea music or fann al-bahri (‘art of the sea’) was probably influenced by the songs of the bedouin, and East Africa, India and Baluchistan, reflecting the trading patterns of the dhows. Marwa Koheji, who interviewed many former pearl divers, described the lyrics in these terms: ‘The sorrow of longing is interwoven with the joy of romance, the feeling of homesickness is engulfed in a state of rapture, the worries over the debts of the season are masked in heartfelt prayers directed to Allah.’15

One day a boy named Masud bin Ali was out in the fields grazing cows in Ethiopia when he was kidnapped by a band of Nejdi slave traders. They brought him to Doha and sold him to Badr bin Rashid, whom he served for about five years. He was then sold on to Ali bin Rashid, the chief of Wakrah, and served him for some four years. He used to go out diving every season and earn for his owner, but Masud was not allowed to keep any of his earnings. He asked to be sold to another slave dealer, but to no avail. In 1932 he managed to escape in a sailing boat and came to the British Agency in Bahrain to seek his freedom, which was granted. His statement signed with a thumbprint is both pathetic and moving, a testament to how slavery uprooted lives and brought misery to the people of Africa, Yemen, Oman and the Makran coast.16 In 1807 the slave trade was banned in the British Empire, followed by a complete ban on slavery 24 years later. The British actively suppressed the slave trade in the Arabian Gulf, classing it as ‘piracy and plunder’, but stopped short of an outright ban on slavery. Slavery was rooted in the social structures of the Gulf sheikhdoms, and attempts to abolish the practice would have threatened their stability. So, while slaves could not be traded, they could still be owned, leading to a rise in the number of slaves born in captivity – in fact slave trading continued well into the twentieth century, despite British efforts to prevent it. That did not mean the British turned a blind eye to the worst aspects of slavery. In those places where Britain had a physical presence, it was possible for slaves to escape from their owners and make for the nearest British Agency where, provided they clasped the flagpole in the Agency compound, they could claim their freedom – a practice known as manumission. They would make a statement giving details of their enslavement and the reasons why they had left their owners; many left their thumbprint on the document in place of a signature. Once they 91

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had satisfied an Agency official that they had been ill-treated or newly imported, they would be issued with a manumission certificate, a docu­ ment marked with an official stamp. This was prima facie evidence of their freedom, and was generally recognized as such by the Gulf rulers, though it was not always a cast-iron guarantee against being returned to slavery. In Qatar, the situation was different, since it was not a signatory to the 1820 treaty of maritime peace and did not have a permanent British presence. A slave might be able to gain their freedom under Islamic law from their owner or otherwise escape to the British Agency in Bahrain, but there was no British flagpole in Doha. As well as being an integral part of the pearl trade, slaves were found both in the larger settlements of Doha and Wakrah, and in the scattered communities of the north, suggesting that ownership was not confined to the wealthy elite. After the British entered into agreements with other Gulf sheikhdoms against slavery, Qataris were allowed to retain the slaves they already had, as long as they were well treated. A single slave brought from Africa could beget a whole family of slaves over time, all living in the same household. Many of these slaves were well treated, but there were others who were not so well served. In 1928 the Political Agent observed: There is little doubt that slaves are imported from the interior and sold freely in the Qatar markets. Shaikh Abdullah [the ruler] himself treats his slaves well and is probably anxious to ease the lot of the unfortunate blacks, but his influence through­ out his principality and even in his own capital, where his brothers defy him, is small. The lot of the slave who has to dive for his master in summer and shepherd the sheep and collect firewood in winter is not a happy one.17 It was not until the early 1950s that the last vestiges of slavery disappeared. Until then, naval measures persisted in the Gulf and were used to combat arms smuggling and the slave trafficking at sea; but the traders simply switched routes to avoid them. The overland trade in slaves brought slaves from Africa through the Red Sea ports, Hadhramaut, Oman and Nejd to be sold in the markets of eastern Arabia. It was a heartless trade. The sheer scale of slavery – the vast numbers of men, women and children forcibly uprooted from their homes 92

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and families, and taken on arduous journeys to the slave markets of Arabia – is difficult to comprehend or measure. However, although it is estimated that some 800,000 Africans were brought to the Arabian Gulf as slaves, this is almost certainly an exaggeration. Bashir bin Farajullah arrived at the Bahrain Agency in his eighties to ask for a manumission certificate. It was noted that ‘he looks like a Negro and talks Arabic’. He had been born in Qatar to slave parents who worked for the ruler. When he was thirty years old, he was sold to a nakhudha from Ghariyah and served on his boat for the next fourteen years. Eventually, after marrying and having children, his owner freed him. Nevertheless, he travelled to Bahrain to obtain a manumission certificate, which was granted in 1934. It seems that a British manumission certificate was a more reliable document than an owner’s one, since it had currency throughout the Gulf.18 Abdullah al-Utaibi was born in Khartoum and, when still a child, was kidnapped by the Ottoman army. After escaping, he was captured by bedouins, taken to Jeddah and sold on. He stayed with his owner for about a year before again being sold on, this time to bedouins of the Mutairi tribe, staying with them for six months. He was then taken by other bedouins and passed between various owners until he was owned by Nasir bin Rashid:

The African slave trade – a wood engraving of slaves taken from a dhow captured by hms Undine, illustrated in The Graphic, London, 7 June 1884.

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I remained three months with him after which he took me to Qatar and sold me to one Amer bin Khalfan with whom I remained for two years. Then I was sold to Ali bin Thani who took me to Qatar. I remained in his service for eleven years. I used to go diving every year and earn some money. He used to take almost all of it.19 That was a common complaint. No doubt the owner would have answered that he was entitled to take the money because he looked after his slave for the two-thirds of the year that he was ashore but, while some owners cared for their slaves, others did not. And although Abdullah bin Utaibi was granted his manumission certificate, there were many others who did not reach the magic flagpole.

Slavery is a sensitive issue in the country today, although there is no attempt to deny its past – indeed there is a museum dedicated to the subject. In a restored, whitewashed house in Doha there is tangible proof of the trade that provided a large part of the labour force in Qatar. The Museum of Slavery is located in Bin Jelmoud House in the old quarter of the city, behind the ruler’s palace. This was once the home of one of the most powerful slave traders in Qatar, his family name of Jelmoud being translated to mean ‘rock’ or ‘hard heart’. Here shackled men, women and children who had been taken from their homes in East Africa were held captive before being sold on to sheikhs and rich merchants in Qatar, Al Hasa and beyond. Now the stories of these people are preserved in fading photographs and flickering videos. The museum sets slavery in a global context, including a section about modern slavery. There are several statements in the British archives in which the name Muhammad bin Jelmoud is mentioned as a trader bringing in slaves from Al Hasa: ‘This latter master [Jelmoud] took me to Qatar with 25 other male and female slaves and sold me to one Ghanim bin Abdul Rahman, a Nejdi provision merchant in Doha.’20 After being passed on to another owner, the slave named Faraj found himself being sold by public auction to a Qatari named Ali bin Omran, whom he served for the next seventeen years. His master would send him diving every year and take all his earnings without giving him a share. In winter he used to give Faraj various sorts of domestic work, but he was also cruel 94

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and did not provide any proper clothing. Faraj reported to the British Agency in Bahrain in 1935, and was granted his manumission certificate. It was apparent that being on a pilgrimage to Mecca was no guarantee of safety, as shown by the statement of Saed, who was taken from his parents while they were resting at Jeddah on their way to the holy city: In Hasa the bedouins sold me to a person called Jaleemeed [Jelmoud]. I served him for one week and afterwards he took me to Qatar and sold me there to one Ghanim bin Salman al-Sulaiti of Bahrain. After spending a considerable time in his service in Qatar, he brought me to Bahrain. It is now five years since I came to Bahrain. He got me married to one of his slave girls who gave birth to a daughter who is three years old now. I used to go diving every season and earn for my said master.21 Even freed slaves ran the risk of being captured by bedouins and sold back into slavery again. The bedouins also took the slaves of tribes they had defeated in battle, for a slave was worth five camels; but a slave in a bedouin camp could not marry unless his owner bought another slave as his wife, since they did not have any rights in wider society. Whichever way you looked at it, a slave was an asset to be bought and sold. Elsewhere, the lot of a slave depended very much on the character of their owner, whether he was good or bad. The example of Salman bin Faraj is a case in point: I was brought to Bahrain about two years ago to serve the wife of my master who is living in Bahrain. My master, who is now in Qatar, used to ill-treat me, beat me when he was here, and I am constantly being ill-treated and beaten by his wife.22 At times of economic adversity, slaves would suffer with their families, enduring poverty and hardship, especially when the pearl trade collapsed. Cases of abuse increased, and a rising number of slaves escaped from their owners and sought manumission in Bahrain. At the height of slavery in Qatar, one-fifth of its people were African, from whom a significant proportion of modern Qataris are descended. They were absorbed into society a long time ago, many of them taking the names of their owners. In the course of becoming integrated with Qatari society, non-Islamic slaves would have to become Muslims, which 95

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would involve a period of religious instruction, while children born to slaves would inherit their parents’ status. And yet African possession and healing rituals such as zar-bori, tanbura and lewa spread to the Gulf with the slave trade, commerce and migration. Those practising the rituals would have to do so secretly, waiting until evening prayers had finished before leaving their owner’s house to attend a tanbura performance. Until now, we have tended to look at Qatar as a tribal society, but these accounts leave some tantalizing thoughts: if these rituals were carried on despite enslavement and conversion to Islam, how much more has been preserved in the lives of the modern descendants of slaves; and how successful has integration been, or is there discrimin­ ation against them? While Bin Jelmoud House breaks the taboo of slavery in the Gulf, and presents a powerful depiction of it, the museum leaves those questions unanswered. However, that is not the purpose of the museum, which is to counter negative images of the country and project its soft-power influence on the international stage. In 1949, when it came to having a British representative in Doha, the knotty issue of a flagpole arose. Sheikh Abdullah was concerned that the presence of a British official (and flagpole) would open the manumission floodgates. The Political Resident gave him an assurance that manumission would not be granted in Qatar when a political officer was installed. The British were happy to wait for slavery to die out by natural means, and that day was not too far away, for slaves were growing older and new ones were hard to come by. The spirit of Percy Cox still lingered, and the British drive against slavery in Qatar remained a pragmatic affair until slavery was abolished in 1952; and the flagpole went on the roof.

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Bin Jelmoud House, part of the Msheireb Museums in Doha, is an exhibition and research centre devoted to the history of slavery.

6

The Politics of Protection ‘I have also affixed my signature and seal with the date thereof to each and every one of the aforesaid Treaties and Engagements that it may not be hidden.’ – Abdullah bin Jassim Al Thani, Persian Gulf Katr Treaty (1916)

I

n the spring of 1913, when the first riders of his army approached the Hasa shore with their banners unfurled, Ibn Saud’s victory over the Ottomans was complete. But the ambitious amir of Nejd was not one to rest on his laurels and he would soon be looking to expand his burgeoning domain – his prestige among Arabs was high, and he had a vision of greatness. For this reason, the British regarded him as a serious threat to their interests in the Gulf and to Qatar in particular, which was there for the taking. The Political Resident, Percy Cox (now Sir Percy), viewed the situation with mounting unease. ‘Ibn Saud is at the coast and a new menace threatens,’ he wrote.1 Then the First World War intervened, distracting the British and leaving Qatar in a state of limbo. When Turkey took Germany’s side in the war in November 1914, the Anglo-Ottoman Convention – which required the Ottomans to withdraw from Qatar – was still unratified. Their troops in Qalat al-Askar were marooned, supplies had dried up, morale was low and men were deserting. Six months later, the garrison was ninety and falling. On 26 July 1915 the Political Agent in Bahrain, Major Terence Keyes, reported that there were only 34 soldiers left in the fort, and most of those were preparing to desert. However, British plans to remove the remaining garrison took second place to the demands of war. It was not until 19 August 1915, when two British warships arrived to clear Doha harbour of hostile Tangistani dhows, that the opportunity arose. hms Dalhousie anchored out of range of the Ottoman guns while hms Pyramus cautiously approached the shore. Once they found no Tangistani boats, Keyes was ready to proceed to the next stage. Sheikh Abdullah bin Jassim Al Thani (r. 1913–49) came on board Pyramus. He had been ambivalent about removing the soldiers, since 98

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they were the last vestige of Ottoman protection against Ibn Saud, but even he recognized that the time had come for them to go and, after being offered 5,000 rupees, he agreed to arrange their surrender. Keyes delayed his approach until the next day and, when a landing party reached the fort, they discovered that the last two Ottoman officers and forty men had disappeared into the night. Three guns, five hundred shells and 105,000 rounds of ammunition were left behind, all of which were handed over to the sheikh. The British then departed, leaving Qatar to its own devices for the time being. Sheikh Abdullah was about 35 years old. Since he was only photographed as an elderly man, it is difficult for us to envisage how he might have looked at this time, but he had a reputation for being clever, austere and cautious, a sheikh of the old time like his father. The British thought him weak, but that was a reflection of his political situation rather than his personal qualities. As with all tribal states, power was highly personal, and when Jassim died the Al Thani authority faded, leaving Ibn Saud as foremost in the land. Abdullah was also caught between the demands of his fractious relatives – his elder brother Khalifa, the sons of Jassim’s murdered brother Ahmad, and the independently minded Abdur Rahman of Wakrah – all of whom might look to Ibn Saud for advancement. The idea of having a treaty of protection with the British, which had simmered for many years, now seemed a real possibility. Abdullah recognized that Qatar was in a vulnerable position and, as his father in his later years, seemed receptive to such a treaty. But still the timing was not right, for Cox wanted to ‘lose no time in establishing definite and friendly relations’ with Ibn Saud before starting discussions with Abdullah. This was accomplished on 26 December 1915 when Ibn Saud signed a treaty that prevented him from ceding territory to, and from entering into relations with, foreign powers without British consent. He also undertook to refrain from aggression towards, or interference with, ‘the territories of the Sheikhs of Katr [sic] and the Oman coast, who are under the protection of the British Government’.2 That appeared to weaken the case for a separate treaty with Sheikh Abdullah, but Cox was keen to pursue it: Qatar was known as a depot for smuggling arms and needed to be brought into line. Cox was an ex­­pe­­rienced diplomat, having been in post since 1904, and was well respected among the Gulf sheikhs, who affectionately called him ‘Cokkus’. Although his main focus at that moment was on fighting 99

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the war in Mesopotamia, he arrived at Doha with Colonel Trenchard Fowle, the Acting Political Agent in Bahrain, on 2 November 1916. ‘Sheikh Abdullah was very friendly and cordial throughout and I think quite realises which side his bread is buttered,’ noted Cox. On the 4th Sheikh Abdullah conceded and met with Cox in order to sign and seal the final documents. The sheikh signed five copies of the treaty as requested, but became ‘thoroughly bored’ when it came to reading and signing the maritime truces. Cox did not labour the point and put them aside. The treaty formally required Qatar to abandon the slave and arms trades and surrender its foreign relations to British control.3 In fact Cox never intended to suppress slavery within Qatar, because the sheikh still owned ‘a good many slaves’. He also thought it unwise to press the issue of manumission – the Gulf trade in new slaves had declined in recent years and, although slaves were still being brought overland from Mecca, there were few reported cases of ill treatment; the practice of slavery would persist in Qatar for another 36 years. As for the other provisions, the sheikh was not allowed to grant pearl fishery or other rights without British consent, and taxes on British goods were limited to a maximum of 5 per cent. Three articles – freedom of British subjects (for example, Banyans) to trade, a British representative in Doha and establishing postal and telegraph services – were suspended because Abdullah feared opposition from his family.4 In return for the agreement, Britain granted Qatar protection from aggression at sea and promised to lend its ‘good offices’ in the event of a land attack. It is clear from internal correspondence that the British never intended this to be a promise of military assistance against overland aggression. Abdullah remained, psychologically at least, at the mercy of Ibn Saud. No doubt it was a consolation that he was allowed to import up to five hundred rifles for arming his supporters, thus shoring up his position against his troublesome relatives; but it was Ibn Saud who cast the longest shadow over the sheikhdom. Three months later, a winter storm brought a flood to Doha, leaving great losses in its wake. Sheikh Abdullah gave 8,000 rupees for the relief of its victims and, although the waters ebbed away, it was this event rather than the intricacies of diplomacy or the progress of foreign wars that settled in the local memory.

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The end of the First World War in November 1918 found Great Britain in a strong position in the Gulf. The immediate threat from Ibn Saud had receded, the Ottomans had left the scene and the Germans had fallen away. The war had been debilitating, but the British were still able to administer their affairs on a shoestring budget with only a handful of political officers, agents and gunboats. The linchpin of British power was the Political Resident at Bushire in Persia (today’s Iran). Despite the treaty of protection with Qatar, there was no British representative in Doha and the nearest one was based in Bahrain. Occasionally he visited Doha to meet Sheikh Abdullah and talk about – or around – the burning issues of the day. Abdullah’s grip on power remained weak. He was unable to project his authority much beyond Doha, let alone keep the Al Thani in check. In an attempt to boost his standing, the British accorded him a seven-gun

Photograph of Doha taken during an aerial survey of Qatar by the raf in May 1934.

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salute at official occasions and made him a Companion of the Most Eminent Order of the Indian Empire (cie). But even that did not go smoothly as the vessel bringing British officers to present the medal ran aground in Doha harbour and they were unable to land, so Abdullah had to be invested on board. The old problem of the northern villages raised its head again. By October 1922 Abdullah had lost control of them and planned an attack by sea. Because of the treaty’s ban on maritime warfare, he needed to rehearse his plan with the British, so he travelled to Bahrain to meet the Political Agent, Clive Daly, who declined to give him direct support. He told the sheikh that the British would not intervene if Abdullah used force to restore order, but neither would they assist if the fighting spread and the Saudis became involved. ‘The Government of India do not desire to get mixed up in the internal affairs of Qatar,’ he explained. That also explained why Daly was unwilling to back Abdullah’s choice of his son Hamad as heir, but Abdullah would not let the matter drop, returning to it again a decade later when he was negotiating an oil agreement with the British and was in a stronger position to advance his demands.5 Ibn Saud was an ever-present danger, and the Ikhwan – the twentiethcentury successors of the Wahhabis – roamed the desert at the base of the Qatar peninsula, striking fear among the travellers of the sands. Even as Ibn Saud battled his adversaries, the Rashid and the kingdom of Hejaz, his influence in Qatar remained strong; his standing among the Qatari tribes was high, and the bulk of Doha’s customs revenues were paid to him as protection money. That was hard for Sheikh Abdullah because he was already struggling with the demands of his rapacious relatives, more so since the revenues had fallen dramatically with the decline of the pearl trade. In January 1926 Ibn Saud emerged victorious from his war with Hejaz, and Qatar was in the spotlight again. Daly had some sympathy for Abdullah’s predicament, observing that ‘it would be a pity if Qatar disappeared as a separate entity.’ That, and more practical reasons, prompted him to write to Ibn Saud asking him to exercise restraint, and in May 1927 the Saudi amir signed the Treaty of Jeddah giving an undertaking that he would ‘maintain friendly and peaceful relations’ with Qatar and the sheikhs of the Trucial Coast.6 That broad promise fell short of a specific guarantee, and Abdullah still had to tread carefully. For the most part, he kept on the right side 102

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of Ibn Saud by paying the protection money and exchanging gifts. In 1928 Political Agent Cyril Barrett was reporting that: Sheikh Abdullah’s relations with Ibn Saud remained good throughout the year. The cordiality between them was marked by Bin Saud’s gift of a Georgian slave girl, who was sent to Shaikh Abdullah in July and by costly presents valued at Rs. 50,000 presented in Riyadh to the Shaikh of Qatar’s relations, who were returning from pilgrimage. Shaikh Abdullah appears to have made return gifts of arms and ammunition.7 In 1929 there was some respite for Abdullah when Ibn Saud turned against the Ikhwan and defeated them at the Battle of Sabilla. How­ever, like phantoms, they still haunted the desert, as the British explorer Bertram Thomas discovered in early 1931 as his bedouin guards approached Qatar from the Rub al-Khali and took measures to avoid them. Abdullah’s problems remained closer to home: ‘The Sheikh has little power over the more unruly of his kinsmen, and villages on the northern shores of the peninsula pay little attention to him,’ the Political Agent in Bahrain wrote.8 In August 1933, after trying to press the king of Saudi Arabia – as Ibn Saud now was – for repayment of an outstanding loan, Abdullah was summoned to Riyadh like a naughty schoolboy: The Shaikh of Qatar had reminded the King about repayment and this had greatly angered that monarch. Abdulla ibn Jaloui [Jaluwi] his friend had then secretly instructed the Shaikh of Qatar to come and make his peace, promising himself to act as go-between.9 Ibn Saud might have had Qatar under his thumb, but his own position was not assured, for there was always the danger that he might be removed by radical elements of the Wahhabi community, who in turn might combine with Al Thani dissenters to oust Sheikh Abdullah himself. And so Qatar’s destiny hinged on the whims and fate of the Saudi ruler. At first, Qatar was of marginal interest in the petroleum world. The Anglo-Persian Oil Company, which had discovered oil in Persia in 103

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1908, was too heavily committed to undertake speculative ventures elsewhere. Besides, in geological terms, the Arabian peninsula was poorly rated as an oil prospect because its rock structures did not match those on the Persian side of the Gulf. It would take the intervention of a maverick speculator to ripple the pools of conventional wisdom. Major Frank Holmes was that person. He was a concession hunter, a New Zealand mining engineer who had become involved in the Middle Eastern oil business on behalf of his London firm, Eastern and General Syndicate Ltd. In November 1922 he turned up at Uqair on the Hasa coast at a conference to discuss Arabian boundaries. Although not a party to the talks, he waited patiently for Ibn Saud to meet him and discuss an oil concession for Al Hasa. Sir Percy Cox was also present. Holmes produced a map which included Qatar in the proposed concession area, but Cox swiftly intervened and drew a boundary line at the base of the peninsula, separating Qatar from Ibn Saud’s territory. Over three years would pass before a geologist appeared on Qatar’s shores. In February 1926 Anglo-Persian sent a reconnaissance party to the peninsula led by geologist George Martin Lees with ‘Haji’ Williamson as his guide. After a few days surveying the desert, Lees concluded that Qatar might only be a viable prospect if oil were found on neighbouring Bahrain, where the rock structures were believed to be similar. And so, when oil was struck on the island six years later, Qatar became a real petroleum possibility, and Anglo-Persian quickly reopened negotiations with Sheikh Abdullah for an oil concession. But Abdullah, aided and abetted by his son Hamad, had other ideas. His price for granting a concession – in addition to the revenues that would flow – was a treaty of protection with the British government against an attack by land. His bargaining position improved dramatically when Standard Oil of California (SoCal) were granted an oil concession for Al Hasa in May 1933, and began looking expectantly towards Qatar. There were reports of SoCal agents and Frank Holmes visiting Doha and, at a meeting in Riyadh, Ibn Saud advised Abdullah that any oil concession should go to Holmes. That year was exceptionally cool and high winds blew throughout the summer. Sheikh Abdullah decided to hedge his bets, continuing his discussions with Anglo-Persian while keeping an eye open for anything else the wind might bring. Meanwhile, the quaysides and markets of the Gulf sprang into life. It seemed everyone was a spy, from the raggedy figures watching from 104

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Sheikh Abdullah bin Jassim Al Thani (centre) with Muhammad al-Manah (right) and ‘Salith’, photographed by Bertram Thomas in 1931.

the shadows to the furtive informants gathering snippets on a quiet corner; progress reports of ‘confidential’ oil negotiations were relayed to merchants and shopkeepers as they squatted around sipping coffee in the bustling suqs. Among the informants in Doha was the mysterious figure of ‘K’, an individual whose real name was known only to the Political Agent and the head munshi in Bahrain. ‘As for us,’ K confided to Percy Loch, the Political Agent in Bahrain, ‘you may rest assured that we will report any fact about the slightest thing to you when it happens.’ This cloak-and-dagger business no doubt appealed to the pipe-smoking Political Resident Trenchard Fowle, who took an avid interest in detective stories.10 Actually, there was an element of slapstick about the situation because K insisted on writing his ‘secret’ reports on his personalized stationery. And yet, although Loch later claimed that K had supplied ‘no information of value’, his reports revealed enough about SoCal’s activities to prompt two visits from Fowle in the spring of 1934. Anxious to defend Anglo-Persian’s interest in the peninsula, Fowle reminded the sheikh of his obligation under the 1916 treaty to grant the concession to a British-approved company. There was an element of bluff in 105

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this, since international agreements had made it difficult to exclude foreign companies. While the sheikh conceded the point, he still insisted that any agreement he made with Ibn Saud was private.11 That was not a throwaway remark, as Anglo-Persian representatives Charles Mylles and Haji Williamson discovered when they returned to the town in July and heard that a SoCal agent had again visited the sheikh, bringing letters and an endorsement from Bin Jaluwi, the Saudi governor of Al Hasa. However, despite this and suffering from a bout of rheumatism, Abdullah appeared well-disposed towards the English­ men. ‘If I get the money I want,’ he told them, ‘the rest of the agreement is only words.’ He extended by eight months Anglo-Persian’s option to explore the peninsula. His change of mood probably stemmed from the fact that, in recent correspondence with the Saudis, the British gov­­ ernment had stood by the Blue Line and thus shown a willingness to defend Qatar’s territorial integrity.12 Although the British had been ambivalent in the past about protecting Qatar from land attack, their stance was shifting. In talking to Abdullah about sites for landing grounds and flying boat anchorages, their focus had been on protecting Doha and its surrounds, but now that oil might be found in the west, the whole peninsula came into play – otherwise, the oil concession might fall into the wrong hands. Ibn Saud, for instance, still addressed Abdullah rather dismissively as the ‘sheikh of Doha’ and insisted that the inland (bar Qatar) belonged to Saudi Arabia.13 In April 1935 Trenchard Fowle appeared as the deus ex machina. He gave Sheikh Abdullah his precious guarantee of protection against land attack and recognized Hamad’s succession in return for raf landing grounds, fuel storage facilities and the use of wireless telegraphy, the idea being that the raf would defend Qatar from the air. Abdullah was to retain jurisdiction over disputes involving Muslims, Kuwaitis, Bahrainis and people from the Trucial Coast, while the Political Agent in Bahrain would deal with disputes between British subjects, Britishprotected people and those from non-Muslim countries. However, when Fowle returned to sign the agreement on 8 May, he was surprised to find that Abdullah was still quibbling over its terms and now requesting machine guns and two armoured cars, but that was turned down in case it provoked Ibn Saud. Once that hurdle had been cleared, the way was open for an oil concession to be signed, which happened on 17 May. Sheikh Abdullah’s 106

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health was poor and ‘he looked very ill; his face was grey in colour and his lips were blue.’ Again assisted by his son Hamad, he granted AngloPersian the exploration and development rights for the peninsula for a period of 75 years on a signature payment of 400,000 rupees (approximately £2 million today), plus 150,000 rupees per annum, which was to double in five years, and royalties of 3 rupees per ton. As the historian Rosemarie Zahlan observed, this last figure was ‘dramatically low’, though it should also be noted that the price of oil was much lower in those days than it is now. Oil was yet to be found on the Arabian mainland, so it was anyone’s guess whether Qatar had a single drop.14 On hearing the news, an angered Ibn Saud wrote to Abdullah demanding that the frontier between their territories be settled, otherwise he would be ‘compelled to protest and to stop [oil] operations’, this being a veiled threat to stir tribal unrest; but it came to nothing because Abdullah had Fowle’s guarantee of protection. Abdullah might have even thought he was free of Ibn Saud – the oil agreement included a map showing a concession boundary that reflected his understanding of where the boundary with Saudi Arabia lay, and that is what the British were prepared to defend; but the Saudis did not agree, and the political boundary was not settled for another thirty years.15 Finally there were Sheikh Abdullah’s relatives who wanted a share of the new-found wealth. In the summer of 1938 a family deputation headed by the sons of Jassim’s murdered brother, Ahmad – the same relatives who had opposed Abdullah’s accession in 1913 – travelled to Bahrain and appealed to the Political Agent, Hugh Weightman, for help to obtain what they considered to be their just desserts. ‘In the past we used to earn our living out of sea income which he [Abdullah] is now getting and giving us nothing therefrom,’ they complained. ‘Nowadays he gets a considerable amount of income but does not give us anything out of it although we are his near relatives.’ Their appeal was turned down.16

As the geologists went about their work, examining the terrain and tapping rocks, they were assisted by local guides, who included Sheikh Mansour bin Khalil al-Hajiri. His work guiding the 1937–8 party around the Qatar peninsula was described in glowing terms by the geologist F. E. Wellings: ‘He appeared to have a complete mental picture of the whole of Qatar and had a quite uncanny capacity for 107

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knowing exactly where he was under all conditions – in clear weather, in fog, or even in darkness.’17 It was a remarkable example of old skills complementing the new. Having familiarized himself with a particular type of fossil, which enabled the geologists to date a particular rock bed, Mansour was able to lead them to the places where specimens could be found. His standing was high among the tribes, which helped to smooth over any local difficulties. He was also head of the bedouins who guarded the company’s sites. He eventually went blind from trachoma and, although he received treatment at the oil company’s expense, he did not regain his eyesight. However, with a nephew as his ‘seeing eye’, he was still able to assist survey parties after the war. Since Anglo-Persian was required to work with its partners in the British-led Iraq Petroleum Company (ipc), it transferred operations to Petroleum Development (Qatar) (pdq), which was part of the ipc group. During the 1937–8 season, the company began recruiting local labour through the offices of Saleh al-Manah, the ruler’s representative, and initially all workers were picked up from his home district, Al Jassra, and taken across the peninsula to Dukhan. A second contract was given to Abdullah Darwish, who was from a Qatari merchant family of Iranian origin, one of the main business families of the modern Gulf. Described as ‘a big, one-eyed man with a gruff voice’, he was a close ally of the heir apparent, Sheikh Hamad bin Abdullah. While pdq was building jetties, dwellings, offices, workshops and stores, and drilling new wells, Darwish’s trucks were transporting unskilled labour to and from Doha each week. Their headquarters were located in a whitewashed, two-storied building in the town suq. Business was good, and would get better, but there were some troubling issues.18 A worker could earn more than three times as much as a man on a pearling vessel but, by modern standards, working conditions in the oil industry were hard. When the first rig was being built, steel girders were unloaded from dhows at Zekrit by hand – there were no winches or cranes. Former divers from the pearl trade were employed as workers on the site, dumping stones in the sea and then diving in to put them in place. Some workers were required to mix cement with their feet, causing their skin to peel off. Ramadan was spent working, so they had to toil through daylight hours without eating. Labourers were paid 45 rupees a month, which later increased to 75 rupees. They lived in buildings made from thin bamboo strands known as shawlan. 108

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Dr G. M. Lees (left) with Sheikh Mansour bin Khalil al-Hajiri (right) taking a break during an oil survey in 1934.

pdq began drilling its first well in October 1938 and struck oil at Jebel Dukhan fourteen months later. But any thoughts of an oil bonanza were put on hold when the Second World War broke out in 1939 and the wells were ‘plugged and junked’. As well as being a setback for the ruler and his relatives, it was a blow to those who had come to depend on the oilfield for a living and were forced to return to fishing, collecting firewood and breaking stones. The condition of the people was ‘worst [sic] than miserable’ and many families were forced to migrate to Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Kuwait and the Trucial Coast. Not so Abdullah Darwish – having briefly lost his lucrative share of the labour and building markets, he turned to smuggling on the black market. In fact, Darwish was so successful in this endeavour that the British confiscated his travel papers and took over the rationing themselves.19 Sheikh Abdullah increasingly took a back seat during the war years, leaving the business of government – and everything else besides – to his son, Sheikh Hamad. All seemed set for the succession which – in view of Abdullah’s semi-retirement – was surely not far away, but the question of Qatar’s sovereignty over Zubarah and the Hawar Islands still rumbled on.

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‘There may be a fight at Zubarah,’ wrote Trenchard Fowle in April 1937. Apart from a brief flurry of excitement in the post-war years when the ruler of Bahrain proposed a port at Zubarah – this idea was soon quashed by the Political Resident – the dispute over the north­­ western enclave had lain dormant. However, Sheikh Abdullah’s oil concession to Anglo-Persian deeply troubled the Al Khalifa, who still entertained the notion that Zubarah was theirs, and they were also looking at wider possibilities, hoping to find oil in and around the Hawar Islands and shoals. If one looks at a geological map of the area, one can see why they were interested – Hawar is in the line of the Dukhan structure that looked so promising to the oil men – but like Zubarah, sovereignty of the islands was disputed between Qatar and Bahrain.20 The Hawar Islands are an archipelago of seventeen islands and various reefs and shoals; the main island is 18 kilometres (11 mi.) long, 3.2 kilometres (2 mi.) wide and 8 kilometres (5 mi.) off the coast. They were first surveyed by the British in 1820 and originally shown as ‘Warden’s Islands’ on British charts. One might easily conclude that they belong geographically to Qatar because they are so close to the peninsula. Indeed, that was the view originally taken by the India Office. It was only when that argument was exposed as having no foundation in international law that the pendulum began to swing in Bahrain’s favour. In 1935, during negotiations for an oil concession in the offshore area, the Bahraini chief, Sheikh Hamad bin Isa Al Khalifa, built a fort and planted his flag there. In April 1936 he made a formal claim for the islands, and three months later the Resident provisionally awarded them to Bahrain. As for Zubarah, the Bahrainis asserted that, since it had once been the Al Khalifa base and was still populated by the Naim tribe who professed loyalty to them, the enclave belonged to them; but events on the ground soon overtook those arguments. In early 1937 a man named Ramazin of the Naim tribe divorced his wife – she then married into another section of the tribe. As a result, there was great friction between Ramazin and the leader of the Naim, Sheikh Rashid bin Muhammad al-Jabir, so Ramazin’s clan declared hijra and left Zubarah, seeking Sheikh Abdullah bin Jassim’s protection. That was a great loss of face for Sheikh Rashid. To make matters worse, Sheikh Abdullah rebuffed Rashid’s entreaties and gave him seven days to state his loyalty or face punishment; then Abdullah visited 110

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Zubarah and threatened to tax Naim boats carrying juss to Bahrain and to install a Qatari customs official there. Rashid, who was a Bahraini citizen, vowed to seek the Al Khalifa’s help, failing which he would declare his allegiance to Ibn Saud. From the British standpoint, that was not a good idea, since it played into Saudi hands at a time when border negotiations with Riyadh had reached a critical juncture. Although the sticking point in those talks was Jebel Nakhsh in the south, which Sheikh Abdullah had linked to Jebel Dukhan ‘as the nose is part of the face’, any development in the north was bound to affect his standing.21 On 30 April, in response to Fowle’s warning, Political Agent Tom Hickinbotham went to take a look at the situation in Zubarah. He landed from hms Deptford and met the Naim leaders, who came from two camps 8 kilometres away. They told him they were worried about Abdullah’s threat to tax them and, wishing to defend themselves, had assembled 1,000 followers and their allies – this was the northern tribal confederation, Ahl al-Shimal. Hickinbotham advised them to disperse. After spending the night in Doha, he returned to Zubarah and found that some, but not all, of the tribesmen had departed. The Naim leaders – apart from Sheikh Rashid and two of his cousins – had accepted assurances of safe passage from Sheikh Abdullah, and agreed that the rest of their men should leave within the next few days. In line with the British policy of staying neutral, Trenchard Fowle encouraged Qatar and Bahrain to enter direct talks, but by 8 June they were deadlocked. Sheikh Abdullah appealed to Fowle, pointing out that the British government had already recognized the whole of Zubarah as being under his ‘ruling flag’. The Bahraini ruler, being frustrated with the obfuscations of the Qatari delegation and wishing to engage Sheikh Abdullah in person, offered to send his son and brother to meet him on the coast of Qatar. And so a meeting was arranged at Ghariyah for 28 June, and the Bahrainis travelled there in the hope of reaching a peaceful settlement.22 The situation in Qatar told a different story. There were various groups gathering with horses and camels at the sheikh’s palace at Raiyan. Tribesmen loyal to Sheikh Abdullah were making their way there, and bedouins coming for arms and ammunition. The Naim at Zubarah were merrily performing a war dance known as Al Ardha when the bedouins struck, taking 25 camels and branding them with their mark. All Qatari divers had been recalled from the pearl banks and the diving 111

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boats lay at anchor in Doha harbour; two launches were loaded with provisions such as rice and dates for transport to Fuwairat village. It was ominously quiet in Doha, the calm before the storm. None of this was immediately apparent at Ghariyah, which was a pleasant spot with white sand running into the sea and low sand hills with tufts of green where camels grazed; the evenings were fresh and cool, and jackals could be heard at night. The Bahrainis arrived on their two launches and camped on the shore. Meetings between Abdullah’s sons – Ali and Hamad – and the Bahraini sheikhs were held in a tent on the edge of the village. At their first meeting the Qatari sheikhs appeared reasonable and anxious for a settlement, but their attitude soon changed. ‘The atmosphere was frigid and unfriendly,’ wrote the Bahraini adviser, Charles Belgrave. At the second meeting they said they would only agree to their own terms and added several new ones, including a demand that the ruler of Bahrain should hand over all non-Naim tribesmen who had joined the build-up of forces at Zubarah.23 At this juncture Sheikh Abdullah arrived with three trucks carrying armed retainers and four cars filled with his relations and notables. The sheikh, ‘an old man of venerable appearance’, visited the Al Khalifa sheikhs for an hour in their tent, drinking coffee with them but saying

In 1935 the ruler of Bahrain built the fort on the main Hawar island and, in order to reinforce his claim to the area, planted his flag there. This photograph was taken in 1938.

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very little. As he was leaving, he told them that it was difficult to prevent his men from advancing on Zubarah. The atmosphere was tense; the Qatari retainers were ‘armed to the teeth’, as were the Doha merchants who arrived on the final afternoon. All the while reports came in that Qatari riders had attacked several villages and that houses were being looted and burned.24 The talks broke up without an agreement. The Bahraini sheikhs departed on their launches and sailed along the shore until anchoring off Zubarah, where they witnessed Qatari troops attacking the Naim. A few days later, as refugees from the fighting began arriving in Bahrain, a nakhudha reported that the Qataris had mounted a machine gun on one of their trucks, firing hundreds of shots and swinging it round in a circle. Sheikh Rashid tried to hold back his men against Sheikh Abdullah’s horsemen, but many were killed. On 4 July the Bahraini chief ’s hopes of gaining British support were dashed when Fowle informed him that he would not support his claim; it was a repeat of 1878, when the Resident had warned off the chief ’s father, Sheikh Isa. On this occasion, being caught between keeping the maritime peace and a British refusal to lend him a hand, Sheikh Hamad bin Isa Al Khalifa had to resort to secondary measures, such as banning Qataris from visiting Bahrain and increasing transhipment charges from 2 per cent to 5 per cent; but his claim to Zubarah was lost, at least for the time being. hms Deptford was sent to Doha to protect the British Indian community, but since this amounted to one merchant and his family, it was little more than a token gesture. On 5 July news arrived at the British Agency in Bahrain that the Naim had surrendered. Sheikh Abdullah told them to submit to his authority or leave; most of them dispersed. They settled in Bahrain, but the pressure on resources was too great, and they moved on to Hasa. From there, they were allowed to return to Qatar but only to retrieve the livestock they had left behind. After the Second World War, they returned from Saudi Arabia to live at Zubarah permanently. It now fell to the British authorities to make a final decision on sovereignty. Attempts to impose Western concepts of territory and boundaries on the Arabian tribes were fraught with difficulty. While the British looked at natural features – a range of hills, a shoreline – to determine frontiers between Arabian states, such ideas were meaningless to the people whose lives were governed by seasonal patterns of 113

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pearling, inshore and deep fishing, winter and summer grazing, date harvest and trade. Those activities transcended lines on maps and integrated economies, so that putting a boundary line through the middle of them simply brought division and set people apart; and for the most part, people tried to ignore them. As the events of 1937 had demonstrated, there was a clear division between the northern tribes – Ahl al-Shimal – who had affinities with Bahrain, and the ‘Doha confederation’, those tribes of the east coast who were loyal to the Al Thani, with some tribes such as the Al bu Kuwara split between the two. The Al Khalifa sheikh relied on tribal allegiances when he argued his case to Trenchard Fowle. However, the British applied the principle that ‘territory defined sovereignty’ and declined to intervene. Finally, the Foreign Office stepped in to support the view that Zubarah belonged to Qatar, pointing out the wider political implications if the ruling went against Sheikh Abdullah: ‘For the reason that, apart from anything else, if the sheikh [of Bahrain] made good his claim on the mainland we should greatly weaken our case for maintaining the Qatar Peninsula against Ibn Saud.’25 In the case of the Hawar Islands, Qatar relied on their geographical proximity to the peninsula to make its claim. That argument held good for unoccupied islands; the problem was that Hugh Weightman had visited the main island and seen two small villages of kubara houses there, and found evidence of occupation by the Dawasir of Bahrain dating back at least 150 years. They were fisherfolk who considered themselves subjects of Bahrain; no Qataris lived there, and Bahrain’s sheikh and sharia courts adjudicated on disputes emanating from the island. In July 1939 Fowle awarded the Hawar Islands to Bahrain. For Sheikh Abdullah, the outcome was astonishing: ‘I am unable to keep quiet about the case,’ he told Fowle. But the Resident refused to back down, leaving Abdullah and his heirs to protest long and hard into the night.26

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The Qatari Way ‘I found the ruler moody and depressed.’ – Sir Rupert Hay, Summary of Events, March 1952

I

n those days, the journey from Doha to Dukhan was a dreary affair. A blurry horizon met a hazy sky on the road ahead and then dis­ appeared into the murky distance as if there was no limit to the desert world. Until, that is, the low outline of Jebel Dukhan and the gas flares of the oilfield came into view, signalling the journey’s end. The oil camp, a grid of bungalows and other single-storey buildings, was set apart and received few visitors. However, in early May 1948, it received a particularly notable guest. This was not a courtesy call, or the business visit of a leading notable, for Sheikh Hamad bin Abdullah Al Thani had come to Dukhan to die. Three weeks before, Crown Prince Hamad was being treated by an Indian doctor from Doha for fever and diarrhoea. He also suffered from diabetes, and had suffered from occasional bouts of ill health in the past. When his condition did not improve, an oil company doctor was called in. The doctor, realizing the seriousness of his condition, had him transferred to an air-conditioned bungalow at Dukhan, where he was kept under constant observation. Around 20 May, while apparently mak­­ing a good recovery, he was suddenly seized with severe pains in the head and neck, followed by a high fever and a rapid deterioration. His death on 27 May at the age of 52 years deprived Qatar of its next ruler and left a vacuum which his semi-retired father struggled to fill. Although Abdullah gained a new lease of life after Hamad’s death, his authority was paper thin and his relatives were discontented. When the oil company tried to erect a navigational beacon near Wakrah, the local sheikh – Abdullah’s nephew, Saud bin Abdur Rahman – intervened to stop the work and dismissed Abdullah as the ‘sheikh of Doha’ with no jurisdiction over his town. hms Flamingo was sent to the area 115

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with instructions to the captain to ‘train your guns on his [the Wakrah sheikh’s] house and blow it up’. It was a strangely old-fashioned threat, and was never carried out; nevertheless it did the trick and the beacon was completed without further ado.1 News of an oil company advance of seven lakhs only whetted the Al Thani family’s appetite for more. A group of fifty disaffected and determined relatives met at Raiyan to demand a greater share of the wealth from Sheikh Abdullah. They had given up hope of the British authorities forcing his hand, so therefore resorted to their own methods of coercion by closing sections of the suq and threatening violence. By August 1949 the eighty-year-old Abdullah had reached the end of his tether. He abdicated in favour of his remaining son Ali and, on the basis that the state revenues were his own, took the coffers with him. Of the two brothers, Hamad had been always been the stronger character, and the Political Resident, Rupert Hay, viewed Ali’s rule with some trepidation: Ali showed more inclination towards religious affairs than matters of state and, and the age of 56 years, was ‘unused to exercising authority’. However, taking into account the alternatives, Hay began to warm to him. At the very least, he thought, Ali might be more conciliatory towards Bahrain over the Zubarah dispute than his father had been.2 Nevertheless, Ali’s accession on 20 August was a tense affair. The British diplomat on the scene was Herbert Jakins, an ex-consul of the Levantine service, now Acting Political Agent based in Bahrain. After hms Flamingo arrived offshore and landed a shore party, Jakins made the official announcement to a group of fifty or so Al Thani family members before noon. In the afternoon, a public declaration was made in front of the palace, with personnel from Flamingo providing a guard of honour and a bugler, apparently the first ceremony of its kind in the town. ‘The new sheikh’s first act was to write a friendly letter to the Sheikh of Bahrain,’ noted Jakins. ‘His second was to ask the oil company for money.’3 The post-war years saw a major change in Anglo-Qatari relations. In the past, British dealings with the Al Thani sheikhs had always been at arm’s length, mainly because Qatar was not considered important enough to have a British representative in Doha, hence affairs were managed through the British Agency in Bahrain. However, after Indian independence in 1947, control of British affairs in the Gulf passed from Bombay to London, and the rationale for staying in the Gulf 116

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changed. Instead of being on the margins of empire, Qatar was soon to become an oil exporter and promised business and trade opportunities for British firms. With that in mind, the suspended provisions of the 1916 treaty (freedom of British subjects to trade, the establishment of a British representative and postal and telegraph services in Doha) were activated.4 The arrival of John Wilton as Political Officer in Doha signalled this new era. After attending the Middle East Centre for Arab Studies in 1947–8, Wilton had first been posted to a barbed-wire compound near the Canal Zone in Egypt without any contact with Arabs, and was transferred to the Gulf after complaining that he would lose his ability to speak Arabic if he stayed there any longer. He then spent a year in Kuwait before flying down to Doha to take up his post in August 1949. Wilton found the town in disarray, ravaged by the collapse of the pearl trade and the shortages of the war: Decades of poverty and, during the war, near famine had led to mass emigration and endemic diseases of dirt and malnutrition. The appearance of the capital, Doha, suggested the aftermath of an air raid as unoccupied and even occupied houses crumbled

Sheikh Ali bin Abdullah Al Thani (right) with Saleh al-Manah, 1951.

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into decay. In the countryside, at its best a harsh and barren moonscape of a land, the desert advanced pitilessly against the few patches of cultivation. Walled gardens and date groves bore signs of drought and neglect as the laborious business of irrigation from deep wells by donkey-power was not sustained.5 Equipped with a consular flag, documents and a bottle of whisky, the intrepid 27 year old made his office in the oil company house in Doha. He was allowed a single room for his office and living quarters, which he divided with a curtain – ‘bed on one side, desk on the other’ – and set to work.6 Wilton’s first task was to make himself known to the notables of the town. ‘You should call on Sheikh Ali on the first day and postpone calling on Sheikh Abdullah and others until the second day,’ he was advised for the Eid Festival. He thus entered the secretive world of the Al Thani, which resembled a medieval European court populated by sheikhs rather than princes, all competing for influence and favour. In theory, Sheikh Ali’s rule was absolute, with a majlis of notables advising him on important issues, but some of the lesser sheikhs and relatives saw Wilton’s arrival as an opportunity for advancement. ‘The Bani Ahmad continue to cultivate me assiduously,’ he wrote, referring to the followers of Ali’s son, Ahmad.7 The essence of Wilton’s role was to get to know the ruler, work with him on issues of common interest and steer him towards the British way of thinking. One matter that required immediate attention was the creation of a post office, which had been promised in the 1916 treaty but never acted on. However, it soon became clear that Ali was seriously short of money. There were the payments from pdq, of course, but these were slow in coming. Ali was often forced to borrow from Abdullah Darwish, who was in cahoots with his brother-in-law Muhammad al-Uthman, the director of customs, and controlled the customs revenues. Darwish had successfully navigated his way through the abdication episode to emerge as the main adviser to Sheikh Ali in preference to the sheikh’s other political guru, Saleh al-Manah. Darwish and his brothers would happily lend the cash-strapped sheikh money in return for special favours, such as lucrative contracts. Darwish loomed large on Wilton’s radar as soon as he arrived – his name was soon to be emblazoned on billboards through the town. When the writer Roderic 118

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Owen visited Doha a few years later, he noted ‘huge’ signs advertising the various businesses owned by the Darwish brothers.8 ‘Other aspects of my work were rather more ticklish,’ wrote Wilton. ‘There were still slaves in Qatar and a certain amount of clandestine slave trading continued.’ Since Qatar had remained relatively free of British control, slavery had gone unhindered. It would be another three years before slavery was abolished, and the sheikh agreed to pay compensation to the slave owners. ‘There will be lots of bogus claims,’ the Political Agent warned. ‘That’s alright,’ replied Sheikh Ali. ‘I’ll beat the slave and, if after a beating he maintains that he was a slave, I’ll pay the master.’ A few weeks later a total of £75,000 had been paid out to the ex-owners of 660 slaves with no reports of any beatings.9 For many, the transition from slavery to freedom was a seamless one. Life continued much as before, even if the legal constraints were gone. Their change of status might not have been immediately apparent to those who visited the palaces of the sheikhs for the next few years; indeed many Western visitors still mistakenly described them as ‘slaves’. These were the ex-slaves, many of whom were immediately apparent from their black African appearance and had been absorbed as followers of the sheikhs. They were generally well treated, but remained economically tied to their families, as they had been before, though probably no more than many in the present kafala system.10 When Wilton’s stint in Doha ended in October 1950, there were three other Britons based there. Inspector Ronald Cochrane was in charge of the police; he was an ex-police officer from Glasgow, often seen in Arab dress with a jutting red beard, presenting ‘a hawk-like figure more bedawi than the bedouin’. In 1964 he assumed the name Muhammad Mahdi, took Qatari citizenship and converted to Islam, although there was some unkind speculation about his real motives for that, ranging from a desire to appease the Arabs to a craving to please his ‘British masters’. The police force was rudimentary, and its first four recruits were slaves of the ruling family who had once worked in the pearling trade. It often played a peripheral security role, being mistrusted by the ruler who preferred his fidawiyya to put down serious unrest.11 Then there was Group Captain Phillip Plant, an ex-raf officer who was an adviser to the ruler and supposed to safeguard British interests. He was soon attracting the Resident’s displeasure: ‘Plant is floundering a good deal,’ wrote Hay, hoping to remove him but 119

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finding it too difficult. Plant limped on ‘harassed and impatient’, and easily pressurized by the sheikh. Finally, there was Mr Smith, the manager of Eastern Bank’s first branch in Qatar, whose fondness for alcohol was his downfall. One night in a drunken state he asked his Qatari sentry to find him a woman and then marched off to town to find one and returned with an angry crowd in his wake. Cochrane arrived to put him to bed, and the hapless bank manager was repatriated three days later.12 This small band of British expatriates was soon joined by others. Among them was Charles Denman, a merchant banker of Tennant & Co., who came to assist with the commercial arrangements, and his brief included arranging the ruler’s state visits to London. Abdullah Darwish accompanied Sheikh Ali on one of those visits and complained about the old oak furniture in the sheikh’s suite at the Dorchester Hotel, demanding that it be replaced with a more fashionable gilt style. Darwish also invited the head of Rolls-Royce to the hotel to discuss the purchase of a motor car and ended up by buying two costing £70,000, which was paid in cash from a suitcase kept under his bed. Sir Edward Reid was a director of Barings Bank who had the distinction of falling into a ditch one dark evening after dinner at Cochrane’s house, waving his arms about and ‘bellowing like a bull’ to be pulled out. His employer, Barings Bank, had been appointed to handle the surplus revenues coming out of Qatar. And Geoffrey Hancock, an Arabist well liked by the ruler, was Plant’s replacement. One day, he drove Denman out to a remote oasis where they encountered a garrulous old sheikh, who described in great detail how the ‘Turks’ had been dispatched in 1915; the desert people had long memories.13 On one occasion, Denman and Cochrane took a cruise down the coast and were horrified to find a boatload of pilgrims from Indonesia being unloaded on the shore after they had been told that Mecca was just over the hill – in fact it was several hundred kilometres away. Cochrane commandeered the ship and brought it back to Doha. This was not an isolated incident: in May 1952 Rupert Hay was reporting that destitute Pakistani pilgrims were pouring into Qatar intending to make their way to Mecca on foot, no doubt having been abandoned by some unscrupulous nakhudha, and they were left to camp in squalor on the outskirts of Doha.

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Abdullah Darwish (left) and Muhammad al-Uthman.

Like the old fable of the Arab and the camel, where the camel asks to share his master’s tent one cold night and ends up forcing him out, so the problem of Ali’s succession came to dominate the affairs of the ruling family. Ali was known to favour his son Ahmad as his heir, but Sheikh Abdullah had apparently promised the throne to Khalifa, a son of the late Hamad. While Sheikh Ali vacillated and his son and nephew jostled for position, there was a rather large camel in the room. In one corner was Sheikh Ahmad bin Ali Al Thani, born in Doha around 1920, whose relatives were known as the Bani Ahmad. He was not one to shun his duties, certainly in the early days of his father’s rule when the rewards of office beckoned. He impressed with his ability to manage local situations, and successfully intervened in several disputes, especially during the Suez Crisis in 1956 when Doha was restless. He had met a demonstration in the suq and sidelined it to the eastern side of the town, where it was broken up and dispersed; and when Palestinians gathered to protest, Ahmad again cleared the streets. He served as chief of police and deputy ruler during his father’s reign, and made encouraging noises to the British about separating public and private revenues. In the other corner was Sheikh Khalifa bin Hamad Al Thani, born in Raiyan in 1932, whose followers were known as the Bani Hamad 121

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after his father, Hamad bin Abdullah, who had been the designated heir and de facto ruler for several years until his untimely death. Although Khalifa was Hamad’s fourth son, he was considered by his family to be the rightful heir to the throne, and he claimed to have a document from Abdullah to prove this, though Sheikh Ali brushed away such talk by saying that any such promise had been obtained under duress. But, when all was said and done, there was much hope for Khalifa: he was dynamic and decisive, with a clear idea of his goals. There were no political parties as such, only the Bani Ahmad and the Bani Hamad seeking to outdo each other. At first, their rivalry was expressed through a series of skirmishes between gangs of youths. In June 1952 the Bani Ahmad beat up the director of customs, Muhammad al-Uthman, after he had accused them of importing alcohol into the country. Uthman’s Bani Hamad supporters armed themselves with twelve Tommy Guns and three hundred rifles and – for a moment – it looked as though a full-scale battle was about to erupt on the streets of Doha. Sheikh Ali intervened and promised to have the culprits arrested, but it was only after another outbreak of violence that he ordered Cochrane to arrest the youths. Their families handed them in and they were banished to Bahrain. hms Flamingo appeared in Doha Bay, staying for two days while things settled down. Although the incident was blamed on the actions of a few hotheads, it reflected the seriousness of the divide at the heart of the ruling family. The rivalry between Ahmad and Khalifa was more subtle than simple threats or the violence of quarrelsome youths. It combined the personal with the political, taking place behind the scenes, but evident in the direction and pace of policy, and in the public appointments that were made. Their manoeuvrings might have been dismissed as typical squabbling among relatives in a ruling house, but the underlying struggle was critical to the future of the country. It was, in the words of the Political Resident, Sir George Middleton, ‘a cancer in the body politic impinging on virtually every aspect of Qatar’s social and economic life’.14 The events of 1956 should have been a wake-up call. In late July the Egyptian president, Gamal Nasser, nationalized the Suez Canal, triggering both a showdown with Britain and France and a wave of strikes and street protests across the Middle East. On 16 August a crowd of some 2,000 people demonstrated in Doha, carrying Egyptian flags, chanting anti-British slogans and marching on the Political Agency. Since Sheikh Ali was reluctant to arm the police lest they should open 122

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fire on the crowd, the British landed a detachment of marines to protect the Agency building. As the crisis escalated in October, there was another demonstration. Saboteurs blew up the two oil pipelines between Dukhan and Umm Said, which blazed until work gangs were able to fix them, although the disruption to the company’s operations was minimal. There were other demonstrations against the British and Abdullah Darwish, and another attack on Muhammad al-Uthman. As the demonstrations continued, hms Loch Killisport arrived off Umm Said at first light on 2 November. There was a general strike in Dukhan and Umm Said and sporadic ones in Doha. Many of the demonstrators were so-called ‘northern’ Arabs, those Egyptians, Palestin­ ians and Syrians brought in as teachers and now enthused by the intense Arab nationalism of Gamal Nasser. The landing of British and French troops at Port Said in Egypt in November, and strikes and protests in Bahrain, all stoked the unrest. On 20 December an oil well in the Dukhan field was blown up and set alight, requiring the intervention of the American firefighter Red Adair, who took a week to fix it. Shaken by the scale of the protests and realizing that this was more than a labour dispute in the oilfield, Sheikh Ali’s attitude appeared to harden. He put the police force on an official footing, proclaimed a new crackdown on public security and convened a family meeting during which he read the riot act to his troublesome relatives. The ringleaders of the protests were rounded up and one was flogged. Two brothers, Hamad and Khalifah al-Attiyah, were suspected of the pipeline sabotage and were arrested, but later released. After that, things seemed to quieten down. In the longer term, the outcomes were mixed: the police force under Cochrane grew in size and significance but, despite his public resolve, Sheikh Ali remained ambivalent about using the police against his own people. The Al Thani carried on much as before, but the writing was on the wall for Abdullah Darwish. He had fallen out of favour with his former sponsors in the Bani Ahmad and, following an incident in Beirut when Ahmad’s brother drew a gun on him, he retired for a quieter life to Saudi Arabia while his brothers took over the family business. The Darwish brothers soon lost ground when they failed to win a concession for the transhipment of goods from freighters to lighters in Umm Said harbour. Worse still for them, they lost their footing just as the port was booming and the number of ships waiting to unload in the harbour was increasing. 123

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At last, in 1957, Sheikh Ali came down in favour of Ahmad and named him as his heir, refuting Khalifa’s claim. If Ali had hoped that his announcement would end the intrigue and speculation, he was soon disappointed, because Khalifa still pressed his claim. Sheikh Ali’s presence was a calming influence, but he was spending more time abroad now. Even when he was in the country, there was a general malaise – like his father before him, Ali had grown weary of government. You can almost hear the sigh in Middleton’s annual report when he wrote: ‘This is the Qatari way. There is some wisdom in it, but the extent of the drift is beyond common prudence.’15 On occasion, however, Ahmad and Khalifa could work in harmony. In March 1958, while Sheikh Ali was away on a trip to Saudi Arabia, Ahmad invited Khalifa to his regular meeting with the ruler’s adviser,

The airport at Doha in 1955 showing the customs house and radio tower. The aircraft, a de Havilland Dove, belonged to Gulf Aviation (forerunner of Gulf Air) and flew the route between Doha and Bahrain.

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Hancock. But it was a fragile truce, and Khalifa was incensed when Ahmad visited Egypt without their father’s permission and was feted there. Hearing his cousin being described on Radio Cairo as the ‘heir to the sheikhdom of Qatar’, Khalifa stormed off to Sheikh Ali and insisted on official recognition of his claim to the succession, and the immediate banishment of Abdur Rahman Darwish, the brother of Abdullah who was now head of the family business and still in league with the Bani Ahmad. Ali refused, but compensated Khalifa with amounts equivalent to £15,000 (approximately £344, 000 today) and £45,000, the latter being an increase in his annual allowance, and courtesy salutes by police guards at all times.16 All this went on behind closed doors, and most Qataris knew nothing of it. In early April 1959 they were more concerned about when the fast of Ramadan would end; the exact timing was uncertain, since it depended on an official stargazer sighting the new moon. Qatar tended to follow Saudi Arabia’s lead, and only when the news came through of the new moon’s arrival could an announcement be made and the celebrations begin. ‘Expected Wednesday but possibly Tuesday, which is what happened,’ wrote John Wilkinson, an ipc liaison officer. Thereupon, the oil workers downed tools and were transported back to their homes so they could take part in the three-day festival, Eid al-Fitr, with everyone else. On this particular day, in 1959, as part of the celebrations the oil men paid their respects to the sheikhs, starting at 8.15 a.m. with a visit to the ruler’s palace. Sheikh Ali and his sons Jassim and Ahmad were there to receive them, shaking their hands before they entered an enormous majlis covered with Persian carpets. Guests sat on the floor and then had to stand up again as new people clambered over them to get to their places. Suddenly a great roar went up from the ex-slaves, which was alarming until it was realized that this was the cry for coffee, ghawa. After they had finished drinking the bitter brew, the dregs were thrown onto the expensive carpets. A round of visits to lesser sheikhs followed and then the oil men returned to the palace at 10.00 a.m. for a great feast. Here the Qatari notables were assembled, looking fine in their Eid robes, pure white or cream except for the black cord aqal around their heads which kept the kuffiyah headdress in place. There were tables for about 250 people laden with great dishes of rice, whole roasted fat-tailed sheep and turkeys. For the visitors, it was a large meal for that time of day, 125

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but for those who had just ended their fast, it was a welcome treat. If a visitor appeared to be flagging, there was always a black retainer to lean across the table and tear a piece of meat off one of the large carcasses and throw it down on his plate, virtually commanding him to eat.17 All in all, it was an impressive display of the ruling family’s status. By now, they were exceedingly rich from the oil revenues, which amounted to £20 million (approx. £450 million today), of which a quarter went to Sheikh Ali himself. Money had its uses. In September, a member of the Al bu Kuwara was shot and their leaders demanded blood money from the Al Thani. For a moment, it looked as though the incident would spiral out of control, with the Al bu Kuwara already nursing grievances about the ruling family’s wealth and power, and feeling neglected after supporting them in their past struggles with Bahrain and Abu Dhabi. The exact terms of the settlement are not widely known, but probably involved payment of a large sum of money to the offended party. These were disconcerting times for an ageing ruler. The Middle East was in turmoil, and the rise of Arab nationalism seemed unstoppable: President Nasser was whipping up populist sentiment across the region and a revolution in Iraq had seen the end of the Hashemite monarchy there. When Ali visited London to secure British support for Ahmad and a promise of military support in the event of his succession being opposed, the British offered advice and protection, but precious little else; they had their own problems, with sterling weakened by successive devaluations and the increasing financial strain of the welfare state ruling out any major investments in the Gulf. Nevertheless Ali returned to Doha feeling vindicated, determined that Ahmad should succeed him as he wished. But it was not as simple as that: no doubt the elders would back Sheikh Ali’s choice, but what about Khalifa and the Bani Hamad? The whole question seemed to freeze the Al Thani in their tracks, certainly as far as the business of government went. Hancock proposed a reform of the administration and the creation of more ministries, but they failed to materialize; there was talk of a trade-off between Ahmad and Khalifa, but nothing was made public. Whenever Sheikh Ali went abroad for a holiday, the growing expatriate community quietly speculated whether he would return, and were rather surprised when he did.18 Ali sailed on, his spending unchecked, his ‘pink, green and gold’ palaces shining in the sunshine. However, an economic downturn led 126

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to more friction in the ruling family as their allowances were reduced. On 30 May 1960, at the Lebanese summer resort of Alayh, there was an attempt on Ali’s life. One of Sheikh Khalifa’s brothers, Narir bin Hamad, held a grudge against Ali over money and fired at his car, although he was not inside it at the time. Narir was detained by the Lebanese police and, following Ali’s intervention, was released and expelled from Lebanon. The incident came after scurrilous leaflets attacking Ali’s rule had been circulating around the Middle East. For Ali, it was the final straw. In October he abdicated, his decision being announced in front of the majlis and the Political Agent.19 Ahmad’s accession was confirmed. The smoothness of the handover indicated that matters with Khalifa had been settled, the elders having recognized him as crown prince and deputy ruler. However, the situation on the ground remained tense. On 23 October the Acting Political Resident, M.C.G. Mann, was being driven into the courtyard of the ruler’s palace in Raiyan when his car was met by a ‘great white wave’ of armed retainers headed by Sheikh Ahmad; fears about what Khalifah’s supporters might do were rife among the Bani Ahmad. The next day, the family elders swore their allegiance to Ahmad in the presence of marines from hms Loch Ruthven while Cochrane and his policemen also stood guard; for this was merely a waypoint in a rivalry between Ahmad and Khalifa, and there was more trouble to come.20

Sheikh Ahmad (r. 1960–72) had been well groomed by his father, but whether he was strong enough to stand up to his querulous relatives who were again demanding a greater share of the revenues was to be seen. Although more money was promised for public welfare projects, the coffers were not exactly bursting after Ali had taken the treasury with him to Beirut; and Ahmad carried on the family tradition, treating the revenues largely as his own. It fell to Khalifa as deputy ruler and prime minister to drive forward a programme of reform. He headed a new ministry of finance, while his brother Jassim took over at the education department. The new post of general director was filled by Dr Hassan Kamil, ‘an Egyptian diplomat of the old school’. This post replaced the office of adviser held by Geoffrey Hancock, who now returned to the United Kingdom. A system of edicts was introduced whereby the sheikh’s pronouncements on the law were published in an official gazette.21 127

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Although Sheikh Khalifa set about his duties with gusto, wholesale changes were unlikely to happen overnight. New agriculture, social affairs, public works and legal departments were embryonic ministries waiting to emerge, and the development of the administration remained haphazard and uncertain. In education, a wave of ‘northern’ Arabs such as Egyptians, Syrians and Jordanians arrived to take up teaching posts, while others joined the new civil service. They brought a fresh dynamic to the political scene. Apart from the brief outbursts of popular discontent during the Suez Crisis and occasional disputes in the oil industry, public unrest had been something that happened elsewhere. However, that was changing as the modern state of Qatar began to take shape against the backdrop of an agitated Middle East. In the 1960s, a pattern of street protest emerged in Doha, spurred on by events abroad. In February 1963, after General Abd al-Karim Qasim had been overthrown in Iraq, demonstrators marched with portraits of the Egyptian president, Gamal Abdel Nasser. In April crowds came out to celebrate the proposed union of Egypt, Syria and Iraq. One member of the royal family found the disruption too much to bear. Sheikh Abdul Rahman bin Mohammed Al Thani, a nephew of the ruler, found his car blocked by protestors and opened fire, killing one of them. Although Abdul Rahman escaped arrest on that occasion, he would be implicated in another killing five years later. During one of the protests, police killed three demonstrators. Sheikh Ahmad reverted to the failsafe Al Thani method for dealing with troublemakers by calling on his loyal (and armed) fidawiyya to patrol the streets in the back of trucks. A reform movement, the National Unity Front, emerged to bring focus to the protests. Formed around disgruntled oil workers, lesser Al Thanis and other notables, it was led by Abdullah al-Missned and Hamad al-Attiya, both of whom were seasoned opponents of the regime. The movement, which was centred on Abdullah al-Missned’s hometown of Al Khor, called for a general strike and demanded reforms, which included curtailing the ruling family’s privileges, expanding welfare programmes and reducing the number of foreign workers in the country. The more headstrong members of the Al Thani establishment urged that Al Khor should be bombarded. However, the family elders overruled them and Sheikh Ahmad ordered fifty prominent Front members to be imprisoned while others were exiled. Hamad al-Attiya was among those arrested, and he died in prison three years later. Tribal leaders 128

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were required to take an oath of allegiance to the ruler, and those who refused were no longer welcome to stay. About 6,000 members of the Mahandah tribe, led by Abdullah al-Missned’s son, Nasser, refused to pledge their allegiance, declared hijra and moved to Kuwait. Ahmad soon gave up all thoughts of reform. After the demonstrations a Doha Council was set up, but he did not make his three appointments and it never convened. Elections were held for an Advisory Council comprising only Al Thani family members, but this also failed to materialize. Although he remained the ruler for a few more years, he only went through the motions, spending more time abroad while Khalifa took over the running of the government, but control of the money remained Ahmad’s preserve. A fairer distribution of revenues among the royal family was agreed, this being the ‘quarter rule’. All revenues would be distributed equally in four divisions: the ruler, senior family members, remaining family members and the public treasury. But that did not quell the grumbles. In April 1966 an anonymous pamphlet circulating in Qatar attacked the ‘shaikhly class’ and called for free elections. ‘Let it be known to one and all that our country is sinking lower day by day, its safety is being undermined and its commerce is stagnant; corruption increases as the days go by.’ By then the Al Thani numbered more than five hundred male members who were again pressing Ahmad to increase their allowances as new revenues from the offshore oilfields beckoned; they were running up debts at home and travelling extensively abroad. Their financial demands were resisted until the autumn when Ahmad gave way and agreed an increase of approximately £1.5 million backdated to the beginning of the year.22 All this was small change when compared with what was going on elsewhere in the Middle East, but dangerous all the same. Qatar was a small country exposed to the whims of the wider world. New and dangerous factors began to appear: the devaluation of the Indian rupee undermined confidence in the local currency; the Arab–Israeli War brought the oil producers onto the international stage in a boycott of the West by the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (opec), which Qatar had joined six years before; and the withdrawal of British troops from southern Arabia was most disconcerting for the Gulf rulers, who feared for their own security. The year 1967 was, in the words of the Political Agent, Ranald Boyle, ‘The Year of the Ostrich’, because it was the moment when Qatar had to take its head out of the sand.23 129

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Sheikh Ahmad meets the British foreign minister, Lord Home, on an official visit to London on 4 July 1961.

That was fine talk, but the focus soon switched back to the internal troubles of the ruling family. In March 1968 Abdul Rahman bin Mohammed Al Thani – the same Abdul Rahman who had killed a protestor and escaped scot-free five years before – was involved in a road accident with a young sheikh who belonged to a section of the family known as the Bani Khalid. At 10.30 that evening, vowing reprisals against the Bani Khalid, Abdul Rahman took his gang to one of their houses and fired a few shots at it; one of the Bani Khalid died after a bullet hit him in the head. Cochrane tried to intervene while Abdul Rahman was intimidating officers at the police station and then causing another scene at the hospital. With men brandishing machine guns on the street, Cochrane was forced to call out two armoured cars to restore order and arrest Abdul Rahman, taking him to the fort and holding him in chains. 130

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The following week saw ‘seemingly endless Al Thani family meetings, pleas for mercy, threats, rumours and tension’. Appeals made by Abdul Rahman’s father, brothers and their families were in vain. On 18 March Abdul Rahman was executed by shooting in his cell. It was, in the view of the Political Agent Ranald Boyle, the first time that a member of the family had been forced to submit to the law and suffer the consequences. No doubt news of the execution sent shock waves through the Al Thani – another party to the original accident fled the country with his father as soon as they heard of it. A final meeting was held at Raiyan three days later, and Sheikh Ahmad issued a stern warning to all family members that such behaviour was unacceptable. Boyle saw the episode as heralding the birth of a ‘new’ Sheikh Ahmad, but that remained to be seen.24

Today’s bureaucrats would be aghast at the laxity of Qatar’s ‘frontier’ in the 1950s. In those days, there was a vague understanding about a common Saudi–Qatari boundary, in Sheikh Ali’s mind at least, although nothing had been formally agreed. There were a few border posts, but they were easily avoided by the bedouin who knew the desert paths well. In reality, the frontier was an open sieve: for example, many of the bedouins living around Umm Bab, the oil company’s pumping station on the western side of the peninsula, came from Saudi Arabia without a hint of ever passing through border controls, let alone having passports. Ibn Saud’s tax officials would always find them. They too entered Qatar without let or hindrance, following the tribesmen in order to levy zakat on them. This religious tax was another way of extending Ibn Saud’s dominion, since even bedouins had ‘territory’ in a sense. Rather than randomly moving from place to place, they had well-defined rules about their dar, the extent of their grazing rights and access to wells. Once they had signed up to pay zakat, they became useful bargaining tools in the detailed border discussions that were going on between London and Riyadh. There were signs that Sheikh Ali was willing to resist these incursions. Early in 1950 Ibn Saud’s tax collector, Ibn Mansour, ventured into Qatar and was handed a letter from Sheikh Ali advising him not to collect zakat on Qatari soil. Ibn Mansour heeded that advice and returned to Saudi Arabia without incident, and Ali took no further 131

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action. But that was as far as Ali would go, and he veered on the side of caution in his dealings with his powerful neighbour. This was confirmed when John Wilton stumbled on another incident, which had taken place at the Salwa border post. A number of Saudi bedouin had tried to infiltrate Qatar without passing through the local border post and were pursued by Saudi guards. A shooting match left two Saudi guards and one Saudi bedouin dead, their bodies found far enough from the border post to confirm that the killing had happened on Qatari soil. How could the British possibly defend Qatar’s boundaries at international conferences when Sheikh Ali said nothing about these incursions? The sheikh finally agreed to report such incidents in future, to install a border post in his southern territory and issue strict orders to control tribal movements. But there remained a fluidity about Qatar’s population that made such measures quite fanciful. It was best summed up by Sheikh Mansour, the blind sheikh who had been so helpful to the oil company in its early days. When asked if he was a Qatari or a Saudi, he laughed: ‘I am a bedu.’ He went on to tell Wilton that many of the guards who protected the company’s installations were Saudis. Elsewhere, oil exploration of the islands and the sea of the Gulf sparked a surge of interest in maritime boundaries. Oil men explored the Hawar Islands, and test wells were drilled. Oil was never found in commercial quantities in Bahrain’s offshore areas, apart from around Fasht Bu Saafa, where the finds were shared with Saudi Arabia, but the territorial dispute with Qatar went beyond the search for oil, for it involved matters of ‘face’ that stretched back into the eighteenth century and were not easily forgotten. Sheikh Ali’s abdication in 1960 brought two new players to the scene in the form of the assertive Khalifa as deputy ruler and the meticulous Dr Kamil as his adviser. Their influence was soon felt in a dispute with Abu Dhabi over Halul Island. Putting the Qatari argument to the two-member commission that investigated the case, Kamil ‘neglected no single piece of evidence in his favour’, while Sheikh Shakhbut of Abu Dhabi simply asserted that Halul Island belonged to him, claiming the eastern coast of Qatar up to Umm Said as his own. On the available evidence, or lack of it, the commissioners awarded the island to Qatar.25 In 1965 Saudi Arabia finally agreed with Qatar a boundary line that ended at Khor al-Udaid. That allowed the Saudis to claim a strip of coastline east of the khor as their long-coveted ‘window on the 132

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Gulf ’. Since this was territory traditionally regarded as belonging to Abu Dhabi, the British protested on its behalf and the treaty was not ratified. In August 1966 the new ruler of Abu Dhabi, Sheikh Zayed, met Sheikh Khalifa on a windswept dune of the khor and agreed a common boundary between their countries, but Zayed later claimed that he had been tricked into placing a boundary marker in the wrong place. In March 1969 they finally agreed a maritime boundary between their countries. There was no telling what these agreements really meant, for Saudi Arabia’s putative frontier with Qatar bore no relation to Qatar’s mari­ time boundary with Abu Dhabi; it was a situation that one writer characterized as ‘parallel realities’. Nevertheless, Sheikh Khalifa pursued his development agenda as planned: the Bunduq offshore oilfield to the east of Qatar was shared equally between Qatar and Abu Dhabi, the island of Daiyina was awarded to Abu Dhabi – the boundary line was bent into a U-shape to accommodate it – and the islands of Al Ashat and Sharaiwah remained with Qatar.26 In September 1969 Qatar agreed its maritime boundary with Iran, but its land border with Saudi Arabia remained unresolved. In early

In 1960 John Wilkinson took this photograph of a camel belonging to Ibn Jaluwi, Saudi governor of Al Hasa, as it was crossing qpc’s oil pipeline, revealing the fluidity of Qatar’s borders at that time. Ownership is identified by the wasm on its rear leg; note the riding position of the true bedouin tribesman.

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1970 the Political Agent in Doha reported that the Saudis had tightened their border controls at Salwa, searching baggage and delaying travellers for lengthy periods. The impact was especially felt by the Al Thani family, many of whom travelled regularly to and from the kingdom. In May, recognizing that it would not get a better deal, Qatar ratified the 1965 treaty with Riyadh. That was against the wishes of the British officials, but their influence was waning by then. The tangle was finally unravelled in 1974 by the Treaty of Jeddah, in which Sheikh Zayed recognized Saudi Arabia’s claim to the southern shore of Khor al-Udaid. It had taken the departure of the British and an agreement between local rulers to settle the issue, but another 22 years would pass before the treaty was published to the world at large.

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Strange Wonders ‘We were seeing so many things the like of which we had never even imagined. Coloured tins, bananas, pears, peaches, all kinds of strange wonders.’ – Thanir Muftah in Nasser al-Othman, With Their Bare Hands (1984)

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nce there had been only stony ground and silent dunes, palmfrond huts and grazing camels, perhaps a passing bedouin or two; now there were oil tanks rising up, pipelines snaking across the sand, and the air reverberating with the noise of aircraft engines and great tents flapping in the breeze. It was 2 February 1950 and, although shipments of crude oil from the Dukhan field had actually begun a few weeks before, this was the moment when exports from the Umm Said terminal were to be formally recognized. The guests began arriving soon after 9 a.m., the Arab notables dressed in traditional robes and the Westerners in sombre suits; Sheikh Ali came at 10 a.m. After speeches in Arabic and English, gifts were presented, and the knives from the canteen of cutlery given to the sheikh were soon decorating the belts of his bedouin guards. Ali climbed into his newly presented Cadillac and was driven a short distance to the signal station for the ceremonial opening of the valve. When all the guests had caught up, they assembled in a wide semicircle around a small platform where, amid loud applause, Ali turned the valve wheel. Crude oil began to flow through the undersea pipe to the tanker British Ardour lying at the moorings. A red flag indicating ‘oil now being loaded’ was hoisted on the shore and repeated on the ship. The whole scene dripped with symbolism, for the power balance in the oil industry was moving away from the oil companies towards the oil-producing nations. It was a process that gathered speed over the next few years: in 1951 Saudi Arabia made a 50–50 profit-sharing deal with the American oil company Aramco, which spurred other rulers and governments to demand a greater share of the oil revenues. They included Sheikh Ali, who successfully negotiated his own 50–50 deal 135

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Qatar, December 1955 – Rig 52, an exploratory well a few kilometres south of Dukhan.

with pdq. That saw an enormous rise in the country’s oil revenues, from $1 million (£10 million today) in 1950 to $23 million four years later. pdq marked the new era by changing its name to the Qatar Petroleum Company (qpc). In the meantime, the offshore areas were being explored. After Superior Oil of California had thrown in the towel and formally abandoned its concession, Royal Dutch Shell took up the challenge and formed an operating company, the Shell Oil Company of Qatar Ltd. The company was required to work out of Doha, reflecting the ruler’s wish that oil companies should be based in Qatar rather than Bahrain. The company began constructing residential quarters on the north and south sides of the town, a change from the usual practice of locating oil camps away from the main centres of population. 136

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In October 1953 undersea surveys began with an ex-merchant vessel, the 4,000-ton McGregor Laird, a veteran of the West Africa run. It was renamed Shell Quest and converted into a depot ship for exploration off the coast. This was followed by the arrival of a drilling rig, looking like an ‘interstellar radar tower’ in the incongruous surroundings of Doha Bay. The rig was towed out into the Gulf and drilling began; by December 1956 two wells had been drilled without finding any oil.1 Then disaster struck: the rig was being towed back to Doha for modifications when the wind changed direction and a heavy cross-sea developed. Two massive pontoons supporting the platform broke loose and all the lights went out. The platform legs were damaged, the helicopter landing stage collapsed, and several Qataris lost their lives. The wreck delayed Shell’s operations in the area and caused the company to review its entire offshore operation. Eventually the company returned to their offshore drilling programme and struck oil at Idd ash Sharqi (1960) and Maydan Mahzam (1963). Oil exports began in 1964, with an oil terminal being built on Halul Island. The largest offshore oilfield, Bul Hanine, was discovered in 1970 and came onstream in 1972. opec was in full swing, confirming the power shift towards the oilproducing nations, a process that would lead to the nationalization of Qatar’s oil industry in 1974. By then the offshore North Field, which contained massive reserves of natural gas, had been discovered and it was this – not oil – that propelled Qatar into the ranks of the wealthiest nations on Earth.

Back in the 1950s, oil was the great engine of change. Villages such as Fuwairat were abandoned as the pearling fleets vanished and new jobs in the shiny oil industry beckoned. The term ‘labour relations’ had been meaningless in a society where slaves were bound to their owners. Some of those slaves had transferred across to work for the oil company and still paid most of their wages to their owners until it was agreed, after British pressure, that they could keep at least half. When slavery was abolished, the oilfield brought new practices and expectations to the workplace, and industrial unrest; strikes became an annual event in the industry. There was an element of shortsightedness in the company’s treatment of its workers, many of whom were drawn from the local tribes and took a traditional view of labour 137

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relations: ‘They can easily think that something is unjust and in that case down tools,’ observed John Wilkinson. ‘It is the same thing as making a hijra from some sheikh or ruler.’ The company’s attitude was dismissive at first, and then conciliatory; either way the strikes continued.2 They started in 1951 when the Qataris protested about the presence of Dhofari workers in the oilfield, which resulted in their being deported back to their homeland. Two years later an incident at Dukhan between the police and two Pakistani clerks caused Arab labourers at the Umm Said terminal to come out on strike. Sheikh Ali was again reluctant to use the British-led police force under Cochrane, and relied on his fidawiyya instead. More unrest followed, with a major strike in 1955 and protests around the time of the Suez Crisis a year later. Although qpc introduced workers’ committees, it also relied heavily on contract workers, which brought further complaints that it was depriving Qataris of employment. However, as the oil wealth filtered down to ordinary Qataris through welfare benefits and improvements in living standards, the strikes that had plagued the oilfield went into decline as people became more affluent and their resistance to contract workers melted away. Even so, these events did help to shape Qatar’s employment laws. A labour department was created in 1959 and three years later a law was enacted giving Qatari nationals first priority in filling vacancies, which developed into the policy we know as ‘Qatarization’. However, many of the jobs on offer were of no interest to Qataris and were taken by foreign workers, whose numbers began to swell. Legislation required those workers to have a visa and a sponsor in order to work in Qatar, which was the start of the modern-day kafala system, though there is another theory that it derived from an earlier time in the Gulf when boat owners in the pearling trade sponsored their divers for the season; certainly there were similarities between the two systems.3 Nowadays the story of Qatar’s early oil industry is presented in Oil Company House, the old Shell office, now part of the Msheireb Museum complex. Here we can listen to voices from the past, for the museum tells the story of ordinary Qataris in the oil industry; here we discover that, after the decline of the pearl trade, the wages offered in the oilfield were a godsend for the impoverished men of Doha and other towns along the coast; and here we learn of the people who worked in the oilfield in difficult conditions for the promise of a wage and a return to their families at the end of the week. 138

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Muhammad bin Muhammad Muftah was a pearl worker who came to work in the oil industry after the trade slumped, first in Bahrain where he learnt to drive the cars he was guarding, and then at Dukhan. The oil workers were carried from Doha and back again in big trucks such as the ‘Internash’ and the ‘Tenegraf ’ – the former being short for ‘International’ and the latter probably a corruption of ‘E10-ERF’, a British-made vehicle. They were driven by Arabs such as Muhammad – originally it was intended to use British drivers, but they were unable to cope with driving in the sand. Perhaps the best-known local driver was Hussein (known as ‘Bu Abbas’), a Qatari who had worked as an oarsman on a dhow. He learnt to drive in Bahrain because he wanted to navigate on land as well as sea. Then he worked for the oil company at Dukhan, carrying geologists on their field surveys. He became the first driver of the Internash, which had a dubious reputation among his fellow workers – they called it salim khatar, the ‘safe menace’. Despite the occasional slip on the steering wheel, the trucks came and went, and the workers were unloaded for another week of toil in the sun.4 Something extraordinary was happening: the pipelines that zigzagged between the Dukhan oilfield and Umm Said; the pumping

An International KB-6 truck – known to locals as the ‘Internash’ – on display outside Oil Company House, which is part of the Msheireb Museums in Doha.

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station at Umm Bab where, incidentally, a new town was planned but never built; the oiled roads, which were laid by spraying ‘slop oil’ onto the desert, now stretching like thin black ribbons into the far distance; the oil rigs that struck an incongruous pose in the desert; and the gas flares that in the darkness of the night gave a passable impression of hell. At any given time of day, the only visible signs of human life on the roads were chance meetings with oilmen in their Land Rovers, sheikhs in their American limousines, the occasional truck packed with people and provisions, or perhaps a trader driving his gaudily dressed, top-heavy lorry with goods bound for the Doha suq. To the south of the Dukhan–Umm Said road, where the gravel plain gives way to the dunes, exploration geologists roamed; and sometimes the bedouin could be seen in their caravans and camps, a living reminder of how things had once been.

Al Khor was a fishing village of some five hundred mud-brick houses covered with the branches of palm trees. The walls of the houses were thick, but the windows were kept open to allow the breeze to circulate. In the dusty rooms, you could hear all the sounds of the village, the people passing by and the donkeys braying as they returned from the wells carrying tins of drinking water. When the men returned from the pearling grounds, they sat around talking and drinking coffee. Children memorized passages from the Koran and learned to read and write. They attended a kuttab, which was a class held in a mosque or at home where they were taught by a teacher called the mutawa, who was knowledgeable in Islam. In the summer they sat outside on a sack or a mat. The brightest students would perform the role of supervisor known as areef and help the mutawa in the class. Boys and girls were kept apart and graded according to their progress.5 Before oil was discovered, education was limited to a few kuttab schools, mosques and madrasas which provided Islamic teaching. While those establishments provided a traditional education and met the needs of a tribal society, the massive changes that came with the advent of oil required an entirely different skill set. There was no technical education that might enable Qataris to learn the skills necessary for jobs in the oil industry, although in time the oil companies would address that need by providing training and sending Qataris abroad to receive higher education at universities and technical colleges. 140

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In 1938 a girls-only kuttab was opened and this was the foundation of the first girls’ school inaugurated during Sheikh Ali’s reign. In 1947 the first modern school opened in Doha. It was named Al Islah Al Muhamadia and had three primary classes with a curriculum that went beyond religious education to include reading and writing Arabic, and basic arithmetic. Schools that had been closed down in the 1930s were reopened under the direction of a group of Islamic scholars known as the ulema. The early 1950s was a highpoint of the Muslim Brotherhood’s influence in Qatar. This was an Islamist group that had been formed in Egypt in 1928 to oppose British colonialism. It did not always find favour with Egyptian governments and, from the mid-1950s, members escaping the repressions of Colonel Nasser’s regime were finding refuge in places such as Qatar. The introduction of members of the Muslim Brotherhood into the schools system during Sheikh Ali’s reign brought a highly charged political dimension to the field of education, especially when the Brotherhood began attacking the people’s favourite, Gamal Nasser. In 1957 Sheikh Khalifa became minister of education and removed the Egyptian director of education, Abdul-Badi Saqr, who was a leading member of the Brotherhood; there was a clampdown on political activities. The new director, Dr Abd al-Daim, introduced teachers with anti-British leanings, and a fall-out between Egypt and Syria was reflected in Qatari schools by divisions between Nasserite teachers and Baathist ones, leading to another purge, this time of teachers who expressed extremist political views. In the background, however, were many teachers drawn from Palestine, Egypt and Syria who were dedicated to their profession and would rise to prominence as educators and politicians in the coming years. The oil revenues also brought the opportunity to introduce a modern healthcare system, but progress was slow. Medical treatment was based on traditional remedies while richer folk tended to travel abroad for treatment. pdq had its own hospital and British doctors came over from Bahrain to provide treatment. One of those was Doctor Steele, who observed in 1945: There is an Arab who does the doctoring of the people, he gets Rs.150 p.m. [about £400 today] and food from the sheikh. It is said he knows next to nothing but charges people exorbitant 141

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fees for drugs and attendance. One of his ways of treating malaria in children and adults who cannot bear the bitter taste of quinine is to make an ointment of quinine powder and butter and rub it all over the chest and back.6 However, Sheikh Hamad’s ill health convinced his father that Qataris needed to have a modern medical service. Sheikh Abdullah approached the American Mission to run a twelve-bed hospital in an Arab-style house on the seafront at Doha. Although it opened in 1947, conditions were never entirely satisfactory and at one time the staff had to withdraw because the main resident doctor contracted pulmonary tuberculosis on a visit to Saudi Arabia. However, the money from oil enabled Sheikh Ali to commission a new hospital at Rumailah in 1957. That was the start of Qatar’s network of modern hospitals, which today have a centrally funded budget of $5.8 billion (as at 2017), giving all citizens the right to free and equal access to medical services.

Al Kahraba Street in the Msheireb district of Doha was a metaphor for change. The first electricity plant was built in the town in the mid1950s, and some recall the moment when Sheikh Salman bin Jassim cut the ribbon – little did they know the changes that would come. An electrical cable dragged behind a British engineer’s vehicle marked out the path of the future street, which was named after the Arabic word kahraba meaning ‘electricity’. Here the first electrical appliance shops sprang up. Other kinds of shops opened and suddenly there was quite a buzz. As concrete buildings went up, the district even developed its own style of architecture known as ‘Doha Deco’, since it followed the Art Deco style. The past was a hard place, though remembered with affection: Qatar was prone to epidemics such as smallpox, which could take a deadly toll, and there were no doctors as such, only healers using herbal treatments and readings from the Koran, but there was a sense of community and belonging. A month before Ramadan, a mesahher went about banging a drum, singing and reciting poetry, and collecting donations – those who had no money to spare gave him something in kind. As the time of fasting approached, there was a rising sense of urgency to buy provisions such as rice, sugar, grain and wheat that families used to grind for harees, one of the main dishes of Ramadan. And when the 142

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fast came, the mesahher would walk the streets at night, waking people for their pre-dawn meal. ‘I have very fond memories of Al Kahraba Street from the 1960s,’ remarked Ahmed bin Mohammed al-Jaber, a resident of Doha. ‘The young men, immediately after the breaking of their fast, would head straight for that street. This was particularly true during Ramadan.’ People often celebrated nightfall by getting on their bicycles and riding to Al Kahraba Street to enjoy a kebab at Abdul Aziz’s place. The old men gathered to smoke shisha and pass the time in idle chatter. Chapattimakers jostling with jewellers’ stores, food shops with carpet-sellers, and the first hotel, The Bismillah – all this and more gave Al Kahraba Street its special cachet.7 Then there was Eid, the feast to celebrate the end of Ramadan, when houses were open to anyone and food and drink was offered to the poor and needy. People would gather at the prayer ground to hear the imam deliver the Eid sermon, and children would visit households in the various districts to congratulate them on the advent of Eid and gather eidyya – money or a treat. The children would be at their happiest

The entrance to the Doha market, April 1968.

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in the quarter of the sheikhs, who tended to be more generous; even Sheikh Ali would give them eidyya. In the 1960s, the traditional neighbourhood known as fereej was the centre of life, a place where people came together to celebrate festivals. Weddings were celebrated by the whole fereej; there were no invitations and everyone was welcome to attend. A simple marriage ceremony in the evening was followed by prayers and dinner, after which the groom would be paraded around until it was time to go to bed. It was not only for weddings that people congregated, for the fereej was the centre of social life generally. During the evenings, young men from one fereej would visit their friends in another and swap stories, then go to a different one the following night. Many of the old houses were built close enough to encourage a sense of community, but in a way to protect their occupants’ privacy. Their walls were built with mud and gypsum, or limestone and sandstone. Their ceilings were supported by beams made from danshall, a type of wood brought by dhow from East Africa and Zanzibar; these beams tended to restrict the width of rooms to no more than 3 metres (10 ft) – as the seafarer Alan Villiers once observed, ‘the dimensions of many an Arab room are fixed on the beach at Lamu.’8 The narrow alleyways kept out the sun, and the only windows facing the street were in the majlis, the decorative front room that showcased the owner’s wealth and status, and where male visitors were welcomed and entertained. Otherwise, the windows faced inwards, set around a courtyard. Recesses in the walls and lattice-work screens let in the breeze, though the wind towers found elsewhere in the Gulf were not so common here. The larger houses were a reminder of the days when the pearl trade was at its height – three of the heritage houses that form part of the Msheireb Museum were built during that period. Whereas Al Jassra had been the centre of the universe, it was now Msheireb’s time to shine. People remember the first bank, pharmacy and coffee shop in the district, together with the new shops that came along to cater for a growing consumer demand, places to buy saris and shoes, to have your hair cut and your suits made, to visit the doctor and the dentist, to eat chicken and drink coffee – this was the start of it all. And in time, the first televisions were bought in Al Kahraba Street; they were built into cabinets so that you had to open a door in order to watch the screen. The doctor’s surgery was down an alleyway, his waiting room usually packed with patients. As the area grew, jeeps 144

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and trucks began to appear, then American limousines and European saloon cars. The old men on their donkeys, their feet trailing along the ground, still trotted by. Water had always been a precious resource. Certain private houses had their own wells, but they tended to produce saline water suitable only for washing. By the 1950s the main freshwater wells were located at Msheireb, Nuaija and Muraikh and the water was supplied by the khanderi, a familiar figure carrying drinking water in two tins balanced on a pole across his back. In those wells, a lens of fresh water sat atop the saline aquifers. When diesel pumps were introduced, the fresh water was quickly used up for drinking and agriculture, leaving only the salt water. The government began to build water-distillation plants to replace the wells and springs, and reservoirs known as birkhas were created with taps so that the khanderi could collect the water from there. It was not until 1965 that homes were connected to a mains water supply and the khanderi went into decline.9 As the 1960s unfolded, you could not fail to notice that things were changing. The road through the Suq Waqif that had been built along the line of the Wadi Msheireb still flooded during heavy rainstorms, though less so since a dam had been built to divert the deluge. Mosques still rose above the sprawl of buildings, prayers were said five times a day and the call of the muezzin gave each day a certain routine; the pilgrimage to Mecca, or hajj, went on. But no longer did pilgrims have to take a long, overland trek or dispiriting sea voyage to reach the holy city. Now they could assemble at a car park near the Eid Prayer Ground, where a Saudi pilgrimage contractor named Bin Tarjab picked them up and took them to Mecca by motor vehicle, returning them several days later to the delight of their friends and relations. More recently pilgrims could be found at Doha airport waiting to board a plane, or driving across the border at Salwa, until the blockade came down. In July 1966 a deep-water channel into Doha was completed so that most cargo ships discharged their cargoes there instead of Umm Said. However, in the summer of 1967, a shocking reminder of Qatar’s growing links with the outside world occurred, when there were three outbreaks of acute poisoning in Doha from imported flour contaminated with the insecticide endrin. A total of 691 people were admitted to hospital and 24 people died. The incidents were traced to a shipment of flour from the usa which had been stored in the vessel’s hold beneath 145

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a leaking container of endrin and unloaded at the port before being distributed around the city. Otherwise, the march of ‘progress’ continued. An existing distillation plant was extended to provide an extra 1.5 million gallons of water per day; the British telecommunications company Marconi was setting up a broadcasting station; there was a cement factory in progress and plans for a sewage disposal works, water mains piping, extending the power station, and building government offices. The oiled roads had been replaced by modern ones, and traffic was increasing, as were the accidents. A new airport terminal saw daily flights between Doha and Bahrain with Gulf Aviation, and boac and seven other international airlines operated regular flights. A number of shipping lines, including the British India Line, were calling at the port. Telephones and radio-telephones also connected Qatar with the world; in 1966 there were 5,868 telephones. There were five hospitals with 548 beds, plus two oil company hospitals. The Qatar National Bank (established in 1965), the Eastern Bank, the British Bank of the Middle East, the Ottoman Bank, the Arab Bank and the Intra Bank all had branches in Doha. By now, the population of the town was 55,000; there were many people living in Msheireb, not only Qataris, but a mix of foreigners such as Pakistanis, Baluchis, Palestinians, northern Arabs and Egyptians. Between 1951 and 1975, Doha’s population grew from 20,000 to 80,000. For a time, Msheireb was at the centre of things, the in-place for shops and restaurants. But the district in general fell into a state of disrepair as newly affluent Qataris moved out to the suburbs to live in gated properties with driveways. In 2004 it was decided to regenerate the area. The Msheireb Project was conceived by the then amir, Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani, and his wife Sheikha Mozah. It was a government-backed, $5.9 billion (Dh21.6 billion) scheme to remake Doha’s city centre as a pedestrian-friendly area, much as it used to be when people got around on foot. ‘You will be able to cross the street without being run over,’ said Tim Makower, one of the leading architects of the plan. The architects told Sheikha Mozah that they were thinking of building town houses, clustered around communal private gardens. ‘Oh, that’s a fereej,’ she said, remembering the days when people would gather together. The clock could not be put back to the time before the bulldozers came, but it was possible to preserve aspects of the past in the present day. In that sense, history was made real.10 146

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Out in the desert, things were also changing. In 1959 a Danish team consisting of ethnographer Klaus Ferdinand and film-maker Jette Bang had spent ten weeks living with two bedouin tribes in the desert, first with the Naim, and then with the Murrah. Nowadays, the Naim are a vast tribal group stretching from Oman to Iraq. Their members share a common heritage, but do not recognize a single leader, though the smaller sections have their own sheikhs. While the Qatar section’s diyar covered an area of about 985 square kilometres (380 sq. mi.), they could use another tribe’s diyar with their permission. It will be recalled that these Naim were affiliated with the Al Khalifa, although this was not a hard and fast rule, and some had declared their loyalty to the Al Thani at various times. Now, in the late 1950s, they were no longer as nomadic

A young bedouin employed in the oil industry at Dukhan, January 1955.

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as their counterparts of the southern desert, for their movements were few and far between. During the warmer months, the group under study stayed in stone houses and tents by the roadside. In the winter, they moved to Jamailiyah and then Murwab. And while other groups moved around, there was less need to do so because the young men were away working in the oilfield and the camels could be left to wander in the desert with their herders. When the Danes visited the Naim settlement, many of the men were away working in the oilfield, leaving the women, children and elderly in the camps while the government paid them an allowance of 100–200 rupees per person. The Naim’s nomadic days, if not over, were numbered; in 1960 the government began its modernization plans in earnest, resulting in the settlement of tribal members at Ghuwairiyah on the northern edge of their diyar. The oil camp at Dukhan had a satellite unit that dealt with anyone who arrived at the door, and staff provided medical care in the desert. On one occasion the company nurse, Joyce Standring, was on duty when a local bedouin arrived at the unit asking for medical help for his wife, who had been in labour for over a day. They travelled to a barasti village in the desert, where Joyce attended to the difficult birth, but there were complications and she took the mother back to Dukhan closely followed by her family, making ‘quite a cavalcade’ as they crossed the desert. Since the medical staff respected local culture at all times, the male doctor supervised the operation from behind the door of the operating theatre, calling out instructions to Joyce, who performed the operation inside the room.11 In the southern desert, the old ways were more evident. Here the Danes stayed with a small group of the Murrah tribe, which was nomadic and moved frequently, using camels to transport their tents and equipment, as well as their families. After roaming the sands during the winter, they would advance into Qatar during the early spring, where abundant grazing, hunting and truffles could be found. In the hot weather, they tended to gather around wells on the border with Saudi Arabia. This group comprised camel herders, though they had kept goats and sheep in the past, and they also looked after the ruler’s camels, emphasizing the close ties between the Al Murrah and the Al Thani. The impact of the oil industry was yet to be felt in those far reaches of the sands: the need for water, and the maintenance of wells, was at the heart of their existence. Many of the changes wrought by 148

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The sheikh’s mosque in Doha pictured in 1968.

the oil industry at this time were incidental: the bedouins often collected the ‘discards and rubbish’ from oil company sites and the cities. Even in the remotest parts, you could find detonation cables being used as guy ropes for tents or ties for camel saddles.12 The Naim tended to visit the suq in Doha for their needs, while the Murrah went there or to the one in Wakrah. In both places, imported goods were available: pots and pans, implements and tools imported from abroad, usually from India. Enamelware had largely replaced wooden milking bowls and utensils, while a wide variety of metal goods – axes, knives and spoons – were still made by local artisans. Tent cloth came from outside, as did the adornments for camel saddles, date-palm mats and baskets from inland oases such as Buraimi in Oman, hookahs from Iraq, tent poles from Saudi Arabia – in fact all the accoutrements of the nomadic life were to be found in the suq. In Doha, where there was a fish market and a general market in the Suq Waqif, the space in-between was used by the desert people to trade camels and products such as animal fats, camel’s-hair textiles and firewood. In a curious way, while bringing many challenges to the traditional life, the oil industry preserved and strengthened certain aspects of it. 149

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In the past, the role of the sheikh was that of leader, mediator and provider. His status was bolstered by an income from the pearl trade that enabled him to spread his largesse among his people – that was now replaced by revenues from oil. The time-honoured ways were preserved and valued in the modern nation: in the folklore and museums of the modern state, in a strong attachment to the desert, a fascination with family lineages, falconry, and horse and camel breeding. Camels were still valued, not so much for their load-bearing qualities as for breeding and racing; falconry was elevated to the sport of kings. The tribal dynamics did not fade with the coming of oil – if anything, they were strengthened and extended by the new wealth which brought larger families and more dependants. The Al Thani family were able to consolidate their rule and cement the allegiance of the tribes through their largesse and patronage, although that was not a smooth process, as will be seen in the convulsions of the coming decades.

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A State of Independence ‘Les Spots s’éteignent: l’histoire a passé.’ – A. Bosshard, ‘Acte historique à la residence du cheikh de Qatar’, Journal de Genève, 4 September 1971

F

or a moment, it seemed that the old animosities had been swept away. On 25 February 1968 the rulers of nine Arab Gulf states – Bahrain, Qatar and the seven Trucial States – gathered in Dubai, determined to come together and form a union. It was a worthy ambition that played well at first. Qatar proposed a federal executive council of rulers with consultative councils of defence, economic and cultural affairs to follow. The meeting broke up on the 27th to accolades in the Arab press, and even British diplomats were pleased with the progress, no doubt breathing a collective sigh of relief, since it was their own government that had created the problem in the first place. The British decision to withdraw from the Gulf had been made at a cabinet meeting in London barely seven weeks before. The reason was financial: after successive economic crises and devaluations, plus mounting demands for improved social welfare programmes at home, the Treasury recommended that Britain should leave the Gulf. ‘We can no longer afford the role of world policeman,’ Prime Minister Harold Wilson had said in 1968. Although his cabinet was divided in a Brexitlike split between those who would withdraw and those who would keep Britain in the Gulf, Wilson broke away from the remainers – Messrs Brown, Healey and Stewart – and the cabinet endorsed his decision. Withdrawal was set for the end of 1971, and announced by Wilson in the House of Commons twelve days later.1 Goronwy Roberts, the British minister of state for foreign affairs, broke the news to the Gulf sheikhs. It was a thankless task, since Roberts had assured the sheikhs only two months earlier that Britain had no plans to withdraw. Now he toured the area with the bad news, visiting each ruler in turn. In Qatar, Sheikh Ahmad protested that the 151

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decision was wrong and urged Britain to reconsider. But the die had been cast, and not even a later change of government or an offer by the sheikhs to fund a British military force themselves would bring a change of mind. After the initial shock had faded, the sheikhs gathered their thoughts and decided to adopt the British suggestion to form a new system for their own security. This meant joining together as the ‘Union of Arab Emirates’. That at least was the plan, but only the most gullible would have imagined that the conflicts of the past had simply evaporated: Bahrain and Qatar were still at loggerheads over Zubarah and the Hawar Islands, and Iran’s claim to Bahrain was still alive and kicking. No doubt this latter point spurred on the Al Khalifa to seek the protection of a larger grouping. Indeed, all the rulers and their regimes had something to fear in the modern Middle East, whether it was Iran, Iraq, communism or Arab nationalism, and much to gain from joining together in a larger union of like-minded states. Although a relative latecomer to British protection, Qatar had been under Britain’s wing for more than fifty years, during which time oil had been discovered and the country had grown richer. Britain had conducted Qatar’s foreign affairs and generally abstained from interfering in its internal affairs, although its influence was plain to see. Sheikh Ahmad had his own guards, but still leaned heavily on British personnel for their military prowess and diplomatic advice. The likes of Mohammad Mahdi (Ronald Cochrane, head of the Public Security Department) and Ian Henderson (head of Qatar’s Special Branch) would remain in post, but they could no longer guarantee the appearance of a British warship in times of trouble. For Dr Hassan Kamil, the negotiations were a chance for redemption, having been sacked – or resigned, as Kamil would have it – in 1967 after a series of ‘explosive’ rows with Sheikh Khalifa. There was no doubt that Whitehall’s backing gave Qatar a greater degree of legitimacy at home and in the international arena, but now the rug was to be pulled from under Ahmad’s feet, and everything was about to change.2 There was much scepticism that the Gulf rulers could ever become long-term partners. However, as if to defy the critics, the Dubai meeting in February came up with a plan for exactly that. Sheikh Ahmad suggested that a supreme council of the nine rulers should be formed to act as the executive body of the new federation, with the sheikhs each taking turns to preside. Decisions would be unanimous. The council would deal 152

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with international relations, political affairs and military and economic issues. When King Faisal of Saudi Arabia announced his support for a federation in April, there was real hope that the plan would succeed. Then the doubts crept in. There were delays in settling the details and meetings were adjourned without hard decisions being taken. There were arguments about money, the constitution, portfolios and representation followed as the talks began sinking into a quagmire of indecision. One figure to stand out was the deputy ruler of Qatar, Sheikh Khalifa. Although Ahmad was Qatar’s ruler and kept control of the security forces (which had probably guaranteed his survival), Khalifa in practice ruled in almost every other way. And it was Khalifa who impressed, emerging as the spokesman of the Gulf leaders and papering over their fragile compromises. But the cracks would soon show, for the Gulf states were split over what to do: Qatar and Dubai wanted to go in one direction, and Bahrain and Abu Dhabi in another. As Rosemarie Said Zahlan points out, Qatar and Dubai had a ‘strong affinity’, with Sheikh Ahmad being married to a daughter of Sheikh Rashid bin Said Al Maktoum, the ruler of Dubai, and both sheikhdoms sharing a common currency, the Qatar-Dubai riyal, launched in 1966. Dubai had a significant Iranian popu­­lation and disapproved of Bahrain’s stance against Tehran, while Qatar’s antagonism towards the Al Khalifa was well established, as we have seen. The crux of the matter was where the capital of the federation should be located. Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan, the ruler of Abu Dhabi, favoured Bahrain because it was the most populous and advanced country in the group, but the Qatari contingent argued that Doha was better placed, being situated between Bahrain and the Trucial States. The grand scheme was starting to unravel.3 In true style, Sheikh Khalifa showed an independent streak. While the Gulf rulers were offering to pay for a British force to remain in the area, Khalifa was making approaches through the American Embassy in Beirut for u.s. back-up after the British had departed. However, the u.s. Secretary of State, Dean Rusk, had no desire to intervene in the Gulf at a time when its affairs were in a state of flux. That left Khalifa to grapple with the negotiations for a federation. The old enmities rumbled on, especially when the Bahraini delegation pressed for their own amir to lead the union. Sheikh Khalifa sarcastically dismissed that idea by suggesting, ‘with no hint of smile’, that Qatar might fund development projects in Bahrain.4 153

Khalifa bin Hamad Al Thani, the ruler of Qatar from 1972 to 1995.

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In October 1969 the nine rulers met in Abu Dhabi and elected Sheikh Zayed as president and Sheikh Khalifa as prime minister of the proposed union. But the meeting ended badly when the Political Agent for Abu Dhabi, James Treadwell, addressed the rulers and expressed his government’s wish that all their disagreements should be resolved. Certain delegates regarded Treadwell’s statement as unwarranted and the meeting broke up in disarray when Sheikh Ahmad and the ruler of Ras al-Khaimah walked out. Although Ahmad returned, nothing was signed and the meeting ended without any agreements being made. These complications only strengthened Qatar’s desire for independence. With Dr Kamil’s help, a new constitution was drawn up for Qatar, purportedly as part of the federation talks but placing all its major functions – the leadership, capital and so on – in Doha. In November the Political Resident, Geoffrey Arthur, reported that a union of the nine states was doubtful, and that Bahrain and Qatar were likely to go their own ways. Sheikh Ahmad still professed to be carrying a torch for the union, though he fooled nobody apart from his father-in-law, the sheikh of Dubai, who was apparently unaware of his real intentions. It was not until May 1971 that the first intimation of Qatari independence was given to the British adviser on Gulf affairs, Sir William Luce. On 14 August, the day that Bahrain announced its decision to seek independence, Sheikh Khalifa told Arthur that Qatar would do the same, although he asked him not to make it public while he broached the issue with King Faisal of Saudi Arabia. Faisal imparted to Dr Kamil that he would prefer a union of nine, but would not stand in Qatar’s way if it chose independence. The British for their part saw advantage in the Qataris’ unilateral move towards independence, having concerns for their country’s viability if they did not make a bold stand; and detaching Qatar from the federation would free up the negotiations and allow the seven Trucial States to move towards becoming the United Arab Emirates (uae). Those expecting a gentle stroll towards independence were to be disappointed, however. Suddenly, documents had to be signed and Sheikh Ahmad, who was enjoying the rarefied air of Switzerland rather than the heat haze of Doha, insisted that everything had to be brought to Geneva, and the stroll became a stampede. Dr Kamil had to find an official seal before the documents, including a Treaty of Friendship with Great Britain, could be finalized. A nervous clerk 155

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appeared with an ‘extraordinary assortment of objects’, none of which made an impression on sealing wax. In the end, Kamil obtained something in Beirut which turned out to be a stamp rather than a seal, but was nevertheless acceptable to the Consulate-General in Geneva.5 And so, on the evening of 3 September 1971 on the steps of his villa in Versoix, Sheikh Ahmad faced some thirty journalists – probably the first time he had given an interview to the European press – and declared Qatar’s independence, his monosyllabic remarks becoming statesmen-like replies in the deft hands of the official translator. The real glory, however, belonged to Sheikh Khalifa, who stayed in Doha and made the announcement on Qatari television. Although that was something of a damp squib since few people had television sets at the time, the tribal leaders got wind of the event and came to the palace to take part. Indeed, judging by the rifle shots and cannon fire that reverberated around the town, only the dead would have been oblivious to the fact that something momentous had happened that day. No doubt the ghost of Sheikh Jassim bin Muhammad Al Thani – the founder of the nation – stirred and smiled down on the celebrations, for they were the realization of his long-held dream to set his country free.

As the winter sun slipped over the dusty rooftops of Doha town, bedouin guards nonchalantly sipped coffee on the steps of Government House and lolled in the passageway outside Khalifa’s office; the restless deputy ruler was at his desk formulating another plan. There was a certain tension in the air, like the prelude to a storm. ‘A stranger to Qatar might even think that violence is about to break out,’ reported the British ambassador, Edward Henderson. He thought the blame lay ‘99 per cent’ with Ahmad’s eldest son, the volatile Abdul Aziz, but Sheikh Ahmad was hardly blameless in the matter, preferring the lure of his villa in Switzerland and hunting trips in Iran to the family squabbles waiting for him at home.6 But Ahmad’s position was weakening all the time: ‘He was openly sneered at for his failure last autumn to return to his country to sign the documents for independence,’ wrote Geoffrey Arthur. In fact Khalifa had been running things for several years. As heir apparent, and having served as minister of finance and petroleum affairs, prime minister and deputy ruler, Khalifa was well accustomed to public duties, but the fact 156

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that he had announced the country’s independence on television in his cousin’s place was a telling moment. By the time Ahmad returned to Doha, his ‘star had reached an all-time low’.7 The chief qadhi wrote an open letter accusing Ahmad of misspending public money, inattention to public duties and other shortcomings. Although Ahmad scornfully dismissed it, the whole document was read in the public mosque. For Khalifa, the last straw had been Ahmad’s decision to designate his son Abdul Aziz as his heir in defiance of the elders’ 1960 decision to appoint Khalifa as the next amir. Worse still, Abdul Aziz was clearly unfit to rule: he had killed two men in the past, and was ‘famous for his instability and impetuosity’. Nevertheless, he retained a degree of public affection, particularly among those who enjoyed his generosity.8 Khalifa’s coup, when it came, was perfectly timed. On 18 February 1972 Ahmad left Doha to go on another hunting trip in Iran at a time when the shah was highly unpopular in the region. The first that anyone outside the palace knew something was amiss was five days later, when there was an announcement on Qatar Radio at 9.15 a.m.: In the higher interest of the country and with the blessings of the ruling family and support of the armed forces, His Excellency Sheikh Khalifa al‐Thani, may God support him, has taken over the Government and become the Amir of the State of Qatar. Long live Sheikh Khalifa and long live Qatar as an independent Arab state!9 A statement signed by Al Thani members expressing allegiance to the new amir was then broadcast, followed by messages of support. Abdul Aziz bin Ahmad was told to leave the country and dashed off in a convoy of twenty Mercedes cars so quickly that the helicopter hovering overhead was left behind. In the event, four Hawker Hunter jet fighters escorted his convoy to the Saudi Arabia border, which was sealed to prevent Ahmad from mounting a counter-coup. Afterwards it transpired that Abdul Aziz had thousands of machine guns, bombs labelled with house numbers and a little red book with a list of names of the people he was going to kill. ‘He was about as well armed as the government,’ Henderson observed.10 Apart from Hunters ‘cavorting’ around the sky in the morning, and a few guards posted at vital points such as radio and power stations, 157

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From 1971, Qatar National Day was celebrated on 3 September, the anniversary of Qatar’s independence. Since 2007 the commemoration has been held on 18 December, the anniversary of Sheikh Jassim’s accession in 1878.

there was little to suggest that a coup had taken place. Doha was calm; most shops stayed open and, although subdued, business carried on as normal. The radio played patriotic songs and a 20 per cent increase in salaries for civil servants and the 15,000 members of the army and police force was announced. Staff at the government schools went home to lunch at the usual time and the expatriate community went shopping as before. Things were quieter by nightfall, though a few people reported that they had been stopped for questioning by the police in the early hours.11 To the outside world, the coup was presented as a natural succession. That was a political gloss on a complicated situation, of course, but the backing of the Al Thani elders brought legitimacy to Khalifa’s rule. Among the changes he instigated was the appointment of his eldest son, Hamad, as commander-in-chief of the army; he was a graduate of Sandhurst and a major general in the army. Hamad bin Jassim bin Hamad, Khalifa’s nephew, was made police commander; he was a graduate of the Hendon Police College and considered to be ‘shrewd 158

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and ambitious’, having the support of conservative members of the Al Thani family. They displaced Ronald Lock and Muhammad Mahdi (Cochrane), who were retained as advisers, though never exercised the same level of influence as before.12 The deposed Ahmad spent the rest of his life in exile and never gave up his claim to be the rightful amir. He settled with his family in Dubai, where he pointedly flew a Qatari flag over his residence. When Amir Khalifa visited Dubai in 1976 he asked the ruler, Sheikh Rashid bin Maktoum, to expel Ahmad or at least remove the flag, but he refused on both counts. Khalifa last saw his cousin shortly before he died in November 1977 and invited him to return to Doha, although Ahmad was probably too ill to travel by then. According to the British ambassador, the ex-amir was suffering from a liver disease caused by excessive drinking and his condition had become incurable. He died on 25 November and his body, accompanied by three of his sons, was returned to Doha, where he was given a state funeral and then buried at Raiyan.13 Khalifa feared a backlash from Ahmad’s relatives, so he freed up Ahmad’s assets in Qatar while he was still on his deathbed, allowing them to inherit and use the proceeds. It was a most welcome gesture; among those to benefit was Sheikh Ghanim bin Ali Al Thani, whose personal fortune was estimated to have at least doubled on Ahmad’s death. Sheikh Khalifa also returned much of the land that had been plundered by corrupt officials during Ahmad’s exile. As another olive branch, the relatives were allowed to attend the funeral. However, there was a limit to Amir Khalifa’s generosity. His bold statement that the coup had been carried out to remove those who had ‘tried to hinder [Qatar’s] progress and modernization’ was a clear reference to his cousin’s lack of reforming zeal. People were generally relieved that Ahmad had gone, and looked forward to a golden age of prosperity under the new amir. They had good reason to be hopeful: Khalifa was considered to be one of the most capable rulers in the Gulf, ‘dynamic, decisive, sure of his goals and relatively honest’. This was the man who, in April 1972, appointed twenty members to the Advisory Council as envisaged in the provisional constitution. Admittedly, they were the older pearl merchants and performed only a consultative role, but it was an advance on the Ahmad years, and a younger generation was coming through.14 Qatar was changing, although the past was never far behind. Khalifa was a workaholic, but he still managed to combine the traditional 159

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aspects of ruling with the contemporary. Two days a week were reserved for his subjects. On these days, his people could approach him through his majlis, and anyone who wanted to submit a petition could do so; Khalifa always saw that they were answered promptly and effectively. Another day was reserved for family members. Khalifa retained the same plump, paternal look that was unchanging and familiar. As a tribal leader, he held the respect of his people. It was all so very reassuring.

Doha was a place of contrasts. With the building booms and busts came the multi-lane highways packed with speeding cars and family minibuses only a glance away from the debris that lay scattered along the roadside, from the rusty prongs of unfinished buildings, the piles of rubbish patrolled by mangy pi-dogs, and the forgotten spaces of gritty sand with dirty pools left by the winter rain. New office blocks gleamed, old houses crumbled, and the call of the muezzin competed with car horns in the evening air. In the dull orange twilight, rich young Qataris congregated on the seafront with their fast cars and cigarettes. Dhows anchored in the bay reprised an earlier time when Doha was a traditional Gulf town trading in pearls. As buildings were hacked down and bulldozed to make way for new roads and developments, the traditional town still retained much of its charm, even if corralled by the urban sprawl. There were many mosques, palaces and gated villas, and outside the city limits the occasional farm surrounded by trees and fences could be seen; but everything was enclosed, like the society that lay within. Doha was a great whirlpool, sucking in Qataris from far and wide – from the towns, the fishing villages and the desert, too. These migrations were invisible to the casual visitor, though very real to those involved. Al Shamal (‘the north’) was home to various tribes that were ‘like one hand; they worked together, fished together and most importantly, they were friends in war’. But people were now moving out to find work in the booming industries, leaving their families behind and finding their own accommodation in the town.15 The drive to educate the younger generation brought greater pressures on the families to leave Al Shamal and settle in Doha permanently. To solve the problem of providing local education, Khalifa commissioned a new suburb of the city with schools and health facilities nearby. Known as Madinat al-Khalifa, it has since been swallowed 160

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up by the modern conurbation, but can be found between Al Raiyan City and downtown Doha. Many of those who left Al Shamal found their new home there. The theme of the old life left behind often finds expression in the thoughts and writings of those who lived through those times. As one new resident remarked, ‘In Madinat Khalifa there was no sea for fishing, no birds singing, and no huge boats for diving to look for pearls.’ And yet the new life was not so bad: ‘We were also together, side by side, and wall by wall, living together as family without distances straining our close family bonds.’16 The picture would change again as the city expanded to bring yet more people and soon they would be complaining that they did not know their neighbours. ‘The buildings have become taller, the houses bigger, but our hearts have become smaller,’ wrote one resident in a story about his grandmother’s house, which had stood for many years. In her memory, he took seeds from an ancient sidra tree that had stood in her garden and planted them in his own.17 The sidra tree (Ziziphus spina-christi) is native to Qatar and flourishes in the unpromising conditions of the northern and central parts of the peninsula. The Qatar National Convention Centre was designed

An old coral stone house being demolished in Qatar in 1975.

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around the enormous trunks of two artificial sidra trees. Situated in Education City, the centre is part of the Qatar Foundation, a non-profit organization founded in 1995. The organization takes the sidra tree as its symbol because it grew in the desert and gave shade and shelter to passing travellers who sat and exchanged stories before they went on their way. And so the sight of a sidra tree rising out of the desert plain, or as an icon on a modern state building, still speaks for the memories of the people of this land.

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Old Ghosts and New Realities ‘Summers were hot even back then. We had air conditioners, but there were power outages quite often. Many a night was spent under candlelit desert skies, listening to stories about ghouls and spirits. This stuff didn’t frighten us because my father told us we were in Allah’s land and were safe from anything that caused harm.’ – Priya D’Souza, Doha News, 3 March 2017

B

ehind the high walls of the villas and palaces of the Al Thani, another drama was being played out which was so compelling that stories sprang up ‘almost as regularly as Qatari dust storms’. It all stemmed from conflicting promises that Khalifa had made when he was plotting to overthrow his cousin. In order to enlist the support of his close relatives, he pledged the post of crown prince to his second son, Abdul Aziz, and to his half-brother Suhaym. Khalifa’s elder brother Jassim then found out and mounted his own challenge, and there was a fourth contender in the form of Khalifa’s firstborn, Hamad. It was all very confusing, but Khalifa did as many of his fellow rulers would have done in the same situation: nothing.1 The first contender, Abdul Aziz bin Khalifa, was the amir’s favourite. He was appointed minister of finance and petroleum upon his father’s accession. Four years later he was president of the opec conference held in Doha. However, his term got off to a bad start when he protested to his Saudi counterpart, Sheikh Ahmad Yamani, that he was not a Saudi ‘messenger boy’. The Saudis for their part were angry with the Qataris for defying their line on lower oil prices. Things took a darker turn when the Saudis insinuated that, since they had been instrumental in Khalifa’s coup, they could just as well arrange for the ex-amir to be reinstated. While not fatal to the young sheikh’s claim, the whole episode was a setback to his ambitions.2 163

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Next up was Suhaym bin Hamad who, at the age of 39, had been appointed foreign minister. As befitted his principal role in the drama, he was described as a figure of ‘personal magnetism, a strikingly handsome man’, who was the epitome of a desert chieftain, enjoying hunting with falcons, holding open house and showing great generosity to family and friends alike. Suhaym’s cause was advanced when Jassim bin Hamad died at Denver Hospital in July 1976, reducing the field to three contenders for the succession and leaving the ministry of education vacant for the Al Thani to ‘squabble’ over.3 The foreign diplomats in Doha looked on as the next act unfolded. The American ambassador Robert Paganelli dubbed it ‘One Man’s Thani’ after a popular u.s. television soap opera of the 1950s, One’s Man’s Family. In October 1976 he noted Suhaym’s absence from Doha airport for the departure of Amir Khalifa, who was travelling to an Arab League summit in Cairo. That was strange because Suhaym was usually left in charge of the diwan while the amir was abroad, and would have been expected to attend. In fact Suhaym was at odds with the amir at that time, and living in self-imposed rustication on his desert farm in the

The Sheraton Hotel (in the background) was the venue for the fourth meeting of the Gulf Co-operation Council in November 1983.

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north. The sight of his rivals Hamad and Abdul Aziz linked arm-to-arm at the airport only confirmed the theory that Suhaym was away on a ‘prolonged sulk’.4 To bolster his position, Suhaym turned to the Saudis and, in the same month, greeted their interior minister, Nayef bin Abdul Aziz, at his desert encampment. The pretext for the meeting was Gulf security, but it also sent out a message that Suhaym was cultivating the Saudis to support his cause. ‘Big brother’ Fahd, the Saudi crown prince, duly interceded on his behalf and, with some persuasion from Khalifa, Suhaym returned to office. However, his cause had been damaged – he might have impressed the Saudis and some dissident Al Thani sheikhs, but he had faced down the amir, causing him loss of face; and such things were not easily forgotten.5 Then there was Hamad bin Khalifa. Today he is widely regarded as the architect of Qatar’s current prosperity, but in those days his horizon was rather more limited. A large man with an imposing presence, he had attended the military academy at Sandhurst and was commander of the armed forces. In contrast to Suhaym, he was a steady character, being ‘neither a womaniser, drug taker or drunkard’. Once Abdul Aziz had conceded his claim to the throne and given him his backing, Hamad seemed the safest bet in the succession stakes.6 In April 1977 Amir Khalifa finally made his decision and, with the agreement of the family elders, appointed Hamad as crown prince. At 8 a.m. on 31 May the news was made public and troops were put on alert but, as there were no incidents, they were stood down at midday. At 1.30 p.m. Qatari Radio broadcast an ‘Amiri Order’ confirming Hamad as crown prince and a second order was issued creating a ministry of defence with Hamad as its minister. As expected, the decision went down well with Qataris, and was quietly welcomed by the diplomatic community in Doha. Although he lacked experience of governing, Hamad would remedy that by branching out from his military and defence portfolios into managing the country’s social and economic policies, and eventually taking over the day-to-day running of the government from his father. All the while, he was building up his support base within the family, winning over opponents and isolating the diehards. Little did Khalifa know that, by appointing Hamad as crown prince, he was creating his own nemesis, though that would not come for many years – it was only later in Khalifa’s rule that his son became seriously frustrated with him. 165

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There was no mention of Suhaym in the official announcements, despite speculation that he had been offered the prime ministership as a sop. It was reported that he had wept when turning down Khalifa’s offer, saying that if he could not have the power befitting the office, he would rather quit public life; while other reports said he ‘flatly and rudely’ rejected it. There was an element of grandstanding in this, for Suhaym was still playing the Saudi card in the hope that Khalifa would back down, and for his part the amir hoped that Suhaym would come to his senses. And so the impasse went on, with all the disruption and uncertainty that entailed.7 Suhaym remained as foreign minister, but his heart was not in the part. He never appeared at his ministry, which, according to Andrew Killgore, the u.s. ambassador in Qatar (1977–80), was a ‘feckless and dispirited’ place. He did not receive foreign ambassadors or attend diplomatic functions (apart from the Saudi National Day party), and his activities were not mentioned in the Qatari media. He suffered a setback when his protégé was overlooked as the new minister of education in favour of Khalifa’s eldest brother, Muhammad. In his final analysis, Killgore summed up Suhaym as ‘a romantic with no stomach for power and probably with little ability to exercise it should fate ever throw the mantle across his shoulders’. As it happened, the mantle never came his way.8 In 1983 a plot to blow up the Doha Sheraton and assassinate the leaders of the Gulf Co-operation Council – or possibly Khalifa himself – was uncovered and blamed on Libyans, though it may have involved dissident Al Thani members. There was talk that Suhaym was actively planning a coup and had gathered a band of supporters and a cache of weapons in the northern towns and villages, but that all came to nothing in August 1985 when he died of a heart attack at the age of 52. Afterwards Suhaym’s sons blamed the minister of information and culture, Ghanim al-Kuwari, for failing to summon medical help quickly enough to save their father’s life. They attacked and fired on him several times, but he survived his wounds and Suhaym’s supporters were rounded up and imprisoned. As it transpired, the whole affair reverberated for decades to come and energized the next generation of Suhaym’s family in their struggle. The wheel had turned, and it would turn again.

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By now the man who had once showed much promise had faded. Amir Khalifa was weighed down by the cares of office and, behind the public smile, was a shadow of his former self. Killgore offered an insight into the reasons for Khalifa’s decline: ‘Bitter disappointment in his family, especially in his sons, character/personality inadequacies in the ruler himself, and an array of all but insolvable problems taken together have disheartened the Amir.’9 None of this would have mattered so much had Qatar remained a poor desert backwater, but the country was now a modern city-state facing immense challenges: its population had grown from 23,000 to 300,000 in the space of a generation, and its income had grown thirtyfold over the past decade, mainly on account of the opec decision in 1973 to hike the price of crude oil. There was an urgent need for big decisions to be taken but, as Killgore explained, it was an impossible task for one man: ‘The Qatar Company [government] has simply become too much for any one lone cowboy decision-maker to handle,’ he wrote. Amir Khalifa’s reluctance to delegate meant that he carried the cares of state on his shoulders, and the strain was beginning to tell – behind his smiling public persona, the leader who had once been described as a ‘powerhouse’ was now plagued by doubt and suspicion.10 Khalifa’s legendary eye for detail, which had once caused his subordinates to quake in their sandals, was more of a hindrance than a help as he insisted on signing all cheques for amounts over 250,000 Qatari riyals (£40,000) – often he would ‘sit on his cheque book’ for days on end as merchants waited for payment and government departments were unable to spend money allocated to them. That was not what the hard-pressed Qatari businessmen wanted to hear – they were expecting to see projects tumbling into their hands. As the government coffers increased each year and with so little to spend, the risk of corruption increased. Personnel changes and the sacking of corrupt officials were promised as part of major government reforms, but timings were vague and little happened. Doing business in Qatar was never easy. Foreign businessmen knew that, if they were to make progress, they needed a local sponsor or figurehead – the higher the sheikh, the better. And supreme patience was required: ‘No Gulf Arab will tell an acquaintance of less than six months standing anything other than what he thinks [he] would like to hear,’ wrote the British ambassador to Qatar (1984–7), Julian Walker. 167

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Asian workers in Qatar, 1981: with a rising demand for labour from the construction boom, foreigners soon outnumbered Qataris by a ratio of four to one.

Trust had to be earned rather than accepted on a handshake and a business card; lunches were long and deals could take several lunches. Time had a different meaning – to be late for a meeting was not necessarily a sign of rudeness – and the pace of life was slower. Bureaucracy could be difficult and impenetrable at times.11 A more serious issue – and what really exercised Khalifa’s mind – was the number of manual workers coming into the country to meet the demand for labour in the construction boom. They posed the greatest threat to the traditional way of life, even though the future wealth and prosperity of the country depended on them. If the economy was stimulated with new projects, more foreign workers would be sucked in and tilt the demographic balance against Qataris even more. The effects were already being felt, for in 1985 Walker was writing: Qataris in the last few years have progressively closed their society to outsiders. This is understandable, given the pressures to which they are exposed and the presence of over three times their number of resident foreign expatriates here.12

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It is tempting to think of Qatar’s rise to prosperity as an ever-steepening curve, but that was not always the case. The volatility of oil prices had a knock-on effect that could plunge the economy into recession as well as propelling it into growth. There were other reasons for recession, as when Amir Khalifa withheld salaries one winter, reputedly ‘to teach his subjects a lesson and reduce their expectations, and to provide the government with a reasonable excuse for disposing of unwanted expatriates’, but essentially the economy was driven by oil. There was always the option of developing the gas resources of North Field, but Khalifa kept a lid on that for fear of accelerating growth and bringing in more foreign workers to skew the demographics still further. Although he approved development of the field in 1979, another thirteen years would pass before the gas came on stream.13 There was progress, but it was not as rapid as many would have liked. ‘A cautious man with total power’ was how one journalist described Khalifa when he visited London on a state visit in November 1985. No doubt at the back of the amir’s mind was his memory of the pearl trade as a young boy: how the decline of the industry had ruined families and left communities poverty-stricken, all the consequence of the country’s dependence on pearls. He had not forgotten those hard times.14

When all was said and done, Qatar was still a small country in a dangerous world. The outbreak of war between Iraq and Iran in 1980 prompted Qatar and other states – Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates – to form the Gulf Co-Operation Council (gcc). As the war spilled over into the Gulf with attacks on shipping, the oil-producing Gulf states were vulnerable because their crude exports were routed through the narrow Strait of Hormuz. The decision to create the Peninsula Shield Force – a joint military force for the protection of member states – reflected their desire to show a united front. And it worked at first. When Doha hosted the fourth conference of the gcc in November 1983, Qatari delegates participated enthusiastically in its various committees. Such were the limits of the country’s horizon at that time – there were no grand projects, high-profile investments or controversial associations to be trumpeted across the media of the world. Anxious about an escalation of the Iran–Iraq war, the 169

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government sought neutrality by making financial contributions to both countries while appealing for peace. This was no golden dawn in Gulf relations, however. In 1986 the quarrel with Bahrain over the Hawar Islands erupted again, this time over the Dibal and Jaradah shoals, which the British had assigned to Bahrain. In April, after the Bahraini government started works that would transform Fasht al-Dibal into an island, Qatar landed a small force and seized it, taking prisoner 26 foreigners who were working there. Since both countries were members of the gcc, they looked to its most influential member, Saudi Arabia, for mediation. Riyadh announced that an agreement had been reached, the prisoners were released, Qatari forces withdrawn and the island restored to its previous state (that is, as a shoal). An arbitration committee would be appointed to rule on the merits of the case. Qatar complied, but then disagreed over the terms of the arbitration. In December 1987, the United States agreed to supply Bahrain with seventy Stinger missiles, but the Qatari government, being alarmed by their proximity, obtained twelve of their own. Where exactly they came from was a mystery – bought on the black market, no doubt, but they may have been part of a cia batch destined for Afghan rebels that had been seized in Iran six months earlier. Another explanation was that Iran sold the weapons to Qatar after its Iranian forces had been unable to make them work, and they were in fact useless. Whatever the truth, the simple fact that Qatar had obtained them was enough to trigger a strong reaction from Washington. The Stinger was considered the ‘perfect terrorist weapon’ and Washington had consistently refused requests from gcc countries to supply them, apart from Bahrain and then only after a lengthy debate. American officials knew about Qatar having them only in March 1988, when embassy staff in Bahrain were astounded to see television pictures of the missiles on open display in a military parade in Doha. On closer inspection, the missiles’ batteries were missing, suggesting they were only for show, intended as a propaganda stunt in Qatar’s dispute with Bahrain over the Hawar Islands. Nevertheless the Americans took it seriously, requiring their serial numbers to track their source and demanding their return. Crown Prince Hamad declined on both counts, saying that his country needed the missiles to defend against threats to its security. As a result, Washington put a hold on economic and military cooperation with Qatar.15 170

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In August the usually pro-Western Qatari government established diplomatic ties with the communist ussr and there were press reports that the Russians were to be offered a naval base. Coming so soon after the Stinger controversy, it was difficult not to conclude that this move was a tit-for-tat against Washington, although Khalifa gave a rare press interview to deny it. That was followed in November with a visit to Moscow by Sheikh Hamad bin Suhaym Al Thani, Qatar’s under-secretary at the foreign ministry, for a meeting with Soviet Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze. Other links were forged with Eastern bloc countries, and oil and gas agreements were discussed with representatives of the Peoples’ Republic of China. The British ambassador to Qatar, Patrick Nixon, thought that – despite an often ‘grumpy’ appearance in photographs – Crown Prince Hamad was generally considered to be a cheerful man with a popular touch. In contrast to his father, who was becoming increasingly distant, Hamad’s preference was to ‘get out onto the street’ to discuss problems. He was also seriously ambitious. In June 1988 Nixon was talking about a ‘new’ regime with Hamad taking on more responsibility and falling out with the ‘doddery old merchants’ on the council of ministers. Hamad retained his roles of commander-in-chief of the armed forces and defence minister, giving him even greater clout in the government and over the Al Thani in general. A year later Hamad engineered a cabinet reshuffle that saw his allies move into important positions of power, the most important being Abdullah bin Khalifa Al Thani as interior minister, Ahmad bin Hamad Al Thani as minister of municipal affairs and agriculture, and Muhammad bin Khalifa Al Thani as minister of finance, economy and trade.16 Amir Khalifa still played the elder statesman. The post of foreign minister had been left unfilled since the death of Suhaym, and it was Khalifa who stepped up to condemn the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1990. In an interview, he said that it had ‘upset all the realities and standards which we had taken for granted’. Qatar’s armed forces were pitifully small, so it made more sense to join the international coalition against Saddam Hussein’s Iraq and allow foreign forces to be deployed on its soil: British fighter jets and warships used Doha as a base, and American and French fighter jets also landed there. As a result, relations with Washington dramatically improved, culmin­at­­i­­ng two years later in a bilateral defence co-operation agreement with the United States.17 171

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The ardha, a traditional bedouin sword dance, performed at Qatar National Day in Doha.

Qataris took an active part in the war that followed. Their moment came at Khafji in Saudi Arabia, where they were tasked to defend the road leading south. Then, as now, it was the site of a major oil refinery and holiday resort, but the advance of Iraqi troops across the Saudi border had rendered it a ghost town. The Qatari contingent – a single tank brigade – had its first taste of combat when it engaged the Iraqi army. Although the outcome was largely due to the intervention of u.s. forces, Qatar’s troops acquitted themselves well, and the retreat of Iraqi troops was proclaimed in Doha as a famous victory, with the local media hailing a ‘crushing defeat’ of Saddam Hussein.18 On 3 September 1991 Sheikh Khalifa inaugurated North Field, the world’s largest gas field. It was cause for great celebration, but the festive air was something of an illusion. Development of the field was hit by a series of delays and technical problems. Although its gas was destined for new projects such as aluminium, fertilizer and petrochemical plants, as well as providing energy for local consumption and export, government indecision blighted progress. And there was another problem: the North Field extended across the meridian line between Qatar and Iran, where it was known as South Pars, meaning that the gas had to be shared between them. 172

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A story doing the rounds went like this: Ayatollah Khomeini says to President Rafsanjani, ‘Let’s annex Qatar and take the entire gas field.’ Rafsanjani replies, ‘No, let’s wait till they have fully developed the field, then take over the country.’ That was a joke, of course, but it did illustrate a rather more serious theme, namely Qatar’s vulnerability against its larger and occasionally excitable neighbour, Iran. The point had already been made in 1971 when the Iranians invaded the Tunb Islands and Abu Musa claimed by the uae, which made the ‘hair stand up on Qatari necks’.19 It was not that Doha’s relations with Tehran were inherently difficult or exceedingly bad. While Iran was a Muslim country, Iranians were not Arabs and were generally of the Shia persuasion – as the u.s. ambassador said dryly – ‘Khalifa could contain his enthusiasm for the turbaned mullahs.’ But Qatar also had historic ties with the Islamic republic through trade and families. That gave rise to a significant Shia Muslim minority, which, unlike Bahrain where Shias were in a majority, was no threat to the Sunni-led majority of Qatar. Few were in the military or police forces and their representation in the government as a whole was disproportionally small.20 It was in the wider realm of Gulf relations that a serious problem arose. The Iranian Revolution and Washington’s backing of Riyadh had polarized the region between Iran and Saudi Arabia, and Qatar was caught between two fires. Its future prosperity depended on developing the North Field, which remained ‘a casus belli in waiting’ as one British diplomat described it. And so, recognizing the importance of mollifying its powerful neighbour, Doha struck a bilateral agreement with Tehran and settled its maritime oil and gas issues with Iran, at least for the time being.21 Meanwhile, the old problem of the border with Saudi Arabia had flared up again. On the evening of 30 September 1992 a group of bedouins strayed from Saudi Arabia into Qatar and, according to the Qatari version, attacked the Al Khufus border post, pulling down its flag, killing two Qataris and causing ‘heavy material losses’. The post was situated on the only road leading south, about 130 kilometres (80 mi.) southwest of Doha.22 The Saudis initially dismissed the incident as a local clash between feuding bedouins, but two weeks later admitted that the underlying reason had been Qatar’s refusal to withdraw from territory it had occupied during the Gulf War, suggesting that the incident in part had been 173

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premeditated. The Qataris saw the matter in a different light – they were still smarting from a Saudi decision to build a major motorway in the area and subject Qatari citizens to border checks, which they considered ‘distasteful’. But the real issue was the tangle of territorial claims that the treaties of 1965 and 1974 had left in their wake.23 Khalifa was out of town, so it fell to Crown Prince Hamad to deal with the crisis. A cabinet reshuffle earlier in the month had seen yet another consolidation of his power with ten out of seventeen posts filled by members of the Al Thani family. Hamad’s main rival, Abdul Aziz, had left his post as finance minister to live in Paris, while Sheikh Hamad bin Jassim bin Jabir Al Thani (known as HBJ) was appointed foreign minister. Within hours, Crown Prince Hamad had called the cabinet together and announced that the 1965 border agreement between the two nations was suspended. That agreement had been reached with the Saudis against British advice and, when the Attorney General summoned the British ambassador, Graham Boyce, and demanded to see the Foreign Office papers on the matter, the British had their moment. ‘No you don’t,’ Boyce replied, ‘I have seen them, and you don’t have a leg to stand on.’24 Hamad continued to press for a new border farther to the south but, when Amir Khalifa returned, he complained that his son had been too soft on the issue. Khalifa’s defiant words – ‘an acre of sand is an acre of sand’ – underlined Qatar’s determination to outstare the Saudis and keep the issue in the public arena. As if to emphasize the point, the Qatari government withdrew its two-hundred-strong contingent from the gcc Peninsula Shield Force and left its chair vacant at the next meeting of Gulf foreign ministers in November. Although those moves were largely symbolic, they did strike at the very heart of relations between the gcc countries. There were even murmurings among Qatari officials that they might leave the gcc and go their own way.25 In December the Egyptian president, Hosni Mubarak, mediated between the parties and an agreement was reached to appoint a technical commission to delineate the border. However, there was to be no lasting rapprochement between the two countries and, when a brief civil war broke out in Yemen two years later, Saudi Arabia and Qatar took opposite sides.

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In the final years of Amir Khalifa’s reign, the Hamad bandwagon seemed to run out of steam. He had taken on many of his father’s duties except the one that really mattered: control of the state finances. For his part, Khalifa had been trying to claw back some of his powers by various means, such as recalling his son Abdul Aziz from exile. Although Abdul Aziz had long since abandoned his ambition to succeed, the prospect of his return suggested otherwise. Frustration levels were running high among family members and Qatari businessmen and, when Hamad failed to attend a banquet held in honour of the visiting Nelson Mandela in April 1995, there was a sense among the diplomatic corps that ‘a real rift had taken place’.26 On 27 June 1995, Hamad sprang his coup. Qataris woke up to the sound of trucks trundling past, carrying troops to surround the ruler’s palace and the airport. The amir was abroad, taking his annual holiday in Switzerland, and there was little disruption in the towns and country­ side: ‘There were no roadblocks, no tanks in the streets, no closing of borders, no closing of the airport,’ recalled Kenton W. Keith, the u.s. ambassador at the time. ‘The English-language radio station played its usual top-40 pop music programs. Daily life throughout the country went on as usual.’27 As the news broke, Qatar television showed a long line of Al Thani family members representing the various branches, and the old amir’s brothers, paying their respects to the new ruler. Hamad had been quick to summon the Al Thani elders to the palace and require them to swear an oath of allegiance – no doubt he had canvassed his plan with the more senior members beforehand. Most took the oath and only a few held back to see how events would develop. The only reported incident occurred in September, when one of Khalifa’s daughters attempted a revenge attack by shooting at HBJ with a gun, leaving him slightly injured. It hardly mattered that Amir Hamad was only part-Thani on account of his mother being from the Al Attiyah tribe of Saudi Arabia. He remained a popular figure in the country and, as Qataris knew, having a Saudi mother did not make him a Saudi stooge. Hamad was always his own man: having cemented his family credentials by marrying two Al Thani brides, his second and favourite wife – Sheikha Mozah – was a member of the Al Missned clan. Her grandfather, Abdullah, had co-founded the National Unity Front in the 1960s and her father, Nasser, had also been imprisoned during those troubles and 175

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then gone with his family and members of the Mahandah tribe into exile to Kuwait before returning to Qatar in 1977. In a brief televised address, the new amir told his people, ‘I am not happy with what has happened, but it had to be done.’ He carried out a limited cabinet reshuffle, becoming head of state and prime minister while retaining the defence portfolio and his position as commander-in-chief of the armed forces. He also settled the succession. While the law had stated that it would remain in the hands of the Thani family, he now decreed that it would go to his sons; if an amir had no sons, another member of the Al Thani would be appointed.28 Khalifa dismissed the coup as ‘the abnormal behaviour of an ignorant man’ and vowed to return ‘whatever the cost’. Finding no support from London and Washington, he turned to the gcc states, and was warmly received by their leaders – Saudi Arabia, Bahrain and the uae in particular were still smarting from Hamad’s withdrawal from their ‘club’. There were many in the ruling families of the Gulf who would have gladly seen Khalifa’s reinstatement, as would the Al Thani old guard whose sinecures had been lost when Hamad brought younger family members into the government.29 There was no lack of foreign mercenaries to assist, but in fact it was a home-grown plot that showed most promise, rooted as it was in the divisions of the Al Thani. The ringleader was Sheikh Hamad bin Jassim bin Hamad (not to be confused with HBJ), cousin of the amir, former government minister and commandant of the police. Operation Abu Ali, as it was known, intended to assassinate Amir Hamad, the foreign and interior ministers, and reinstall Khalifa in the expectation that the army and Qataris generally would again see this as an internal Al Thani fight and keep out of it. On 14 February 1996, towards the end of Ramadan, several hundred tribesmen assembled near an arms dump in the desert and waited for a signal to cross the border from Saudi Arabia. However, the plan was thwarted when the Amiri Diwan was tipped off, and arrests were made without a shot being fired. The tribesmen dispersed, while many of the plotters were forewarned and fled abroad, including their leader, Sheikh Hamad bin Jassim bin Hamad, who had been waiting in his bmw across the border. Back in Doha, soldiers sat with machine guns in sandbagged emplacements on the roof of army headquarters, and Qataris generally held their collective breath.30 176

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Afterwards, there were many stories about the debacle: how tribesmen loyal to Khalifa had crossed into Qatar from Saudi Arabia and then became lost; how French mercenaries hired as a ‘seaborne invasion force’ left their five-star hotel in Doha and couldn’t find their boats; and how the man in his garden heard a rumble ‘rather like a tank’ and craned over a wall to see a Land Rover filled with half a dozen bedouins arguing among themselves. ‘Where’s the palace?’ one of them was shouting into his radio.31 On a more serious note, 110 defendants went on trial in November 1997 for trying ‘to depose the amir by force and bearing arms against Qatar’. A month later, seven more Qataris were charged with divulging military secrets and conspiring to overthrow the government. As the proceedings dragged on, more suspects were rounded up. In June 1999 it was reported that Sheikh Hamad bin Jassim bin Hamad, who had been living in Beirut, was on a flight to Spain when Qatari agents diverted his aircraft and brought it to Doha. He was sanguine about

Amir Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani, ruler of Qatar (1995–2013), and Sheikha Mozah bint Nasser Al Missned arriving at the Qatar National Convention Center, April 2012.

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the whole business, saying he had returned of his own free will on the understanding that he would not be charged; but that was not to be. In February 2000 the court delivered its verdicts: 85 defendants were acquitted, including twenty who had been tried in their absence. Sheikh Hamad bin Jassim bin Hamad was found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment after the death penalty was dropped, and another 32 followed him to prison. ‘Leave me alone,’ a shocked Sheikh Hamad told reporters as the sentences were announced. ‘We expect relief from His Highness,’ said another defendant. As it happened, many defendants were pardoned over the next few years, including Sheikh Hamad in September 2005.32 With ex-amir Khalifa living in Abu Dhabi and denying any involvement, the dispute between father and son went on. Initially, it was estimated that the deposed amir held around $3 billion in exile. But when it was revealed that Khalifa controlled state assets of $12.7 billion around the globe, Hamad’s government took proceedings in eight countries to freeze his accounts. ‘One cannot steal one’s own money’ was Khalifa’s defence, repeating the mantra of his forefathers. Eventually, an out-ofcourt settlement was reached, leaving Khalifa comfortably well off with more than a billion dollars to his name. The air was not finally cleared until 2004, when Khalifa returned to Qatar and stayed on as ‘father of the amir’ until his death twelve years later.33 There was speculation that Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain and even Egypt had been behind the failed counter-coup – as u.s. Ambassador Patrick Theros put it, ‘there was enough smoke out there that everybody assumed fire.’ Exactly where the truth lay in the ever-shifting landscape of speculation and intrigue was difficult to say. Was the coup attempt as serious as suggested, or had Hamad over­reacted? Riyadh’s support for Khalifa fuelled suspicions of complicity and Qatari officials said as much off the record; and a more recent report on Al Jazeera has claimed Saudi, Emirati and Bahraini involvement. In fact, the threat against Hamad never faded away entirely: in 2005 there was another foiled coup with suspected Saudi backing, with the result that as many as 5,000 members of the Al Ghafran section of the Murrah tribe were stripped of their Qatari citizenship, and a number of them expelled to Saudi Arabia. And, although its causes were wider ranging and more complex, the 2017 blockade was a reprise of the same theme: the Gulf rulers ranged against their wayward neighbour.34 178

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The Amiri Diwan in Doha, which relocated there from Al Kut fort in 1989.

Rather than pacify Riyadh, Amir Hamad, with HBJ as his foreign minister, conducted a foreign policy that appeared to have only one objective in mind: to challenge all things Saudi. Soon they were involved in a series of disputes with their partners in the gcc, a body that the Saudis regarded as their own. Matters came to a head in December 1995 at the gcc summit at Muscat when the Saudis blindsided the Qataris by having their own man appointed as secretary general, despite earlier promises to support a Qatari candidate. Amir Hamad stormed out of the meeting and Qatar boycotted the closing session.35 There was more to it than Saudi bashing of course, for Hamad had resolved to set Qatar on its own course. Shortly after seizing power, he announced that Qatar would set up the Doha Stock Exchange and invite foreign investors to participate. Two months later he was welcom­ ing the Israeli prime minister, Shimon Peres, to Doha for the inaug­­ uration of an Israeli trade office, a move that was bound to antagonize his neighbours. In the autumn he eased newspaper censorship while retaining the right to suspend any publications that might be ‘harmful to the security and peace of the state’. In fact journalists tended to be circumspect when reporting the affairs of the royal family, a practice euphemistically termed ‘self censorship’.36 That left the question of introducing democratic reforms. There had been calls for democracy since the 1960s. In 1991 fifty prominent families had petitioned Amir Khalifa for a democratic, elected legislative council in contrast to the consultative council appointed by the amir, 179

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but they were pressured to withdraw their signatures and apologize to the ruler; two of them were reportedly detained for two weeks and another three had their passports confiscated. Now, following his accession, Hamad announced that he would consider holding municipal elections in Qatar.37 In 1998 elections were held for the Central Municipal Council, when men and women were eligible to run for the 29 seats, although the council was an advisory body that came under the Ministry of Municipal Affairs and Agriculture. Other government bodies were encouraged to hold elections at that time. Today, the municipal council is Qatar’s only directly elected body – elections to the Consultative Council were expected in 2013 but did not materialize. Amir Hamad once told u.s. television that ‘any people that want to develop their countries . . . have to practice democracy. That’s what I believe.’ However, once hailed as the bringer of democracy to the Middle East, Hamad was cautious and measured, leaving the impression that he supported full voting rights – but not right now.38

Although the dispute with Bahrain over Zubarah and the Hawar Islands went to mediation under the auspices of Saudi Arabia, that failed, and in July 1991 Qatar began proceedings in the International Court of Justice (icj) at The Hague. During the proceedings, a team of experts inspected 82 documents submitted by Qatar and found them to be fakes. ‘Dead men write no letters! Official correspondence is not signed by ten-year-old boys!’ protested the counsel for Bahrain, Sir Elihu Lauterpacht. Most were crude forgeries – for example, seals used for stamping so-called Ottoman documents were toys sold at a shop in the East End of London. How­ ever, Qatar apologized and withdrew the documents, allowing the court to treat them as if they had never existed; and the case continued, gathering ever-increasing lawyers’ fees as it went.39 The court finally delivered its judgement on 16 March 2001, finding that the British had been entitled to determine the boundaries in 1939, and therefore upheld their decisions: Qatar retained Zubarah and Bahrain kept the Hawar Islands. The maritime boundary had not yet been defined, so after the court awarded sovereignty of Janan Island, Hadd Janan and the Dibal shoals to Qatar, and the Jaradah shoals to Bahrain, it drew a line between them. The judgement laid ‘the 180

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foundation for closer and broader unblemished relations between Qatar and Bahrain,’ according to Amir Hamad.40 It was not to be. At first, the outcome of the case set the seal on a rapprochement between the two countries that had been quietly gathering pace since they established full diplomatic relations in 1997 – a mere 26 years after independence. A number of mothballed projects could now proceed, including the piping of Qatari gas to Kuwait via Bahrain. Later that month the ruler of Bahrain, Hamad bin Isa Al Khalifa, visited Doha to discuss ventures such as a joint investment fund and industrial plans. In 2002, a protocol was signed for a causeway to link their countries, mirroring the 42-kilometre (26-mi.) causeway known as ‘Friendship Highway’ between Saudi Arabia and Bahrain that had been completed in 1986. The idea had been around ever since the early days of Amir Khalifa bin Hamad’s rule. Certain practical difficulties emerged – there was conflict with a proposed gas pipeline, complications over an expensive rail link and concerns about the causeway’s effect on the salinity of the Gulf – but it was politics that did for the project in the end. Tensions between Qatar and Bahrain began to rise again in 2009 after the latter nominated Mohammad al-Mutawa as the next secretary general of

An abandoned mosque at Zubarah, photographed by John Wilkinson in 1960.

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the gcc – he had been the Bahraini information minister during the Zubarah/Hawar Islands case, and was said to be ‘disliked’ by Doha.41 The maritime boundary remained a sensitive issue. On 8 May 2010 a Bahraini fisherman was shot and wounded after entering Qatari waters, and many others arrested for illegal fishing. The cause of their straying was said to be Bahraini land-reclamation schemes and the depletion of fishing stocks, which were forcing fishermen to go further afield in search of catches. In the end, the fishermen were released, and Mohammad al-Mutawa’s nomination was withdrawn, but other issues were soon crowding in: the Arab Spring and the role of the Qatari media in the melee that followed set the Al Khalifa and Al Thani on a course that would culminate in the blockade of 2017. As a result, the causeway was not built and remains a pipe dream to this day. Today, the sovereignty of Zubarah is still on the Al Khalifa’s radar, as indeed is their assertion that the whole of the Qatar peninsula belongs to them. No doubt emboldened by the support of Saudi Arabia and the uae during the recent blockade, the Bahrainis renewed their claim. In July 2018 King Hamad of Bahrain declared that ‘the people of Qatar are our own and they were part of us before the Al Thani’s rule.’ Memories are long, and old ghosts never die.42

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Shades of Power ‘Its intentions remain murky to its neighbours and even allies – some say Qatar has a Napoleon complex, others say it has an Islamist agenda.’ – Anthony Shadid, ‘Qatar Wields an Outsize Influence in Arab Politics’, New York Times, 14 November 2011

O

ne Friday night in April 2008 a series of loud explosions ripped through the darkness around Al Udaid, causing people living in nearby portacabins to flee into the desert. They saw bright flashes, fire and smoke coming from the airbase. The blasts were so strong that they were heard as far away as Doha, and many people thought an earthquake had struck. In fact a B-1 Lancer bomber had caught fire while taxiing on the runway of the airfield, setting off the munitions on board. It was a son et lumière on an epic scale, and a reminder that Al Udaid was no longer a quiet backwater fought over by warring tribes, but the centre of American air operations in the Middle East. The Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1990 had been a wake-up call for Qataris. Until then, they had sheltered under the Saudi umbrella, but when they realized that Riyadh could not defend them against Saddam Hussein, another solution had to be found. ‘The only function the Saudis serve, in a security sense, is to call the Americans,’ they reflected. ‘Well, we can call the Americans too.’ That is exactly what happened more than a decade later when the u.s. Central Command in the Middle East (centcom) relocated from Saudi Arabia to an airbase that Amir Hamad had built at Al Udaid. Soon the Americans were using it to carry out operations as far afield as Iraq, Afghanistan and the Horn of Africa.1 The Americans were not universally welcomed, and Qataris remained divided about hosting them. In 2009 a centcom poll revealed that 53 per cent of Qataris opposed their use of the Al Udaid airbase, but 60 per cent agreed that they improved the country’s security. In practice, there was no local hostility to American warplanes being based there, although they did risk Qatar becoming a terrorist target in the future. Greater criticism arose in the regional arena, since the thought of 183

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having American forces on Arab soil did not sit easily on the Arab mind. The Americans had been forced to leave the Prince Sultan airbase at Al Kharj in Saudi Arabia because of objections to their presence and, hypothetically, the same objections applied to their being at Al Udaid.2 Apart from this, the American airbase threw up a great contradiction. Here was Qatar, a country that depended on good relations with Iran to exploit its gas resources, cosying up to the ‘Great Satan’, as Iranians liked to call the United States. In 2006 the Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmedinejad warned that Qatar would be the first to be attacked in the event of war. The Qatari foreign minister, Hamad bin Jassim bin Jabir (HBJ), declared that ‘Qatar would not serve as the base for any military operation against Iran’, but quickly backtracked when the Americans challenged him. Amir Hamad privately assured them that such declarations would be avoided in future, but that engagement rather than isolation was the best way to deal with Iran.3 Qatar’s strange power was evolving. It is often described as ‘soft’ power, a term devised by political scientist Joseph Nye to describe one of three ways of achieving an effective foreign policy: hard power is the use of coercion and payment, soft power the use of attraction, and smart strategies combine the tools of both.4 While there is much debate over these terms, it is apparent that Qatar used soft-power tools such as the media, mediation, diplomacy, education, culture, sports, tourism, economy and humanitarian aid to create strategic alliances with other powers and for the ‘building of a brand’. And it was all underwritten by the wealth from hydrocarbons.5 Amir Hamad did not share his father’s qualms about developing the North Field. In 1997 he ploughed $20 billion into a gas liquefaction plant at Ras Laffan on Qatar’s northeast coast – by then the development of liquefaction technology allowed liquefied natural gas (lng) to be transported by oceangoing tankers anywhere in the world. There were a few pessimists, such as the former Saudi minister of petroleum Sheikh Yamani, who warned that Qatar’s gas projects ‘will not be the big money-spinner many believe if the price of oil drops’.6 But Hamad’s gamble paid off. There were occasional frictions with Tehran over the different rates of progress on either side of the median line, with Qatar’s rapid development contrasting with Iran’s sanctionshit production; and concerns that Qatar in its haste might have damaged the reservoir. In 2005 a moratorium put development of the field on hold while the impact on the reservoir was assessed. Nevertheless, existing gas 184

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Coalition jets preparing to take off from Al Udaid airbase in Qatar during Operation Enduring Freedom against Iraq, April 2003.

production boomed and six years later Qataris hit the target set by Amir Hamad of 77 million tonnes per annum. In the city of Ras Laffan there were celebrations with aerial displays and a light show. Over 1,000 vip guests from around the world, including those from the 23 countries to which Qatar exported lng, attended the official ceremony in the ‘gas capital of the world’.7 Energy equalled independence, and was another tool to prise Qatar away from Saudi Arabia’s grasp. For many years, Qataris had supplied its national oil company, Saudi Aramco, with gas at a nominal price for use in their oilfields to help extract oil. When Doha took a more market-orientated approach and put up prices, Riyadh took umbrage, seeing the move in terms of politics instead of business. But such was Qatar’s confidence in the future of gas over oil that in 2017 it lifted the moratorium on development of the North Field, allowing production to be extended. The following year it left the Saudi-dominated opec, sending another signal that it intended to make its own way in the world and, in the process, neatly avoiding the scrutiny of the u.s. Congress, which was investigating opec for cartel practices. If Qatar was to survive and prosper, so the theory went, it was necessary to use this newfound wealth to advance its global standing by creating strong energy partnerships with other countries. Being the 185

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world’s largest and cheapest supplier of lng around the world gave Qatar a massive influence in the energy markets. More recently, it was reported that Washington was discussing with Qatar the possibility of increasing its lng exports to Europe as a means of reducing the latter’s reliance on Russian gas. And in February 2019 Qatar Petroleum agreed a joint venture with Exxon Mobil to export lng from the United States, strengthening ties between the two countries and opening new investment opportunities around the world. There was a time in the late nineteenth century when, on account of the feud between the Amamera and Al bin Ali tribes, pearling boats from Doha were not allowed to venture north of the cape at Ras Laffan, and boats from Bahrain could not go south of it (laff refers to a turning point in navigation). How their crews would have marvelled at seeing that landmark now, when Ras Laffan is the beating heart of Qatar’s booming natural gas production, a gleaming, elaborate mass of pipes and storage tanks surrounded by a sprawling industrial city of 30,000 souls, the hard centre of Qatar’s soft-power drive.

al jazeera satellite channel was a valuable instrument for projecting Qatar’s image abroad. Established in November 1996, this government-funded television station based in Doha was modern in the sense that it broadcast abroad and quickly became a mainstream news channel with a fresh approach in reporting Middle Eastern affairs. It benefitted from the closure of the bbc Arabic Television channel, taking on many of its staff and hitting the airwaves with a slick, professional presentation. Like other aspects of Qatar’s soft power, there was a contradiction at the heart of this one: while pledging to ‘report both sides of the story’, it was tight-lipped when it came to reporting domestic affairs, where the concept of ‘self censorship’ came into play. Clearly, there were limits to the right of free speech in Qatar.8 In a region where television broadcasts were strictly controlled, the satellite channel was a widespread hit. Al Jazeera means ‘The Island’, and the station soon became an island in the true sense of the word, standing out from other regional news channels by reporting issues they dared not mention. In doing so, it offended certain Arab governments. In June 1999, for example, Kuwait’s government ordered the station to close its local office when a live caller apparently ‘insulted’ the Kuwaiti amir. HBJ attempted to pour oil on troubled waters, reassuring 186

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Kuwait that his country respected its amir at all times, and Kuwait allowed the office to reopen a few months later after the token sacking of a member of the editorial staff. Elsewhere, other governments closed the company’s offices or expelled its journalists, and Algeria was suspected of arranging power cuts at certain times of day to prevent its citizens from watching the Al Jazeera news.9 With the appointment in 2003 of the station’s ex-chief in Kabul, Wadah Khanfar, as managing director and network director general in 2006, the tv station adopted a more Islamist slant. In 2011 Khanfar was replaced by Sheikh Ahmed bin Jassim bin Mohammed Al Thani, thus identifying the station with the ruling family even more. Although the station was a useful indicator of the shifts in Qatar’s foreign policy, such as when there was a rapprochement with Saudi Arabia and the station’s reports about the kingdom were quietly softened, the debate about the extent of the regime’s control over Al Jazeera continued. It was not as clear-cut as first appeared. On the one hand, there was evidence that the station had been used as a bargaining tool. According to one report, HBJ told the Egyptian president, Mubarak, that Al Jazeera would be stopped for a year if he agreed to change his negotiating stance on Palestine, but Mubarak said nothing in reply. On the other hand, former British ambassador (now Sir) Graham Boyce wrote, ‘I know from personal experience that the amir and the prime minister have both been intensely irritated on occasions when Al Jazeera has gone too far.’ In the end, it was a matter of perceptions: for many Western commentators and politicians, and some closer to home, Al Jazeera was increasingly seen as the instrument of the Al Thani regime.10 Attempts to close down the station only brought more publicity. Efforts to deter advertisers from using the channel were futile because the Qatari government would meet any shortfall in revenues. For Washington, it revived that old dilemma of knowing what to do with the Qataris, ‘whether to bomb them or embrace them’. During the Afghan War in 2001, Al Jazeera had been the only satellite television station to broadcast live pictures of the u.s. invasion. Whether by accident or design, Al Jazeera’s bureau in Kabul was bombed by u.s. aircraft during the hostilities, and its Baghdad bureau was attacked in 2003. There was even a report that President George W. Bush wanted to bomb the station’s headquarters in Doha. In 2004, according to a leaked u.s. diplomatic cable, Mohammed bin Zayed (known as MBZ) was complaining about the station. The 187

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Al Jazeera covering the 2011 Arab Spring protests attracted criticism from Middle East regimes and praise from protestors.

43-year-old Emirati crown prince met the Qatari ambassador to the uae, Abdullah bin Muhammad al-Othman, on a yacht off the south of France and told him that relations between their countries could only improve if Al Jazeera was ‘reined in’. In another cable two years later, MBZ was protesting that Qatar should not be hosting Al Jazeera when it was broadcasting 95 per cent propaganda for the ‘bad guys’. He intimated to the u.s. ambassador that, without the American presence at Al Udaid, Qatar’s neighbours would quickly descend on the peninsula.11

Most puzzling was Qatar’s readiness to embrace political outcasts, and radical movements generally. Why would the Qatari regime take on such a risk-laden strategy? It will be recalled that in olden times Sheikh Jassim had promoted Doha as a place of refuge from oppression, and no doubt that narrative percolated into the thoughts of its more current rulers. And there were strong pragmatic reasons for a policy of engagement: as a means of projecting Qatar’s soft power into the 188

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darker recesses of the Middle East, breaking free from Saudi Arabia and increasing investment possibilities in less developed areas, these were all plausible grounds for reaching out to rebels and the dispossessed. But whatever the explanation, it was highly contentious. In April 1998 one of the founding members of Hamas, Sheikh Ahmad Yassin, embarked on a tour of Arab countries, including Qatar, where he was given a fine welcome. The following year when a group of Hamas members were expelled from Jordan and arrived in Doha, they were offered a large sum of money by a Qatari merchant, which they accepted on behalf of the organization’s treasury. Stories like that only reinforced Qatar’s reputation as the terrorists’ friend: harbouring Osama bin Laden’s deputy and mastermind of the 9/11 attacks, and giving safe haven to a Chechen rebel leader who was later killed by a car bomb outside a Doha mosque, were all part of this dangerous portfolio. Qatar was on firmer ground when it came to acting as a peace broker in regional disputes, putting seasoned mediators like Egypt and Saudi Arabia in the shade. In June 2008 civil war broke out in Lebanon between the government and Hezbollah, a militant group backed by Syria and Iran. The parties came to Doha and stayed in the Sheraton Hotel while senior Qatari officials shuttled back and forth between the rooms in an attempt to find consensus. The sticking point came when Hezbollah refused to sign a draft agreement that the others had accepted. Amir Hamad made separate calls to their backers, the presidents of Syria and Iran, in order to bring the Hezbollah leadership into line. The outcome was hailed as a triumph of Qatar’s soft-power diplomacy. ‘We all say: Thank you Qatar,’ the Beirut billboards proclaimed – and a downtown ice cream shop advertised a special treat, the Doha Agreement Cone.12 It was a passing moment, and Qatar’s efforts to mediate elsewhere were not so successful. In Yemen, Amir Hamad used a twin-track approach to bring about an agreement between Iranian-backed Houthi rebels and the government, travelling in person to the capital Sana’a and promising funds for reconstruction. After several visits to the country by Qatari mediators, a treaty was signed in Doha on 2 February 2008. There were accolades and much optimism that peace would prevail. And it was hoped Qatari ‘business diplomacy’ would make the difference – with HBJ acting as both foreign minister and chairman of Qatar’s investment body, the qia, he was well placed to oversee investments in Saada province quietly, and without a fuss. 189

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But it was a false hope; the parties to the treaty were divided and there was a hard core of members on both sides who did not agree with the settlement anyway. The failure of mediation was followed by the collapse of Qatar’s investment in Saada province; local media and residents blamed the Saleh government for appropriating it. That exacerbated friction between the Houthi leadership and the central government with the result that, by the end of the year, Yemen had descended into violence once more. By the following March, the treaty was a dead letter and, despite a renewed attempt at peace two years later, mediation failed; and five years later Qatar had joined the Saudi coalition against the Houthi militia.13 When it strayed into more controversial areas, Qatar’s diplomacy went off-road. In 2009, having expelled Israeli diplomats in protest against their country’s actions in Gaza, Qatar called an emergency summit in Doha. The meeting attracted the more radical elements in the region, with a roll call that counted the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, the Palestinian Islamic Jihad, Hamas and Iran among its numbers. The Palestinian Authority president Mahmoud Abbas stayed away and it was surely an indication of great displeasure that Egypt, Saudi Arabia and other gcc members did the same. The Al Khalifa of Bahrain had particular reason to be concerned about Qatar’s ties with Iran in view of the Shia majority on the island, which was susceptible to Tehran’s influence. In January 2010 the Bahraini government was said to be ‘hyperventilating’ about reports of closer Qatari–Iranian military cooperation. The king of Bahrain appealed to the gcc: ‘We are involved,’ he said, ‘and as allies, we should deal with these issues together.’ Amir Hamad was apparently unmoved. As for Al Qaeda, his response was, ‘I need to be in touch with them,’ arguing that this was the best defence against their threat. According to the king, the other gcc members – especially the Saudis – were aghast. King Abdullah addressed Amir Hamad directly: ‘Are you mad?’ he asked.14 He wasn’t mad, of course. ‘He is very jolly if you get him on a good day,’ a British diplomat recounted, ‘but he’s got a ruthless streak, which has got him where he is today.’ Amir Hamad’s vision was at the heart of Qatar’s foreign policy, his personal initiatives driven by a small group within the royal circle: Sheikha Mozah, HBJ and Crown Prince Tamim. In 2007 that circle was further tightened with the appointment of HBJ as prime minister in addition to his role as foreign minister. The 190

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amir’s decisions reflected his character and his deep frustration with the traditional Arab way of doing things, the slow progress under his father, ‘the inability of Arab states to work together and their tendency to blame others for their ills’.15 In late 2010 the Arab Spring arrived, and all bets were off. In the upheavals that swept across the Middle East, Al Jazeera, the so-called mouthpiece of terrorism, became Al Jazeera, the voice of revolution. This was especially so after its coverage of events around Tahrir Square in Cairo in February 2011: ‘Long live Al Jazeera!’ the protestors cried, and Qatar was no longer seen as a mediator on the sidelines but a player in the main event. Qatari jet fighters joined the nato aerial campaign against Libya’s leader, Colonel Ghaddafi, and the Qatari government supported the rebels with arms, money and special forces; and it backed the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, too. At times it seemed that Qatar was riding the wave, with HBJ making pronouncements about backing Islamists that would not have been out of place in a Cairo coffee house. In Syria, there had been hopes that Qatar might exercise its influence to prevent the country from slipping into civil war. Although relations were cemented by a close personal friendship between Amir Hamad, Syrian president Bashar and their spouses, things turned sour when promised reforms did not materialize. Soon Qatar was backing the rebels against Assad’s regime, but then found itself out of its depth. While the Qatari government had the money, it lacked the necessary intelligence networks and relied too much on exiles to ensure an effective distribution of funds. And Qatar was not the only country to be interested in Syria, as others such as Saudi Arabia joined the fray, setting rebel against rebel and eventually seeing Qatar cede leadership of the opposition groups to Riyadh.16 In 2012 Amir Hamad became the first Arab leader to visit the Gaza Strip since the Islamist militant group Hamas had seized control of the coastal enclave five years before. At the border, a large, carpeted tent had been erected, resembling a desert camp, and a guard of honour marked the arrival of his motorcade from Egypt. He received a celebrity welcome: the white and maroon flags of Qatar lined his route while a song entitled ‘Thank you, Qatar’ played on radio and television. Thousands of Palestinians cheered and waved, and women threw rice and flowers from balconies as his procession made its way through Gaza City. At one point, the amir rolled down the window of his armoured car to shake hands with people as he passed by. 191

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Hamad pledged $400 million to assist the Hamas government – this despite Israeli condemnation of his visit and an earlier request from the Bush administration to cut off financial assistance to the group because it was deemed a terrorist organization. Even now, the generous subsidies that Qatar provides to Hamas are justified as payments for the poor to meet their housing needs, or as a way of facilitating the peace process; the counter-argument is that such payments are indirectly supporting terrorism by freeing up Hamas’s resources for other purposes. Perhaps Qatar’s support of radical groups was a form of selfinsurance. ‘We do believe Qatar has been reluctant to combat the financing of terrorist groups and activities in part because it does not want to invite an attack by antagonizing terrorist groups,’ wrote the American ambassador from 2008–11, Joseph LeBaron. While taking enormous risks abroad, Qatar took no chances on the domestic front: a Qatari poet named Mohammed Rashid al-Ajami was sentenced to life imprisonment for insulting the royal family, although he was pardoned four years later. In 2014 a new cybercrimes law provided for up to three years in prison for anyone convicted of threatening Qatar’s security, and compelled Internet providers to block ‘objectionable’ content. A new law introduced in November 2015 increased penalties for removing, or expressing contempt for, the national or gcc flags.17

u.s. Secretary of State John Kerry, with Foreign Minister Hamad bin Jassim bin Jabir Al Thani (HBJ) on his right, at a meeting in Doha in June 2013 to discuss Syria.

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All in all, Qatar appeared to have a split personality, being progressive abroad and reactionary at home. While Qatar’s neighbours might have identified with its internal policies, that did not change their view of the Gulf pariah. ‘The Qataris are different from the other Gulf peoples. Nobody likes them,’ Sir Geoffrey Arthur had written back in 1971. Now his words were beginning to sound uncannily prescient.18

‘I want to be remembered as the Education Amir,’ Hamad once told Patrick Theros, the American ambassador. It had long been recognized that the future of the country’s generations lay in education. However, parents were inclined to indulge their children and Qatar was no exception, and the temptation of doing so in its well-heeled society was great. Money was no object and, without sufficient purpose and motivation, the younger generation might drift into a life of indolent affluence. There were plenty of examples of young royals behaving badly, and the Al Thani family was still expanding. Taken to its logical conclusion, Qatar would be populated by rich kids with nothing to do.19 By the late 1970s it was clear that the education system was failing. The 1950s had laid the foundations of a modern structure by establishing primary, preparatory and secondary schools in Qatar. At an international conference in September 1975, it was noted that schooling was still not compulsory under Qatari law, and the number of Qatari students studying scientific subjects was lagging behind the number of graduates required. Progress was slow, though heading in the right direction: a college of education for teacher training was established in 1973 and became Qatar University four years later. The university was a conduit for the brightest and most able students, and provided a growing supply of home-grown teachers. Amir Hamad realized that, if Qatar was to have a future beyond hydrocarbons, it would have to develop long-term strategies for reducing its dependence on them. Creating a knowledge-based society through education was one way of doing that, and so education reform was a top priority of his government. Heading the programme was his second wife, Sheikha Mozah, who recalled the days ‘when the Islamic capitals were centres of learning, drawing in scholars from across geographical, linguistic and religious boundaries’. In this instance the reforms had less to do with religion than with implementing a modern curriculum.20 193

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In April 2002 there was a ceremony to mark the opening of a branch of an American medical school in Doha. It was occasioned by the usual formalities, with a large tent on the outskirts of town and Qatari and American notables in attendance. However, there was something different about this event, for when it came to making the speeches, it was not the amir who stood up and made for the podium, but his wife, the statuesque Sheikha Mozah. It was a telling moment that reminded the outside world of Amir Hamad’s intention to sweep away the old taboos, as well as signalling the key role that Sheikha Mozah was playing in education reform. Inevitably, in a conservative country like Qatar, the depth and speed of the changes brought criticism from certain quarters, but Amir Hamad and his wife were determined to press ahead. There was an overhaul of Qatar’s pre-university and higher education system based on the recommendations of the rand Corporation. The showcase Education City imported the American model of higher education, comprising a 1,010-hectare (2,500 ac) campus on the outskirts of Doha managed by the Qatar Foundation, an umbrella organization chaired by Sheikha Mozah. Among the foundation’s initiatives was the Doha Debates, a series of television programmes based on the format of the Oxford Union, with speakers arguing for and against a particular motion. Less well known in the West than Al Jazeera, yet equally innovative in the stifled world of Arab broadcasting, the forum covered a wide range of subjects, including, ‘This House Believes That Dubai Is a Bad Idea’, which unsurprisingly did not go down well in the lower Gulf; in the event, the motion did not carry.21 In 2009 branches of five u.s. universities were represented at Education City, with some eight hundred students enrolled. By 2015 foreign students outnumbered Qatari by a ratio of 60:40, and there was a similar majority of female to male students, the former being allowed to live at home while attending the university. The fusion of East and West threw up some strange cultural encounters, such as when ‘Aggies’ (students and graduates of Texas A&M) celebrated the opening of their Doha branch: The Qatari students of the university’s new campus, more than half of them women in black abayas and hijabs, belted out the school song, ‘The Spirit of Aggieville,’ accompanied by the 194

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university’s marching band arrayed on a Texas football field and beamed in by satellite. Grown Aggies wept when two cherub-cheeked Qatari undergraduates delivered speeches, closing their Arabic address by yelling, ‘Howdy!’22 The Qatar Foundation was – and still is – at the leading edge of Qatar’s drive for influence in the world. Its logo is the sidra tree, which, it will be recalled, has a special place in Qatari culture. In addition to education, the non-profit organization covers science and culture at a regional and global level. By establishing links with other prestigious organizations, Qatar added another weapon to its soft-power armoury and, by involving as many as it could in its future growth and development, everyone would have a stake in its future. That is not forgetting the number of Qatari students, including women, who travelled abroad to complete their education; for many years families would forbid women from studying alone abroad and from travelling unless accompanied by a close relative. As well as attending foreign universities and technical colleges, they returned to Qatar with direct experience of other cultures. All of this added to the impression that Qatar, despite its social and cultural barriers to outsiders, was still receptive to a wide range of external influences. Although modernization reduced the role of religion in the education system, Islam remained the bedrock of society. However, in contrast to Saudi Arabia, where Wahhabism was strong and the ulema all-powerful, Qatar’s brand of Islam was tuned to the new order of things. In the past, fear of Riyadh’s reaction had held Qatar back from taking an independent line, with the government passing laws that reflected the strictures of the Wahhabi faith. However, Amir Hamad’s idiosyncratic line brought a more assertive projection of Qatar’s independence which, among other things, was reflected through religion. In 2011, the state mosque in Doha was named after the founder of Wahhabism, Imam Mohammad bin Abd al-Wahhab. When Qatari preachers such as Yusuf al-Qaradawi delivered sermons and strayed from the Wahhabi text, the grand mufti of Saudi Arabia led demands for the name of the mosque to be changed. The fact that the protest came in May 2017, barely a week before the Saudi-led blockade of Qatar was announced, was by no means a coincidence. ‘Whoever says there is no relationship between religion and politics worships two gods, one in the heavens and one on earth,’ the mufti had once reproached a 195

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The Qatar National Convention Centre has a large exterior canopy which is supported by two intertwined metal columns inspired by the branches of the sidra tree.

Saudi prince who dared to suggest that religion and politics should be kept apart.23 As in other Gulf countries, Islam found expression in different sectors, with sharia banks and courts applying the principles of Islamic finance and law. Today, the six Islamic banks are required to keep their Islamic and conventional operations separate. The legal system has a duality which reflects the days of British influence when the Political Agent retained jurisdiction over certain non-Muslims. There are the Adlia courts, applying Western legal concepts in criminal, civil and commercial courts, and sharia courts, which apply Islamic principles in matters of a personal nature, such as marriage, divorce, inheritance and family cases, and also a criminal jurisdiction. While based on scripture and traditional interpretations of the Koran, Qatar’s brand of Islam is tolerant of other Islamic schools and different faiths. When a Greek Orthodox priest began officiating at services in Doha in the 1990s, he was welcomed by Amir Hamad. Seeing the cleric’s bushy beard, the amir told him: ‘You know, you look like one of our fundamentalists.’ The two men sat down to discuss religion, and a meeting planned for twenty minutes lasted for two hours. Since 2005, when the government granted a fifty-year lease for the building of six churches, several have opened, including Catholic, Anglican and Greek Orthodox ones.24 196

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This open-mindedness was partly a reflection of the historical trading connections that Qatar enjoyed with other countries of the Gulf and beyond, which brought a mixture of cultures and influences to the coastal towns and villages. On that account, the religions of Qatar and Saudi Arabia were sometimes characterized as ‘Wahhabism of the sea’ and ‘Wahhabism of the land’ respectively. Another description would be that, while both shared the Hanbali School of Islamic thought, Qatar was ‘progressive modern’ and Saudi Arabia was ‘traditional Bedouin’.25 At this juncture, it is probably wiser to leave the finer points of the religious debate to scholars and turn to the political and social consequences that flowed from the divergence: Qatari society is starkly different from its Saudi neighbour. Qatari women in large numbers cover their faces and hair, but they are not required by law to do so. They are allowed to drive cars. Alcohol is available in hotels and at state liquor outlets, and even during Ramadan can be found in hotel mini bars. Restaurants and stores remain open during the call to prayer. Women and men work alongside each other in the workplace. In short, Qatar looks anything but Wahhabi when compared to Saudi Arabia.26 That was the situation in 2007 and, although Saudi Arabia has since relaxed some of its laws, for example by allowing women to drive, the distinction between traditional and progressive remains a valid one. The tone was set by the amir. By 2009 the government was hosting two major conferences each year on religious themes. The Brookingsbacked u.s.–Islamic World Forum and an Interfaith Dialogue conference both attracted high profile visitors from across the globe. Here was an apparently closed society that was open-minded towards other creeds. No doubt it was a policy that matched the country’s soft-power profile and ensured that religious dogma did not hinder the government’s long-term policy objective of engaging with one and all – apart from the Saudis, that is, as Qatar eschewed the stricter doctrines of its Wahhabi neighbour. The acquisition of wealth from hydrocarbons did not guarantee a stable and prosperous future for Qatar and its people. The old remedy of siphoning the money into the ruler’s bulging treasure chest was 197

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hardly fit for the mounting expectations of the twenty-first-century. The pearl business had taught the Al Thani of the dangers of relying on a single-resource economy, and it was evident that hydrocarbons would not last forever. Therefore it was vital to diversify and invest and, although Qatar’s investments in the fields of energy, media and education were a start, there was more to be done. In Amir Khalifa’s day, the Ministry of Finance had applied budget surpluses to development projects, but now the canvas had broadened; Qatar had the world at its feet. The Qatar Investment Authority (qia) was inaugurated in 2005 to manage the spare hydrocarbon revenues through a diverse portfolio of investments. HBJ was the fund’s chief executive officer from 2008. He was already knowledgeable in matters of high finance, being a wealthy man himself with numerous investments around the world. As the amir once quipped, ‘I may run this country, but he owns it.’ At that time, the qia held its estimated $60 billion – ‘estimated’ because the exact total of its assets was a closely guarded secret – in a wide portfolio ranging from real estate, technology and the financial sector. This was deemed ‘one of the world’s most aggressive sovereign wealth funds.’27 The first that many people in the West knew about Qatar’s investments was when news of certain high-profile projects broke in the national press and on television. ‘My heart sank when I saw the plans,’ wrote Prince Charles, complaining to HBJ about a project to convert Chelsea Barracks in London to luxury flats; his intervention had the desired effect and the scheme was shelved. Harrods, the well-known department store in Oxford Street, was another notable acquisition, this one being the realization for Amir Hamad of a childhood dream. The most impressive was ‘The Shard’, the tallest building in Europe and a symbol of Qatar’s success; built in the heart of the capital of its former protector, the United Kingdom, it was a sure sign that the country had arrived.28 There were ups and downs. In 2013 investments were farmed out to third-party advisers and then, after the impact of lower oil prices, preparations for the World Cup and the blockade, scaled back: the qia had to realize more than $20 billion in overseas deposits to stabilize the domestic financial sector after the blockade. More recently, there has been a resurgence of direct investment, with the focus on North America and Asia, as well as opportunities in the emerging markets of South America, Africa and Asia. By 2019 Qatar’s sovereign wealth fund 198

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was the eleventh largest in the world with more than $350 billion of assets, according to the Sovereign Wealth Fund Institute. Investing across the globe chimed with Qatar’s soft-power strategies, strengthening Qatar’s relations with other countries. There were charitable programmes in Africa and Asia: the Reach Out to Asia (rota) charity provided assistance across the Muslim world and partnered with the u.s. Mercy Corps, working on educational initiatives in such areas as Afghanistan, Pakistan and northern Iraq. Qatar gave the United States $100 million to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina, invested in a $1.5 billion oil refinery in Zimbabwe, a massive residential complex in Sudan and a $350 million tourist project in Syria. There were agricultural projects to secure food supplies and develop food-production technologies – Vietnam, Cambodia, Yemen, Sudan and Tajikistan were among the countries visited.29 Sport offered another opportunity to engage with the world. It began during Khalifa’s reign when the Khalifa Sports City was completed – the stadium is now part of a sports complex known as the Aspire Zone. As part of its soft-power drive, Qatar aimed to build shiny new stadiums and sports facilities to attract international competitions, thus putting the country on the map. Sport also helped to drive domestic development, creating a need for new arenas, roads, hotels and the like. Indeed, the strategy spread more widely through investment in existing sports and new ones, as well in football clubs in other countries, such as Barcelona and Paris Saint-Germain. As for attracting international events, the country enjoyed great success, beginning in 1976 when it hosted the Gulf Cup, a biennial soccer competition held in the Khalifa Sports City. In 1988 the Asian Football Cup came to Qatar, followed by a variety of international tournaments including athletics, sailing and tennis. In 2006 the Asian Games were held in Doha, with 46 disciplines from 39 events, and by 2014 Qatar was hosting 57 international sporting events; but behind the glossy facade there was another story to be told.

In December 2010 Qatar was awarded the 2022 fifa World Cup. While there were ‘frenzied celebrations’ and traffic jams on the streets of Doha, questions were soon being asked about how Qatar had managed to pull it off – allegations of corruption filled the air. Indeed, controversy had been swirling around the ballot even before the first votes 199

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were cast when two fifa officials were banned from voting for offering to sell their votes to bidders. As it was, fifa took a ‘bold gamble’ and awarded the tournament to Qatar by a margin of six votes. It was an ‘an exciting prospect but with no risk’, the leader of the Qatar bid told reporters. ‘Heat is not and will not be an issue.’30 It was heat of a different kind that was the problem. Michael Garcia, a special prosecutor, investigated the events of 2010, but his full report was not published until 2017. Garcia did not find that fifa votes were bought, and accepted the official Qatari position that corrupt payments made by a disgraced Qatari businessman, Mohamed bin Hammam, were not connected to their bid. A number of payments that Hammam had made to officials of African football federations were more likely to have been linked to his own attempt to oppose the election of Sebb Blatter as fifa president in 2011; as it happened, Blatter fell on his sword four years later in the face of criminal investigations by the fbi and the Swiss police. Despite Qatar’s strenuous denials of wrongdoing, the storm would not go away. In July 2018 the Sunday Times claimed that the Qatari bid team had used ‘black ops’ during their campaign to host the World Cup. According to leaked emails from a whistle-blower, they paid a u.s. public relations firm and former cia agents to disseminate fake propaganda about rival bids from Australia and the United States. If proved, the charges would have breached fifa rules, but Qatar firmly rejected them and relied on the findings of the Garcia report. ‘We have strictly adhered to all fifa’s rules and regulations for the bidding process,’ it said.31 The real heat was, of course, an issue, and the wisdom of holding the tournament in a country where summer temperatures can touch 50°c (122°f ) was also questioned. This ‘sizzling sandpit’ scenario would be addressed by providing air-conditioned stadiums and even creating artificial clouds that could be manoeuvred into position before matches took place. In fact, the tournament was moved to the winter months and domestic football programmes were altered to accommodate the change. The threat of drunken football hooligans marauding through the capital was to be averted by having special camps for visiting fans where they could enjoy alcoholic drinks away from the main centres of population.32 The predicament of foreign workers was not so easily resolved. Qatar’s World Cup bid included a promise to build nine new stadiums 200

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A football stadium rising above the rooftops of Doha in preparation for the fifa World Cup in 2022.

and renovate another three, which would then be dismantled after the tournament and shipped abroad to create new stadiums in developing countries. This massive building programme would suck in even more foreign workers under the notorious kafala system – there was a world of difference between a Western executive who brought in their family and lived in modern accommodation, and the vast number of foreign workers who lived in enclosed camps and suffered the whims of unscrupulous employers.33 A typical example was an unskilled or semi-skilled worker from the Indian subcontinent who had borrowed relatively large sums of money to pay for their visa and flight to Doha. Having signed a contract in their home country, their passport was confiscated on arrival and they were subsequently required to sign an entirely new contract for a lower wage. Under the kafala system, there was no right to strike, indeed workers’ rights were virtually non-existent as they worked in unsafe conditions and were subjected to abuse. They had sold their souls to their sponsors, since they could not leave the country without a ‘no objection’ certificate – if their sponsor objected, the worker was stuck. It was a nightmare made real. In 2013 an investigation by The Guardian newspaper claimed that at least 44 Nepalese workers had 201

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died at the rate of one a day during the summer months. The paper suggested that the conditions endured by the Nepalese, who were the largest group of foreign workers in the country, amounted to modernday slavery as defined by the International Labour Organization (ilo). No doubt those revelations hit a raw nerve among those who were then planning to open Bin Jelmoud House, the slavery museum in Doha.34 But the impetus for change was growing. After the ilo carried out an investigation of conditions of workers in Qatar, the Doha government agreed to bring in reforms, including a minimum wage, requiring contracts to be lodged on arrival to prevent them being changed, and ending ‘no objection’ certificates so that most workers would no longer have to obtain their employers’ permission to leave the country. Accord­ ing to Sharan Burrow, general secretary of the International Trade Union Confederation, the changes would ‘take the heart out of the kafala system’. By 2020 the exit rules had been eased to allow workers to leave without obtaining their employer’s permission, only being required to give 72 hours’ notice of their departure; however, concerns persisted about domestic workers trapped in abusive situations.35

More than forty years ago, The Times journalist Conor O’Brien joined a local family for dinner at their home – a rare privilege, since Qataris rarely invited outsiders into their houses. They all squatted around a tablecloth laid on elegant Turkish carpets, enjoying a bewildering array of food, including locally caught fish. The brother of his host, Abdul Wahid al-Mawlawi, was a medical student home from university in the United States. As a number of young Qataris returning home increased, the scope for disappointment widened – some found the best white-collar posts already taken by their predecessors and looked askance at the positions occupied by expatriate advisers. They were also starting to question the tribal balance of the administration and the predominance of the Al Thani in decision making.36 Today, while the Al Thani no longer dominate the government in quite the same numbers as before, being a member of one of the most powerful families opens doors and eases the way into the higher reaches of government and business. The tribal bonds that once defined relationships are as strong as ever. The family names of the past, the Sudan, the Al bu Ainain, Al Attiyah and Al bu Kuwara, are still important today. Despite their Saudi heritage, the Al Attiyah have strengthened 202

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their links with the Al Thani through marriage and taken up posts in the government and army. The Sudan are there, and the Al bu Kuwara have close ties with the ruling family too, taking several top-level government posts. At the top of the business tree are those such as the Alfardan family, who made the transition from the old wealth of pearls into the new wealth of the modern age – jewellery, property, banking, to name but a few of their interests – and Sheikh Faisal bin Jassim Al Thani, whose museum 20 kilometres (12 mi.) west of Doha is a testament to all that money can buy.37 The government’s policy of Qatarization, to achieve at least 50 per cent of nationals in the workforce, has struggled to make an impact next to the rapidly growing expatriate population. The demographic imbalance is staggering: the population is presently 2.7 million, of which some 90 per cent are foreigners. Qataris are not simply a minority in their own country, they are a small minority. This has inevitably brought tensions among the kernel of citizens who feel vulnerable and resentful, leading to the occasional backlash, such as the recent women’s movement to return to more traditional modes of dress.38 There were those who doubted the pace of change and the government’s predilection for foreign investments, and were mystified by the scale of development that had transformed their familiar town into a place of shining, soulless skyscrapers; and continue to do so as the relentless march of bulldozers threatens more historic districts. Qatar’s National Vision 2030 was a glossy development plan written in management jargon, but what did it really mean? Traditional society was in danger of being overwhelmed by the scale of the changes as people feared for their identity and what the future might bring. The existing arrangements – the so-called social contract between the ruler and the ruled – appeared to work: the amir ruled in return for citizens being given generous welfare benefits, preferential treatment and stability. However, it was difficult to know exactly what people thought in a country where criticism of the amir was forbidden by law. After the World Cup is over, the stadiums dismantled and migrant workers returned to their home countries, many others will stay on, still being a vast majority of the population. And here is a deeper concern: how will Qatar develop in terms of its society and cultural identity? The political will needed to integrate migrant workers is immense, and the consequences potentially dangerous – the risks of giving them a stake in society are considered too great, and expelling workers en masse 203

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will damage the economy and hit Qataris’ high standard of living. Reducing the number of white-collar expatriate workers, especially in times of recession, might be a viable option, but only if there are enough home-grown workers to fill the gap. So it is safer to stick to what you know. The answer to these challenges has been to leave the status quo alone and fall back on history, strengthening Qataris’ appreciation of their past and culture, and so bolstering a sense of pride and belonging in their own country – the archaeological projects, museums and cultural narratives are there for a reason. As the old Qatari saying goes, ‘no history, no present’, since a nation without a history is not a nation at all.

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Theatre of the Damned ‘We do not live on the sidelines of life, and we do not go adrift without a destination, we are not subservient waiting guidance from anyone.’ – Amir Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani, 26 June 2013

A

s television sets lit up Sunday evenings in the Middle East, many Arabs gathered in living rooms and cafés to watch their favourite weekly show on Al Jazeera, Sharia and Life. It featured a plump, Egyptian-born Muslim cleric known as ‘Dear Abby’, who, despite his advancing years, passionately dispensed advice on a wide range of topics from mothers’ milk banks to the right of Palestinian women to blow themselves up. Yusuf al-Qaradawi was generally regarded as a moderate voice of Islam. In 1994, before his television fame, the Saudis awarded him the King Faisal International Prize, and six years later he was feted in Dubai as the ‘Islamic Personality of the Year’. He was also a prominent member of the Muslim Brotherhood. In 1961, after being jailed three times in Egypt for his teachings, Qaradawi arrived in Doha on an exchange of religious scholars and decided to stay; he was 35 years old. This was a time when religious edu­­­ cation in Qatar was set in its ways: Friday sermons consisted of a local imam reading ‘an old book of 52 sermons, equal to the number of weeks in the year’. After being appointed director of the Institute of Islamic Instruction, Qaradawi set about introducing reforms based on the Egyptian model. The institute’s curriculum moved away from its emphasis on purely Islamic topics to include foreign languages, science and mathematics. ‘We want an education which prepares students who understand life and reality, not students who simply memorise things’ – this coming from a man who had memorized the Holy Koran at the age of nine.1 Qaradawi befriended the ruler, Ahmad bin Ali Al Thani, becoming his personal religious adviser and being granted citizenship in 1969. He remained close to the Al Thani leadership, ‘a sort of house 205

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fundamentalist’, according to one American diplomat. He was also considered to be the spiritual leader of the Muslim Brotherhood, though he was never allowed to organize the group politically in Qatar itself. ‘Al-Qaradawi is the one Islamic thinker in Qatar who matters, the others are distant also-rans,’ wrote Chase Untermeyer, the u.s. ambassador in 2005. By then the cleric was appearing regularly with fellow Brotherhood members on Sharia and Life, which was broadcast to as many as 60 million Arabs across the Middle East, earning him the epithet of ‘global mufti’. He also received funding to travel abroad, allowing him to visit groups around the world and spread the Brotherhood’s message far and wide.2 There was another side to this apparently benign preacher, however. While taking a moderate position on many issues, he occasionally launched into controversial areas, for example condoning Iraqi resistance against u.s. troops and suggesting that the murder of 6 million Jews by Nazi Germany was ‘divine punishment’. He repeatedly called for Israel to be destroyed and its citizens killed, and issued fatwas, including one supporting suicide attacks against Israelis. With the coming of the Arab Spring, the Muslim Brotherhood took on a more dangerous hue, posing an existential threat to other Middle Eastern countries through its avowed aim of sweeping away the existing order and establishing a global Islamic state; and the presence of Qaradawi in Doha was rather too close for comfort for Qatar’s neighbours. In June 2012 the Brotherhood candidate, Mohamed Morsi, won the Egyptian presidential election and Morsi attempted to mollify the anxious sheikhs by visiting Riyadh immediately after his election. He also received an invitation to visit Abu Dhabi, but relations with the uae cooled when members of a Brotherhood affiliate were prosecuted there. All the while, Qatar remained a staunch supporter of Morsi’s regime and provided him with financial support during his presidency. For Saudi Arabia and the uae, Qatar’s backing of Morsi was a great aggravation. The ruling families of those two countries might not have been natural allies in the past – their ancestors fought several battles against each other during Wahhabi times – but the Arab Spring had brought them together. At the heart of their common unease was a belief that Islamist fundamentalists (as epitomized by the Muslim Brotherhood) would take over the Middle East. ‘If the Saudi regime should fall,’ the Emirati crown prince told an American diplomat, 206

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‘Saudi Arabia would be ruled by somebody like the one we’re chasing in the mountains,’ a reference to Osama bin Laden.3 Qatar was ‘public enemy number three’ after Iran and the Muslim Brotherhood, according to Emirati officials. The Saudis were unimpressed by Morsi’s attempts to charm them, and no doubt were greatly relieved to hear a year later that Morsi and his short-lived government had fallen to a military coup. By December the new Egyptian government had designated the Brotherhood a ‘terrorist’ organization. Both the Al Khalifa of Bahrain, needing no encouragement to line up against their old foe, and post-Morsi Egypt made up the numbers. Thus equipped, the four nations – Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, the uae and Egypt, known colloquially as the Quartet – joined forces and condemned Qatar’s support of the Brotherhood; and another count was added to the burgeoning charge sheet against Doha.4 Back in the 1980s, when the Americans had tried to engage the gcc countries in war games against each other, the Saudis drew Qatar as their imaginary enemy and refused to play because they did not think the Qataris were a worthy opponent. ‘Qatar is to Saudi Arabia what a mosquito is to an elephant,’ the Saudi foreign minister had remarked. ‘When the mosquito bites the elephant it is very proud of itself, but the elephant never feels the bite.’5 It was all so different now.

On 25 June 2013, to the great surprise of many, Amir Hamad at the age of 61 years stepped down in favour of his son Tamim. The following day HBJ resigned his posts as prime minister and foreign minister, and within the week he had left the Qatar Investment Authority. Exactly why the amir had abdicated was a mystery: it was true that he had suffered kidney problems, but surely history had played a part. Foreign diplomats painted a picture of a ruler wishing to avoid the family convulsions of old by ensuring a smooth succession, and no doubt the long years spent playing second fiddle to his own father had also weighed on Hamad’s mind. In public, Hamad waxed lyrical but gave nothing away. ‘You, our children, are the munitions of this homeland,’ he told his people in his farewell speech, ‘builders of its present and bearers of its future torch.’6 Thirty-three-year-old Tamim had been crown prince for ten years, having replaced his older brother Jassim in that role. He came to the 207

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throne with impressive credentials – president of the Qatar National Olympic Committee, deputy commander-in-chief of the Qatar Armed Forces, chairman of various bodies – and being of a younger generation was more receptive towards dialogue with his neighbours. He was emphatically accepted by Qataris, who welcomed him as the youthful face of the Qatari brand, ensuring that his portrait ‘Glorious Tamim’ appeared on T-shirts, flags and almost any large blank space in town. His accession held out the prospect of a major shift in Qatar’s foreign policy, even more so when President Morsi was removed from office only eight days later, marking the end to the Brotherhood’s rule in Egypt. Foreign leaders welcomed the new amir: ‘We are confident that you will continue the journey of your father . . . and his efforts in serving the state of Qatar and its brotherly people as well as strengthening relations between the two nations,’ was the official response to the news from a sanguine King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia. His sentiments were echoed by the uae, which affirmed the ‘deepness of the brotherly relations’ between the two countries.7 At first, it looked as though their hopes were justified. Tamim made efforts to mend fences with Saudi Arabia. In Syria, Qatar had already backed down from its leading role of supporting rebels against President Bashar al-Assad; and the fall of Morsi’s government and the arrest of nineteen Al Jazeera journalists by the new Egyptian regime seemed to put a brake on Qatar’s agenda of promoting Islamist groups in the Middle East. However, despite his abdication, Hamad took the title ‘Father Amir’. That hardly suggested he was taking a back seat, although it was not so unusual since his own father had assumed that title when he returned to Qatar in 2004. And there was another theory circulating about his departure, namely that it was an elaborate ploy to remove HBJ from power. It went like this – by gaining HBJ’s agreement to resign at the same time, Hamad had effectively extracted his main rival from office while retaining his own power behind the scenes. The fact that HBJ was replaced on the qia appeared to support this theory. The appointment of the deputy foreign minister, Khalid al-Attiyah, as the new foreign minister indicated that the regime’s foreign policy would not alter. ‘What change? Do you see a change? There’s no change,’ a prominent critic of the regime, Ali al-Kuwari, said of Tamim’s policies at large.8 In reality, Al Jazeera had become even more pro-Brotherhood after Morsi’s removal, and members of the group were being accommodated 208

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Rex Tillerson meets Amir Tamim at the Sea Palace in Doha on 11 July 2017.

at the station’s expense in five-star hotels in Doha. In November 2013 Amir Tamim was summoned to Riyadh to sign an agreement with King Abdullah; the ruler of Kuwait, Sabah al-Ahmad Al Sabah, travelled with him in the hope of acting as conciliator. Known as the Riyadh Agreement, it set out their mutual commitments not to interfere in the internal affairs of other Gulf nations and to end financial and political support to ‘deviant’ groups. By specifically mentioning the Muslim Brotherhood, it was clear that the agreement was aimed at Qatar.9 At the time, the details were not widely known. As the crisis went on, the press tried to make sense of it all, but without much success: ‘A drama that gripped them with mystery and uncertainty for long months,’ reported one newspaper, clearly as befuddled as everyone else. It was only three years later when cnn obtained a copy of the ‘secret’ Riyadh Agreement that a clearer picture emerged.10 In January 2014 the gcc took a similar tack by trying to persuade Qatar to refrain from interfering in other nations’ affairs and supporting extremism, and to co-operate at a regional level. In the same month, the uae, which had largely escaped the disturbances of the Arab Spring, sentenced twenty Egyptians and ten Emiratis to up to five 209

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years in prison after finding them guilty of setting up an ‘international’ branch of the Muslim Brotherhood. On 3 March a Qatari national by the name of Mahmoud al-Jaidah was sentenced to seven years in prison in the uae for supporting a Brotherhood offshoot named Al Islah. Two days later Saudi Arabia, the uae and Bahrain withdrew their diplomats from Qatar, citing various transgressions of the Riyadh Agreement, such as promoting extremism through Al Jazeera and supporting the Muslim Brotherhood. Their action was not unprecedented, since Saudi Arabia had withdrawn its ambassador from Doha over Al Jazeera’s negative coverage twelve years earlier, but such occasions were few and far between, and represented a rare expression of public displeasure in a world where disputes between gcc members were normally kept under wraps. By the end of the year, a new agreement had been reached: an amended version of the Riyadh Agreement was signed and the absent ambassadors returned to Doha. At the 35th gcc conference the following month, the affair was glossed over, the strength of the alliance asserted and Qatar’s readmittance to the fold confirmed. The rift was widely seen as a necessary correction to Qatar’s vaunting ambition more than a seismic shift in relations. But had anything really changed? Apart from statements about combating terrorism, it looked like business as usual at Qatar plc. It maintained the links that had caused such angst, and Al Jazeera’s broadcasts carried on much as before. The awkward questions were unresolved, and it would soon become apparent that these events were merely a prelude for darker days to come.

In November 2015 a hunting party of 28 Qataris, including Al Thani family members, set off from Doha in a convoy of 4x4 vehicles. Crossing the border into Saudi Arabia, travelling northwards and then entering southern Iraq, the party spent the next six weeks camping in the desert around Samawa. They used falcons to hunt the houbara bustard, a turkey-like bird which is a delicacy in the Gulf. Iraq was a dangerous place, with the jihadist militant group isis holding parts of the north, and Shia Muslim militias dominating the south of the country. The desert where the Qataris pitched their tents was thought to be relatively safe, being far from the centres of population. Nevertheless, it was a strange choice for a princely hunting party, and news of their presence would have spread quickly through local 210

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people and nomadic bedouins; but perhaps reports of large numbers of the prized houbara roaming free were too tempting for the rich sheikhs of Doha to ignore. They travelled with armed guards, but they proved to be no guarantee of safety. Early one morning in December Shia Muslim militiamen in pick-up trucks mounted with heavy machine guns arrived at their camp. The balaclava-clad gunmen took the whole party captive and refused all offers of money to release them. The hostages were ordered to lie down in the sand, handcuffed and blindfolded, loaded onto trucks and then driven off into the still-dark desert. After a journey of several hours, they arrived at a house near a busy airbase, probably Nasiriya, where they were kept for a few days and then taken to another house in Baghdad. Here, for a few days, the royals were held in a dark basement while their retainers were relatively well treated; they were then moved about every two or three days. Money was again offered and refused. It soon became clear that this was not a kidnap in the conventional sense, but part of a more complicated picture involving the Sunni–Shia struggle that was going on elsewhere. In Doha, the shock of the kidnapping was matched with a sense of helplessness about finding them. Plainly the fact that the hunting party had included Al Thani members meant that the case was dealt with at the highest level. For example, Sheikh Mohammed bin Abdul Rahman Al Thani, soon to become Qatar’s foreign minister, saw the list of hostages and immediately realized that two of his own relatives were on it: ‘Jassim is my cousin and Khalid is my aunt’s husband,’ he texted Qatar’s ambassador to Iraq. ‘May God protect you: once you receive any news, update me immediately.’11 But whom were they dealing with? The kidnappers had made no contact with the authorities or family members and their identity remained unknown. There were conflicting stories about the culprits and their demands. In desperation, the Qataris considered other options. A motley parade of quick-fix merchants began appearing in Doha, each one offering their own solution: an Iranian who offered $20 million to get the hostages out; a firm run by a Greek shoe salesman, which was paid $2 million, all to no purpose. Military action was considered, but Qatar simply did not have the resources to carry it out.12 A clearer picture emerged a few days later: the kidnappers were members of Kataib Hezbollah (the Party of God Brigades), an Iraqi Shia militia group supported by Iran. The Qatari government still had 211

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Falconry is a national pastime, with part of the Suq Waqif set aside for a falcon market where peregrines, lanners and sakers can change hands for prices ranging from £2,000 to more than £200,000. This photograph shows a Qatari falconer in 1955.

to find a go-between to negotiate the hostages’ release and, in Iranian general Qassim Suleimani, they thought they had found such a man. Suleimani commanded the Quds Force of Iran’s Revolutionary Guards, which in turn had links with various Shia Muslim groups across the Middle East. ‘Suleimani is the single most powerful operative in the Middle East today,’ a former cia officer in Iraq once said, ‘and no one’s ever heard of him.’13 In fact, the Qataris did know about Suleimani and in April 2016 they began to deal through him. After engaging with the kidnappers, Suleimani came back to Sheikh Mohammed: ‘They want to exhaust 212

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us and force us to accept their demands immediately. We need to stay calm and not to rush.’ He added that the sheikh needed ‘to be ready with $$$$’. The latter replied, ‘God helps!’14 The focus shifted to Syria, where Qatar was financially backing Sunni rebels in their battle against the Assad regime, and Iran was backing pro-government Shia Muslim militias. In the west of the country, Sunni forces were besieging two Shia Muslim-held towns, Foah and Kefraya, while Shia Muslims had surrounded two Sunni-held towns in the northeast, Madaya and Zabadani. An agreement, known as the ‘fourtowns deal’, had been brokered whereby people would be swapped between the two sets of towns: the Sunnis would live in the Shia towns, and vice-versa. But the complexity of the deal caused it to falter and, by the time the Qatari hunting party was captured in the desert, discussions had reached stalemate. Soon it became apparent that the real object of the kidnapping was to give the Shia militias leverage in their negotiations over the four Syrian towns. As Qatar liaised through Hezbollah, the terms for releasing the hostages became known. The four-towns deal was changed to a plan to remove the citizens of the towns to safe areas instead of swapping them. It is not clear whether Qatar was to pay money to its Syrian allies to smooth the arrangements, but the evacuations proceeded, though not without difficulty: a blast from a bomb hidden in a pick-up truck killed 126 civilians being evacuated from the Shia Muslim towns. Meanwhile the Qatari hostages languished in their basement cell, cut off from the outside world with no idea of what was happening or what their fate might be. The breakthrough came in April 2017 when the Qatar government made contact with Qassim al-Araji, the Iraqi Minister of the Interior who had links to Shia Muslim militias. Although al-Araji was to mediate the deal, the Iraqi government was not to be informed and a ‘sweetener’ was to be paid – in effect a ransom payment. But when a Qatari delegation arrived at Baghdad apparently carrying duffel bags stuffed with dollars and euros, it transpired that al-Araji was less influential than he had claimed to be; the Qataris were briefly detained and the cash confiscated. It is not clear whether another cash payment of a similar amount was made through Hezbollah in Beirut, but the outcome was that the hostages were released from their Baghdad basement prison. Amid emotional scenes at Hamad International Airport, the gaunt sheikhs and their party were reunited with their families. 213

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It is a dramatic story, but from our standpoint it is difficult to be sure about certain details. The total amount paid to secure the release of the hostages is disputed: some reports say as much as $1 billion was spent, while the Qatari government maintains that the only payment it made was a ‘large sum’ to the Iraqi government for ‘economic development’ and ‘security co-operation’. The four-towns deal remained controversial, driving a wedge between the rebel Sunni forces in Syria who supported it and those who considered it a betrayal of their cause.15 Real harm was done to Gulf relations. Rightly or wrongly, the leaders of Saudi Arabia, the uae and Bahrain looked beyond a story about a kidnap and saw yet another example of their neighbour’s ambivalence towards terrorists, or worse.

In the early hours of 24 May 2017, the news feeds of the world sprang into life with a story about a speech. Published on the website of the Qatar News Agency (qna) and purporting to come from Amir Tamim, its content was explosive: it praised Islamist groups such as Hamas, Hezbollah, the Muslim Brotherhood and even Iran. Indeed, the story was so astonishing that it spread like wildfire across the Internet and news networks, with Al Arabiya and Sky News Arabia accusing Qatar of funding extremist groups and destabilizing the region. Within half an hour the speech had been pulled from the website, and the Qatari foreign ministry denied that Tamim had ever made it, claiming that the qna had been deliberately hacked to create fake news; no video footage of the speech ever emerged. Claim and counter-claim followed, and then news broke of another hacking when emails from the uae’s ambassador to the u.s. discussing plans to bring Qatar down were broadcast. And, in what was described as the ‘war of bots’, Twitter was alive with fake accounts posting hashtags praising or denigrating Qatar, according to their source.16 On 5 June 2017 Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Bahrain and the uae – the Quartet – announced they were withdrawing their ambassadors from Doha. They imposed a blockade on Qatar, stopping their air, sea and land routes to the peninsula. They also gave Qatari citizens fourteen days to leave their territories and banned their own citizens from travelling to or residing in Qatar. Families with mixed citizenship were split apart, relatives and friends parted and cut off from each other. ‘The Gulf states are all connected through marriages,’ said one man 214

This image of the present amir, Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani, became a symbol of national unity in the face of the recent blockade.

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whose Saudi wife could not visit her mother in Riyadh. ‘It’s painful to be separated from our families.’ Media outlets with links to the Qatari government were shut down and criminal sanctions threatened against anyone who expressed sympathy towards Qatar.17 If the leaders of the Quartet had any doubts about Qatar’s resolve, then the reaction of the amir and his entourage quickly dispelled them. That evening Amir Tamim marked breaking the Ramadan fast by hosting a dinner for a number of Islamic notables in Doha. Among them was Yusuf al-Qaradawi, pictured in a black clerical robe and prayer cap sitting on a gilded chair next to the amir. ‘Qaradawi had pride of place: sitting next to the amir, getting kisses from Tamim, and being held by him, all in front of the cameras,’ wrote David Weinberg, a Washington analyst. Four days later Qaradawi’s name appeared on the Quartet’s ‘terrorist’ list.18 A leading figure in the Quartet, Mohammed bin Zayed (MBZ), the crown prince of Abu Dhabi, was a long-standing critic of Qatar’s record on terrorism. He had a kindred spirit in the Saudi crown prince, the 31-year-old Mohammed bin Salman (known as MBS) of Saudi Arabia. Often described as de facto rulers in their own countries, they had initiated a co-ordinated and assertive style of foreign policy that one newspaper headlined as ‘two princes in a hurry to shake up the Gulf ’. Rather than embarking on another round of quarrelling and reconciliation with Qatar, the two princes were determined to end the arguments over the troublesome peninsula once and for all.19 The wild card in this scenario was u.s. President Donald Trump, whose reaction was typically robust. He reversed his predecessor’s policy of striking a balance between Saudi Arabia and Iran, coming down squarely in favour of Riyadh and the blockade. The president praised action against Qatar’s ‘radical ideology’ and declared that ‘perhaps this will be the beginning of the end to the horror of terrorism!’ It was reported that Jared Kushner, the president’s son-in-law, was behind Trump’s sudden outburst. Kushner had formed ‘strong bonds’ with MBS and Yusuf al-Otaiba, uae’s ambassador in Washington.20 On 22 June the Quartet presented Qatar with a list of thirteen demands. They insisted that Qatar should shut down Al Jazeera, reduce diplomatic ties with Iran and close the Turkish military base at Tariq bin Ziyad in southern Doha, opened in 2015; and Qatar should cut its links with groups such as the Muslim Brotherhood and extradite its members, including Yusuf al-Qaradawi, who had since been 216

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sentenced in his absence by an Egyptian court to life imprisonment. Saudi Foreign Minister Adel al-Jubeir said there would be no negotiations over their demands that Qatar should stop ‘funding’ terrorism. Meanwhile, Riyadh had also expelled Qatar from the coalition fighting Houthi rebels in Yemen.21 On 4 July Qatar rejected the Quartet’s list of demands as ‘baseless’. Qatari officials were still willing to negotiate, but in August they strengthened diplomatic ties with Iran, and the Turkish military presence in Doha would soon be expanded. In September, insults were traded across the floor between Qatari and Saudi envoys at an Arab League conference in Cairo. At home, the Qatari government acted to suppress any risk of domestic unrest. The chief of Murrah tribe, Talib bin Lahoom bin Shuraim, and fifty family members and kinsmen were stripped of their citizenship after Talib and a number of Murrah sheikhs had visited MBS in Riyadh. In October the palace of Sultan bin Suhaym Al Thani in Doha was raided and documents and memorabilia belonging to his late father were seized – it will be recalled that Sultan’s father was the former foreign minister and dissident family member who had died of a heart attack in 1985. The Paris-based Sultan, a long-standing opponent of the regime, had joined another member of the royal family, Sheikh Abdullah bin Ali, among the voices of the unofficial opposition abroad. There were reports of Emirati fighters infringing Qatar’s airspace and of Qatari fighters intercepting two Emirati passenger planes over the Gulf, suggesting brinkmanship of a dangerous kind. There had long been rumours that Saudi Arabia and the uae had agreed a plan to invade Qatar, and stories surfaced in the press that they were only deterred from carrying it out by the intervention of u.s. Secretary of State, Rex Tillerson. However, American attempts to arbitrate in the dispute were rejected. During the summer Tillerson signed a memorandum of understand­ ing with Qatar on counterterrorism, and the Pentagon sold it 36 F-15 fighters for $12 billion. Meanwhile, Qatar mounted a targeted lobbying campaign in Washington to change perceptions. The following April Amir Tamim went to Washington, where he met President Trump. They sat together in the Oval Office and by all accounts the meeting went well. ‘You’ve now become a very big advocate, and we appreciate it,’ effused Trump, no doubt impressed by the amir’s pledges on terrorism and the prospect of more lucrative arms sales with Qatar. 22 217

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The latest indications are that Washington is tiring of the blockade and wants the dispute to be resolved through dialogue. This has become more important as relations between the United States and Iran deteriorate, putting the security of the whole region at risk. Sensing an opportunity, Qatar even offered to mediate between Washington and Tehran. Despite the blockade, its calling as an international mediator was far from over: the Taliban had an office in Doha, and the city was the setting for peace talks between their representatives and the Trump administration over the withdrawal of u.s. troops from Afghan­ istan. Despite a threat to call them off, the talks culminated in a peace agreement to end the eighteen-year conflict.23 The Quartet, watching these events unfold, were unmoved. It was highly significant that the Saudi plan to build a canal at the base of the Qatar peninsula – literally making it an island – had broken in the Arab press in April 2018, the day before the amir’s meeting with the president. The idea was that Saudi Arabia would build a military base and a dump for nuclear waste on its side of the border with Qatar. The uae, meanwhile, would build a nuclear dump at the closest point of its territory to Qatar. Emirati Minister of State for Foreign Affairs, Anwar Gargash, commented on Twitter that the plan, known as the ‘Salwa Island Project’, was ‘proof of Qatar’s failure to manage and solve its crisis’ and that Doha’s silence on the canal project was ‘proof of their fear and confusion’. Apart from the shock value of the story, the implication of turning Qatar into an island was clear enough: it was the blockade made real.24 Qatar was at a crossroads: its standing as an honest broker in the Middle East had taken a serious knock, its twin-track approach of proclaiming the Arab Spring uprisings in North Africa and Syria while repressing dissent at home smacked of double standards, and the World Cup had cast a searing light on the condition of migrant workers. While the vast resources of the North Field were predicted to last for more than one hundred years, they provided no cast-iron guarantee of financial security in the future; gas prices might fluctuate, new competitors could enter the market and more sustainable energy streams emerge. And, like a latter-day Bu Draeyah, the spectre of open conflict between Iran and the Gulf states threatens to overwhelm them all.25 The blockade referenced all the historical themes: Qatar’s fight for survival, its fear of being swallowed up by Saudi Arabia, its rivalries with other ruling dynasties in the Gulf and the search for the protection 218

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of a more powerful ally. But it required more than the pearl merchant mindset, the arts of attraction, engagement and the spreading of power and influence through wealth, to see it through. And this is where Hamad’s rule (for despite his abdication, it still endured) made all the difference. The old pearl merchants had gone, the new regime had emerged and, for good or bad, the Al Thani were masters of their own destiny.

In 1971, when the future of the Gulf was up in the air, Sir Geoffrey Archer made a prediction: If had to put my money on the durability of any sheikhly regime in the Gulf, it is Al Thani I should choose. The active members of the family seem to be sounder in the perception of their own interests, and more ruthless in the pursuit of them, than the other sheikhly families.26 Almost fifty years on, Al Thani are still there, but so are the other regimes, which explains why the issues behind the blockade will not be easily resolved, for disputes between ruling families are enduring. The diplomatic crisis of 2014 was the harbinger of things to come. Doha took heed of the warning – the qia increased and diversified its investments, and earlier policies of buying into other countries’ infrastructures began to pay dividends as the crisis developed. Qatar cast its net far and wide – cows were flown in from Iran, arms bought from China and new jet fighters from the West, and there was a military agreement that saw Turkish troops on Qatari soil for the first time in a century. A new investment arm, Barzan Holdings, was created by the Ministry of Defence to enhance the military capabilities of the Qatari armed forces by entering into strategic partnerships with defence and security companies around the world. And there were some lucky breaks. In the autumn of 2017 the deepwater Hamad Port was officially opened, allowing building materials for the World Cup stadiums to be imported and the construction timetable to proceed as planned. Egypt chose to keep the Suez Canal open to Qatari vessels, thus allowing Qatar to continue its valuable lng exports to the European markets. The Egyptian government also decided not to recall its 180,000 citizens from Qatar, which meant 219

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Designed by architect Jean Nouvel to resemble a desert rose, the National Museum in Doha was opened in March 2019.

that the cogs of Qatar’s bureaucracy kept turning. Many countries were still trading with Qatar, which placed large defence orders with France, the uk and the u.s.; and President Trump spoke of Tamim as ‘a friend of mine’.27 However, the atmosphere in the Gulf did not improve. In early 2019, when the Asian Cup was held in the Emirates, the uae Football Association was fined $150,000 for the unruly behaviour of its fans towards the Qatari players and officials. When ‘The Maroons’ won the tournament, it looked as though Qatar’s right to host the World Cup had been vindicated. But controversy was never far away: fresh allegations surfaced of secret payments being offered to secure the award, and fifa was discussing extending the tournament from 32 to 48 teams, opening the possibility of the uae and Saudi Arabia hosting matches in 2022. It had long been rumoured that the World Cup had stirred envy among Qatar’s neighbours, and a shared tournament would have played into their hands. In the end, fifa decided to shelve the plan for ‘logistical’ reasons.28 None of this appeared to disturb Qatar’s momentum, however. In March 2019, to a fanfare of bedouin dancers, musicians, singers and flag-waving horseback riders, the new National Museum opened in Doha. With dramatic architecture based on the desert rose – a crystallized gypsum formation found in deserts around the world – the extraordinary building was likened to a stack of flying saucers that had fallen to Earth. Designed by Jean Nouvel and coming hard on the heels 220

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of another of his creations, the Louvre in Abu Dhabi, it represented the latest in the cultural arms race between the Gulf nations. There was nothing new about sheikhs acquiring valuable works of course, but now it had a strategic dimension. ‘They’re the most important buyers of art in the market today,’ said Patricia G. Hambrecht, the chief business development officer for Phillips auction house in New York. ‘The amount of money being spent is mind-boggling.’ Across the board – in art, education, the media and sport – the Gulf sheikhs were locked in a spiralling contest to outdo each other.29 Actually, Qatar didn’t have to do that much. ‘Look, if I were Qatar, I would just let the optics do the job for me,’ a senior Arab official mused. ‘[Here is] tiny Qatar being outnumbered by big countries. Then there is Saudi Arabia on the opposite side of it. It’s only normal that many will side with Qatar.’ As they did – instead of being castigated as a pariah, Qatar was cast as the plucky underdog in a struggle against more powerful forces. That image was reinforced by the ongoing fallout from the death of journalist Jamal Khashoggi at the Saudi Arabian consulate in Istanbul the previous autumn. Although the incident was not directly related to the blockade, it had an impact as the Saudis were embroiled in the ‘worst cover-up in history’, and suddenly a new actor had taken centre stage in the theatre of the damned.30

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Epilogue

T

he tourists still stream through Hamad International Airport, now a major transport hub to rival Dubai. It is a far cry from the old desert landing strips where propeller-driven planes were guarded by fire tenders in case their engines should burst into flame. Nowadays many travellers pass through the terminal’s vast gleaming hall for a brief tour of the city before resuming their journey to distant destinations. Taken in a taxi or minibus driven by a man from Pakistan and accompanied by a tour guide from Sri Lanka, our passing visitor arrives blinking in downtown Doha, a place transformed from the Gulf town of old. The more garish press reports would have gun runners and terrorists enjoying drinks and swapping stories in the bars of the swankiest hotels and, while it is doubtful that a day tripper will be troubled by such matters, it is true that the city has had a reputation as a safe haven for the dispossessed. No, the tourists will have their minds on the more obvious things. They will go along the Corniche that gently curves around Doha Bay where British gunboats once gently rocked and is now a place of dhows squeezed against a backdrop of shimmering skyscrapers. The portraits of Amir Tamim are everywhere – on buildings, balloons and the rear windscreens of passing cars. There are many wonders to see: the Pearl development, an artificial island that has some of the most expensive real estate in the world; Katara Heritage Village, where cultures coincide; the impressive Museum of Islamic Art and National Museum where many treasures can be found; and the four museums of Msheireb where oil, slavery, old Doha and the traditional family are the themes. Suq Waqif is the modern equivalent of the old market place, looking much like an airbrushed suq should. History is now encapsulated in some quick purchases – a bag 222

Epilogue

of dates here, a toy camel there – and a glance at a few museum relics before getting back to the airport. For the more adventurous, there is a trip to Zubarah. The fort stands peacefully on an exposed ridge overlooking the ruined town, with the bright blue waters of the Arabian Gulf shimmering in the distant haze. On one side, a metal fence runs off towards the shore, blocking access to the remains of the settlement that once thrived on this coast. There is an ancient cannon at the fort’s entrance, a small mosque and an exhibition hall with displays and artefacts that speak of the past, though there is nothing in the dull scrubland to betray the area’s tempestuous history. And yet, even on a fine day, there can be an unsettling breeze that harries and insinuates, urging the prying mind to leave the memories undisturbed, for troubled ghosts inhabit this desolate shore. You can visit the eerie sculpture at Zekrit entitled ‘East-West/WestEast’ by American artist Richard Serra, which resembles something from a backlot of the film 2001: A Space Odyssey. There are the magical ‘singing sands’, which reverberate as you slide down the dune face. You can see the fishing boats of Al Khor or even travel to Khor al-Udaid, the inland sea that was once the haunt of pirates. Many of the places that have figured in our history of Qatar are now whistle stops on the tourist trail. Qataris yearning for the desert life can sample the experience by staying in tents and trailers in the sands without leaving their comfort zones. These winter camps are an unintended parody of the past life, having become somewhat institutionalized, licensed by the government for use between November and March and located in fenced compounds in the desert. There is running water and generators for electric lighting, air conditioning and television. The warriors of old are now young men on buggies and 4x4s racing around the dunes and performing wheelies in death-defying style on roundabouts, while ambulances are parked nearby, waiting for their next client. Qatar ranks as one of the richest countries in the world. The old cameos can still be seen – the rich sheikhs in Geneva, their wives shopping in Harrods and their sons tearing around Knightsbridge in expensive sports cars – but there is so much more to the new generation. Many are well educated, travelled, and have experienced other cultures, though that is unlikely to have swayed them from the traditional ways. Women are employed in a variety of jobs, are allowed to drive, and can 223

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Calligraphy sculpture by Sabah Arbilli on the Doha Corniche with the modern skyline of the city in the background, 2017.

vote and stand as candidates in municipal elections, but that is not to say that the old customs have disappeared. This is an Islamic country where religious observance and social custom regulate the lives of its citizens. There are five prayer times a day, and each session brings a brief respite from the hustle and bustle of the day. Ramadan is a long month when tempers can be short and the rate of traffic accidents high. The family is still centred on the patriarch; boys take precedence over girls and are kept apart from them in schools. Men wear the traditional white thobe with a ghutra headdress; women wear the black abaya with a shayla headdress and, although the veil is less commonly used, the batula face mask is still worn among the older generation. Wives are no longer consigned to the back seat of their husbands’ cars, though they occasionally tut at the lack of ‘decency’ in the dress sense of expatriates they see passing by. Qatar has a reputation for five-star luxury, which is certainly true of Doha’s seafront hotels, high-class restaurants and award-winning airline, Qatar Airways; there are the skyscrapers and highways, hospitals and schools but, when night falls and offices are closed, West Bay is a hollow darkness. Away from the city centre, daylight brings a drab parade of workers in buses trundling past a backdrop of World 224

Epilogue

Cup football stadiums rising in the haze, and the noise and dust of construction, which envelops and swirls like the desert jinns. The ‘empty seats and ghostly silences’ of Doha during the recent World Athletics Championships surely filled the organizers of the fifa tournament – and Qatari officials generally – with a certain dread; and yet, after all is said and done, the promise is still there for the World Cup to be the supreme accolade for a nation that was little more than a desert backwater a few decades ago.1 Now it is twilight and the lights of assorted skyscrapers are glittering along the shore. The taxi driver is calling, a flight beckons and, in their haste to leave, our visitor might easily miss a strange-looking monument on the Corniche. It is a calligraphic sculpture by the artist Sabah Arbilli that celebrates a poem by Sheikh Jassim bin Mohammad Al Thani, the founder of the nation. The Arabic words of the sculpture translate as this: ‘And amongst the sultans I stood out, as a lanneret floating over mountain peaks.’ It might be an idealized picture of a tangled world, a real place of shadows and light which has some deep and dark recesses below, but it also suggests the ambition that drove, and still drives, Qataris to better themselves and see their country live and prosper. For this is what Qatar was, and is today.

225

Timeline

628 ce

The Prophet Muhammad sends his envoy to eastern Arabia leading to the conversion of its people to Islam. c. 1700 Ma’adhid section of Tamim leaves Ushayqir and settles in the Yabrin Oasis before moving on to Zubarah on the northwestern coast of Qatar. c. 1762 Muhammad bin Khalifa al-Kabir leaves Kuwait to join Ahmed bin Rizq at Zubarah, followed by other Al Khalifa family members. 1766 Muhammad bin Khalifa al-Kabir defeats the Musallam at the Battle of Sumaisma. 1776 The siege of Basra results in an influx of refugees to Zubarah. 1783 The Utub conquer Bahrain, which is then ruled by the Al Khalifa. 1811 Bombardment of Zubarah by an Omani fleet. 1826 Death of Rahma bin Jabir. 1835 Muhammad bin Khalifa defeats Isa bin Tarif, headman of the Al bin Ali tribe, at the Battle of Huwailah. 1843 Muhammad bin Khalifa defeats his great-uncle Abdullah and rules Qatar and Bahrain. 1847 Isa bin Tarif is killed at the Battle of Suwayya (Fuwairat). c. 1849 Muhammad bin Thani moves from Fuwairat to Doha. 1851 The Wahhabis under Faisal bin Turki briefly occupy Doha. 1863 William Gifford Palgrave visits Qatar and meets Muhammad bin Thani. 1867 Bombardment of Bida’a/Doha by ships from Bahrain and Abu Dhabi. 1868 Treaty with Great Britain signed by Muhammad bin Thani. 1871 Ottoman flags are raised over Doha; the Ottoman era begins. 1876 Sheikh Jassim appointed qaim-makam.

226

Timeline

1878

Muhammad bin Thani dies. In November Sheikh Jassim defeats the Naim at Zubarah. 1893 Sheikh Jassim defeats the Ottoman forces at Wajba. 1895 The Zubarah Incident (1). 1905 Death of Ahmad bin Muhammad Al Thani. 1913 Ibn Saud invades Al Hasa; Sheikh Jassim dies and is succeeded by his son, Abdullah; the Anglo-Turkish Convention is signed on 29 July. 1916 Anglo-Qatari Treaty of Protection. 1935 Oil concession granted to Anglo-Persian (later transferred to pdq). Britain agrees to protect Qatar from land attack. 1937 The Zubarah Incident (2). 1940 Oil is struck at Dukhan. 1948 Death of the crown prince, Hamad bin Abdullah. 1949 Abdication of Sheikh Abdullah in favour of his son, Ali. 1955 Suez crisis, demonstrations in Doha. 1960 Abdication of Sheikh Ali in favour of his son Ahmad; Khalifa bin Hamad is appointed crown prince. 1963 National Unity Front protests. 1971 Qatar’s declaration of independence; discovery of the North Field. 1972 Khalifa bin Hamad deposes his cousin, Amir Ahmad. 1977 Hamad bin Khalifa is appointed crown prince. 1980–88 Iran–Iraq War. 1990–91 The Gulf War, Battle of Khafji. 1992 The Al Khufus Incident. 1995 Hamad bin Khalifa deposes his father, Khalifa. The Qatar Foundation is created. 1996 Counter-coup fails; Al Jazeera starts broadcasting from Doha. 1997 lng exports begin. 2001 The International Court of Justice in The Hague confirms Qatar’s sovereignty of Zubarah and Bahrain’s sovereignty of the Hawar Islands. 2003 The u.s.-led invasion of Iraq; u.s. airbase opens at Khor al-Udaid. 2005 Qatar Investment Authority founded. 2010 The Arab Spring disturbances begin; Qatar is awarded the right to host the 2022 World Cup tournament. 2013 Amir Hamad steps down in favour of his son Tamim and assumes the title ‘Father Amir’. 2017 Egypt, Saudi Arabia and the uae announce a land, sea and air blockade of Qatar.

227

Notes on the Main Characters

Al Thani (Ruling House of Qatar) Abdul Aziz bin Ahmad Born in 1946, Abdul Aziz was the eldest son of Amir Ahmad. He served as minister of health during the 1960s and then crown prince until fleeing the country following Khalifa bin Hamad’s palace coup in 1972. He died in Saudi Arabia in 2008. Abdul Aziz bin Khalifa The second son of Amir Khalifa, he served as minister of finance and petroleum in 1972, and in 1976 he was appointed president of opec. However, in 1977 he lost the title of crown prince to his elder brother Hamad, though he remained minister of finance until 1992, when he went to live in France. Abdullah bin Jassim (Ruler) Born in 1871, Abdullah was Sheikh Jassim’s sixth son and became ruler of Qatar on his father’s death in 1913. He abdicated in 1949. Ahmad bin Ali (Ruler) Born around 1920, he was Sheikh Ali’s second son and succeeded his father in 1960. He was deposed in a bloodless coup in 1972. Ahmad bin Muhammad In the early 1900s Ahmad was de facto ruler of Qatar while his brother Jassim was absent in the desert. He favoured a treaty of protection with the British, though this did not materialize during his lifetime. He was killed by a tribesman of the Bani Hajir in December 1905. Ali bin Abdullah (Ruler) Born in 1895, he was the eldest son of Sheikh Abdullah. He became heir after the death of his brother Hamad in 1948 and succeeded his father the following year. He ruled from 1949 until abdicating in 1960.

228

Notes on the Main Characters

Hamad bin Abdullah Born in 1896, he was the second son and heir of Sheikh Abdullah, but died in 1948 before he could succeed his father. Hamad bin Jassim bin Hamad Born in 1949, he was a nephew of Amir Khalifa bin Hamad and in 1972 to 1977 he served as commander of Qatar’s police force, and then minister for economy and trade. In 1999 he was arrested for his part in a coup attempt against Amir Hamad, convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment, but released in 2008. Hamad bin Jassim bin Jabir (known as HBJ) Born in 1959, Hamad bin Jassim bin Jabir Al Thani is commonly known by his initials HBJ. A second cousin of Amir Hamad, he served as foreign minister (1992–2013) and prime minister (2007–13). He was also ceo of the Qatar Investment Authority sovereign wealth fund from 2005 to 2013. Hamad bin Khalifa (Amir) Born in 1952, he graduated from Sandhurst Military Academy and was appointed commander-in-chief of the armed forces in 1972 and crown prince in 1977. He became amir of Qatar in 1995 after deposing his father in a bloodless coup. He abdicated in favour of his son Tamim in 2013, but retained the title of ‘Father Amir’. Jassim bin Muhammad (Ruler) The ‘founder of the nation’, who ruled Qatar from 1878 until his death 1913. Khalifa bin Hamad (Amir) The fourth son of Hamad bin Abdullah, he was the head of a section of the Al Thani known as the Bani Hamad and succeeded Sheikh Ahmad as ruler after deposing him in 1972. He was in turn deposed by his eldest son Hamad in 1995. Mozah bint Nasser al-Missned (Sheikha) The second wife of Amir Hamad bin Khalifa and mother of Amir Tamim, she has taken a leading role in education and other social reforms in Qatar, as well as projects abroad. Muhammad bin Thani The head of the Al Thani family when they moved from Fuwairat to Doha around 1850. He signed the 1868 treaty with the British. Nasir bin Khalid In the 1960s, he was the head of an important section of the Al Thani family known as the Bani Khalid. Suhaym bin Hamad The brother of Amir Khalifa, he was apparently promised the post of crown prince, then offered the post of prime minister, which he declined. He was foreign minister from 1972 until he died from a heart attack in August 1985.

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Tamim bin Hamad (Amir) Born in 1980, the fourth son of Amir Hamad, he was appointed crown prince in place of his brother Jassim in 2003 and amir on the abdication of his father in July 2013.

Al Khalifa (Ruling House of Bahrain) Abdullah bin Ahmad The joint ruler of Bahrain between 1795 and 1843, he faced many challenges from his relatives, eventually losing the throne to his great-nephew, Muhammad bin Khalifa. Ahmad bin Muhammad He was governor of Doha in 1867, and was related to Jassim bin Muhammad Al Thani by marriage. Ahmad bin Muhammad al-Fatih (‘The Conqueror’) He led the conquest of Bahrain in 1783 and was the head of the clan until 1795. Ali bin Khalifa The brother of Muhammad bin Khalifa, he was governor of Bida’a and then Manama until 1868, and ruler of Bahrain from 1868 to 1869. Isa bin Ali The ruler of Bahrain between 1869 and 1932. Mubarak bin Abdullah The eldest son of Abdullah bin Ahmad, the ruler of Bahrain, who led the revolt against Sheikh Muhammad bin Khalifa in 1847. He died in 1850. Muhammad bin Khalifa al-Kabir Son of the founding father of the Khalifa dynasty, he led the migration of his family and other members of the Utub confederation from Kuwait to Qatar in the 1760s. Muhammad bin Khalifa The ruler of Bahrain and Zubarah from 1843, he overthrew his great-uncle Abdullah bin Ahmad Al Khalifa in 1843. He was deposed by his brother Ali in 1868. Nasr bin Mubarak A grandson of Abdullah bin Ahmad Al Khalifa, Nasr sided with the Al Thani and married Jassim’s daughter. A pretender to the Bahraini throne, he was constantly intriguing against the Al Khalifa and planning to invade Bahrain. He died of cholera in Kuwait in 1917.

230

Notes on the Main Characters

Al Nahyan (Ruling House of Abu Dhabi/uae) Mohammad bin Zayed (MBZ) Born in 1961, the crown prince of Abu Dhabi and deputy supreme commander of the armed forces of the uae is considered to be the country’s de facto ruler and one of the main instigators of the 2017 blockade against Qatar. Shakhbut bin Sultan The ruler of Abu Dhabi from 1928 until he was deposed in 1966 by his younger brother Zayed in a bloodless coup. Zayed bin Khalifa (‘Zayed the Great’) The ruler of Abu Dhabi from 1855 until his death in 1909, his struggle with Sheikh Jassim bin Muhammad over Khor al-Udaid sparked a war between them. Zayed bin Sultan The ruler of Abu Dhabi from 1966 and president of the uae from 1971 until his death in 2004.

Al Sabah (Ruling House of Kuwait) Abdullah bin Sabah The ruler (r. 1866–92) and qaim-makam of Kuwait, he arrived at Doha in July 1871 with four Ottoman flags, marking the start of the Ottoman era in Qatar. Mubarak bin Sabah The ruler of Kuwait (r. 1896–1915), he killed his brother Muhammad to become sheikh. Muhammad al Sabah The ruler of Kuwait (r. 1892–6), he was killed by his brother Mubarak in 1896.

Al Saud (Ruling House of Nejd/Saudi Arabia) Abdullah bin Faisal He ruled Nejd from 1865 until he was briefly deposed by his half-brother Saud in 1871 and then ruled again until 1873. He was backed by the Ottomans. Abdul Aziz bin Abdul Rahman (‘Ibn Saud’) Born in Nejd around 1876, Ibn Saud sought refuge from his enemies in Qatar before leading the Al Saud to retake Riyadh in 1902 and becoming amir of Nejd. He was pronounced king of Saudi Arabia in 1932.

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Faisal bin Turki He was the Saudi ruler from 1834 to 1838, before being forced out by the Ottomans and then returning to rule from 1843 to 1865. He threatened Bahrain and Doha, which declared its allegiance to him in early 1851. His forces withdrew from Qatar a few months later. Mohammed bin Salman (MBS) Born in 1985, the crown prince and deputy prime minister of Saudi Arabia is a close ally of Mohammad bin Zayed in the blockade of Qatar. Saud bin Faisal Overthrew his half-brother Abdullah and ruled briefly in 1871, then was himself removed and returned to rule from 1873–5. He was opposed by the Ottomans.

Others Abdullah Darwish From a family of Persian stock, he was a businessman and close associate of the Al Thani in the 1940s and ’50s. Abdulhammid ii The 34th sultan of the Ottoman Empire (r. 1876–1909). Hafiz Mehmet Pasha The Ottoman wali of Basra who fought the Battle of Wajba against Sheikh Jassim in 1893. Hassan Kamil An Egyptian lawyer appointed general director in 1960, Kamil was a legal adviser to the Qatari government during the negotiations for a union of Gulf states and in several negotiations over Qatar’s borders. Isa bin Tarif Al bin Ali Sheikh of the Al bin Ali tribe at Huwailah with marital links to the Al Khalifa, he rebelled against them on two occasions. Muhammad ibn Abd al-Wahhab (Nejd) A radical preacher born in about 1702, and the founder of Wahhabism, he joined forces with the Al Saud in 1744. Muhammad bin Abdul Wahhab (Qatar) The son of the wazir of Bahrain whose sister was married to Muhammad bin Thani, in 1885 he became headman of the village of Ghariyah. Muhammad bin Said Al bu Kuwara A successful pearl merchant, he was sheikh of Wakrah but in 1863 he was arrested and taken in chains to Bahrain, being released eight years later. In 1879 he declared hijra and led his tribe to live in Fuwairat.

232

Notes on the Main Characters

Rahma bin Jabir al-Jalahimah (‘Rahma the Pirate’) Born in Kuwait around 1760, Rahma took to piracy after the death of his father at the hands of the Al Khalifa and spent the rest of his life waging war against them. Rashid bin Said Al Maktoum The ruler of Dubai (r. 1958–90) who took a leading role in the negotiations for a union of Gulf states in the late 1960s, his fourth daughter Mariam married the ruler of Qatar, Sheikh Ahmad bin Ali Al Thani, in 1957. Saleh al-Manah A prominent Qatari businessman and adviser to Sheikh Abdullah in the 1930s and ’40s, he was ousted by Abdullah Darwish, although he later returned to influence during Sheikh Ali’s reign in the 1950s. Sultan bin Mohammad bin Salamah Grandson of Isa bin Tarif ’s former deputy and sheikh of the Al bin Ali tribe in 1894 when they left Bahrain and settled in Zubarah. Yusuf al-Ibrahim The head of an old and prominent Kuwaiti family with extensive political and trading interests through the Gulf and beyond, he supported Sheikh Jassim bin Muhammad in his struggles of the late nineteenth century.

233

Genealogical Tables

234

Glossary

Ahl al-shimal – tribes of the north Al (as in Al Thani) – the family or the house of baghla/baggala/buggalow – a large cargo-carrying dhow banyans – Hindu merchants who were British Indian subjects barasti – palm-frond house, also known as ‘arish bin – son of bint – daughter of diyar – the range of a tribe’s grazing dakhala – the custom of seeking the protection of a more powerful ally diwan – the royal court and seat of government Eid – Eid al Fitr is the feast that marks the end of Ramdan fereej– a traditional neighbourhood of town houses with courtyards fidawiyya – the sheikh’s bedouin guards hijra– a tribal migration jihad – a holy war juss – local mortar kafala – meaning ‘sponsorship’, the system used to regulate migrant workers kanderi – water carrier kaza’a – an Ottoman district, part of a sanjak kran – a unit of Persian currency kubara – houses built of stone, held together with mud and roofed with date palm kudu – a reed water pipe attached to a water vessel used for smoking tobacco kuttub – an Islamic elementary school lakh (of rupees) – 100,000 lulu – pearl madrasa – Islamic college majlis (pl. majalis) – a meeting room, place where a ruler holds public audiences to hear petitions manumission – the practice of granting slaves their freedom maritime truces – a series of treaties made with Gulf sheikhs for keeping peace at sea which culminated in 1853 with the Perpetual Maritime Truce

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mesahher – the person who went from house to house during Ramadan waking people up mudir – an Ottoman official in charge of a nahiye munshi – an Indian clerk or assistant musaqqamin – a creditor who advanced money to a dhow captain mutasarrif – the governor of a Sanjak or province nahiye – an administrative unit smaller than a kaza’a nakhudha (pl. nawakhidah) – a dhow captain Political Agent – British official in the Gulf reporting to the Political Resident and based in Bahrain Political Resident – the chief British representative in the Gulf based at Bushire until 1947, then in Bahrain qadhi – a judge of a sharia court qaim-makam – the governor of a provincial district radhif (pl. radhafah) – a hauler’s assistant on a pearling dhow Ramadan – the month in the Islamic year of dawn-to-dusk fasting rentier state – a state which derives all or a substantial portion of its national revenues from the rent of its resources to external clients sanjak – an administrative district of a vilayet shamal – wind from the northwest Shia – a branch of Islam, accounting for about 10 per cent of all Muslims shisha– a hookah pipe, also known as a ‘hubble-bubble’, used for smoking tobacco siyub – a rope hauler on a pearling dhow Sunni – the main branch of Islam, divided into four schools of jurisprudence: Hanafi, Maliki, Shafi’i and Hanbali suq – market tabur – an Ottoman battalion tajir (pl. tujjar) – one of the richest pearl merchants tawash (pl. tawawish) – a pearl merchant thalers – first minted in the eighteenth-century Hapsburg Empire, these coins became known as Maria Theresa dollars and were accepted currency throughout the Middle East ulema – a body of Muslim clerics vilayet – a first-level administrative division of the Ottoman Empire wali – an Ottoman governor wasm – tribal marking zakat – a religious tax Acronyms Aramco – Arabian American Oil Company (now Saudi Aramco) Bapco – Bahrain Petroleum Company fifa – Fédération internationale de football association isis – The Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, also known as Daesh, a jihadist militant group opec – Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries pdq – Petroleum Development (Qatar) Ltd qia – Qatar Investment Authority qpc – Qatar Petroleum Company

236

References

INTRODUCTION

1 Geoffrey Arthur, ‘The Independence of Qatar’, report of 21 October 1971, Foreign and Commonweath Office files at the uk National Archives (fco) 8/1724. 2 Cited in Christopher Blanchard, ‘Qatar: Background and u.s. Relations’, Report to u.s. Congress, 16 May 2011, p. 4: https://fas.org. 3 Kristian Coates Ulrichsen, ‘Qatar: The Gulf ’s Problem Child’, The Atlantic, 5 June 2017. 4 Obaid al-Suheimy, ‘Bahrain fm: Qatar Burned the Return Ships’, Asharq Al-Awsat, 6 December 2018. 5 William Gifford Palgrave, Personal Narrative of a Year’s Journey through Central and Eastern Arabia (London 1865), vol. ii, p. 232. 1  THE ART OF SURVIVAL

1 Samer al-Atrush, ‘Saudi Arabia Could Turn Rival Qatar into an Island by Digging New Canal’, Telegraph, 21 June 2018; Bertram Thomas, Arabia Felix (London, 1932), p. 295; Harry St John Bridger Philby, The Empty Quarter: Being a Description of the Great South Desert of Arabia Known as Rub al Khali (London, 1933), p. 47. 2 John Barrett Kelly, Britain and the Persian Gulf, 1795–1880 (London, 1968), p. 25. 3 Robert Carter, ‘Fuwairit and the Former Capitals of Qatar’, www.qnhg.org, October 2016. 4 Michael Cook, ‘The Expansion of the First Saudi State: The Case of Washm’, in The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times: Essays in Honor of Bernard Lewis, ed. C. E. Bosworth (Princeton, nj, 1989), pp. 661–99. 5 Correspondence with Yacoub al-Ibrahim, conversation with the author. 6 David Commins, The Wahhabi Mission and Saudi Arabia (London, 2006), p. 25. 7 James Onley, ‘Britain and the Gulf Shaikhdoms, 1820–1971: The Politics of Protection’, paper for the Center for International and Regional Studies, Georgetown University, 2009.

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8 Abdulaziz Muhamed Hassan Ali Al Khalifa, ‘Relentless Warrior and Shrewd Tactician: Shaikh Abdullah bin Ahmad of Bahrain, 1795–1849: A Case Study of Shaikhly Statecraft in the Nineteenth Century Gulf ’, PhD dissertation, Exeter University (2013), p. 32; Yacoub al-Ibrahim personal correspondence. 9 Kniphausen report, quoted by Hamad bin Isa Al Khalifa in First Light: Modern Bahrain and its Heritage (London, 1994), p. 33. 10 Al Khalifa, First Light, p. 37; J. G. Lorimer, Gazetteer of the Persian Gulf, Oman and Central Arabia, vol. i: Historical, part 1 (Calcutta, 1915), p. 137; Robert Carter, ‘The History and Prehistory of Pearling in the Arabian Gulf ’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, xlviii/2 (2005), p. 147; Geoffrey Bibby, Looking for Dilmun (New York, 1970), p. 123. 11 Nasser al-Khairi, cited in Abdulaziz Al Khalifa, ‘Relentless Warrior’, p. 38. 12 Ghazal, Tarikh al-Utub, cited ibid., p. 44. 13 Letter No. 16, Edward Galley to William Hornby, 5 October 1782, India Office Records (ior)/r/15/1/3. 14 Abdulaziz Al Khalifa, ‘Relentless Warrior’, p. 56. 15 George Barnes Brucks, ‘Memoir Descriptive of the Navigation of the Gulf of Persia in “Selections from the Records of the Bombay Government”’, p. 562, ior/r/15/1/732. 16 James Parry, ‘The Pearl Emporium of Al Zubarah’, Saudi Aramco World, lxiv/6 (November/December 2013), www.archive.aramcoworld.com. 17 Ibid. 2  A DEBATABLE LAND

1 James Silk Buckingham, Travels in Assyria, Media, and Persia (London, 1829), p. 357; John Barrett Kelly, Britain and the Persian Gulf, 1795–1880 (London, 1968), p. 123. 2 Al-Khairi, Qalaid il Nahrain fi Tarikh al-Bahrayn (Bahrain, 2003) p. 252, cited in Abdulaziz Muhamed Hassan Ali Al Khalifa, ‘Relentless Warrior and Shrewd Tactician: Shaikh Abdullah bin Ahmad of Bahrain, 1795–1849: A Case Study of Shaikhly Statecraft in the Nineteenth Century Gulf ’, PhD dissertation, Exeter University (2013), p. 32. 3 Letter No. 84 from Ephraim Gerrish Stannus to William Newnham, 13 December 1826, ior/r/15/1/40. 4 Francis Warden, Sketch of the Proceedings of Rahman bin Jaubir [sic], ‘Selections from the Records of the Bombay Government’, ior/r/15/1/732. 5 Geoffrey Bibby, Looking for Dilmun (New York, 1970), p. 77. 6 J. G. Lorimer, Gazetteer of the Arabian Gulf, vol. i: Historical, part 1 (Calcutta, 1915) , p. 794. 7 Nasser al-Khairi, Qalaid il Nahrain Fi Tarikh al-Bahrayn [The Necklaces of Pearl in the History of Bahrain], ed. Abdul Rahman al-Shugair (Bahrain, 2003). 8 The proverb in question is: ‘Me against my brother, my brother and I against my cousin, and all of us against the stranger.’

238

References

9 Lorimer, Gazetteer, i/1, p. 800. 10 Ibid.; ‘Précis of Turkish Expansion on the Arab Littoral of the Persian Gulf and Hasa and Katif Affairs’, p. 3, ior/r/15/1/724; George Barnes Brucks, ‘Memoir Descriptive of the Navigation of the Gulf of Persia in “Selections from the Records of the Bombay Government”’, p. 559. 11 ‘Memorandum by Abol Cassim [sic] Moonshee Concerning the District of Guttur’, Mss Eur F126/50, British Library. 12 John Craven Wilkinson (jcw), personal correspondence, 2019. 13 Fahad Ahmad Bishara et al.,‘The Economic Transformation of the Gulf ’, in The Emergence of the Gulf States, ed. J. E. Peterson (London, 2016), p. 194. 14 Substance of correspondence between Brucks and Sheikh Abdullah, 27 March 1841, 10r/15/1/91. 15 Samuel Hennell to John Patterson Porter, 28 February 1851, ior/r/15/1/128. 16 James Tronson to John Patterson Porter, 20 November 1851, ior/r/15/1/128. 17 Robert Carter, ‘Fuwairit and the Former Capitals of Qatar’, www.qnhg.org, October 2016.; jcw, personal correspondence. 18 Lorimer, Gazetteer, i/1, p. 1113; Although Bahrain was a signatory to the 1820 treaty, it was not a party to the 1835 and 1853 Maritime Treaties. 19 William Gifford Palgrave, Personal Narrative of a Year’s Journey through Central and Eastern Arabia (London 1865), vol. ii, pp. 231–6. 20 Ibid. 21 Ibid. 22 Ibid. 23 Translation from Mohamed A. J. Althani, Jassim The Leader: Founder of Qatar (London, 2012), p. 89. 24 Lorimer, Gazetteer, i/1, pp. 800–801. 25 ‘An ambitious man’, Arabian Gulf Intelligence, ed. R. Hughes Thomas (Cambridge, 1985); ‘Letter No. 111 of 1868 from Pelly to the Sec. to Government, Bombay’, Mss Eur F126/40, British Library. 26 ‘Letter No. 111 of 1868 from Pelly to the Sec. to Government, Bombay’ Mss Eur F126/40, British Library. 27 Ibid. 28 jcw, personal correspondence; Bahrain Counter Memorial, icj proceedings, 31 December 1997, p. 27 n. 121; Acting Political Resident, 4 September 1873, ior/l/ps/18/B49. 3  THE KAZA’A OF QATAR

1 J. G. Lorimer, Gazetteer of the Arabian Gulf, vol. i: Historical, part 1 (Calcutta, 1915) , ‘Précis of Turkish Expansion on the Arab Littoral of the Persian Gulf and Hasa and Katif Affairs’, ior/r/15/1/724. 2 Lorimer, Gazetteer, i/1, p. 803. 3 Ibid. 4 See Frederick F. Anscombe, The Ottoman Gulf: The Creation of Kuwait, Saudi Arabia and Qatar (New York, 1997), p. 32.

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5 Lorimer, Gazetteer, i/1, ‘Précis of Turkish expansion on the Arab Littoral of the Persian Gulf and Hasa and Katif affairs’, p. 63. 6 Until 1875 Basra was under the vilayet of Baghdad before becoming a vilayet in its own right. It reverted to Baghdad in 1880, only to be restored in 1884. 7 Ömer Bey, Zawra, 21 January 1872, cited in Zekeriya Kurşun, The Ottomans in Qatar (Istanbul, 2002), p. 16. 8 John Craven Wilkinson, Arabia’s Frontiers: The Story of Britain’s Boundary Drawing in the Desert (London, 1991), p. 73; Lorimer, Gazetteer, i/1, p. 804; Lorimer, Gazetteer, i/1, ‘Précis of Katar [Qatar] affairs, 1873–1904’, p. 11, ior/l/ps/20/C243. 9 Richard Fletcher and Robert Carter, ‘Mapping the Growth of an Arabian Gulf Town: The Case of Doha, Qatar’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, lx (2017) pp. 40–41; Kurşun, The Ottomans in Qatar, pp. 16, 147–8; H. Burchardt, Ost-Arabien von Basra bisMaskat auf GrundeigenerReisen (Berlin, 1906). 10 William Gifford Palgrave, Personal Narrative of a Year’s Journey through Central and Eastern Arabia (London 1865), vol. ii, p. 242. 11 Diwan al-Shaykh Jassim bin Muhammad Al Thani, translation from Althani, Jassim The Leader: Founder of Qatar (London, 2012), p. 15. 12 Penelope Tuson, The Records of Qatar, 1820–1960 (Cambridge, 1991), vol. ii, p. 569; in 1893 a Turkish report (Bahrain Memorial Annex 52 (a)) stated that Sheikh Jassim had only one of the three firqas (divisions) of the Bani Hajir, jcw personal correspondence. 13 Francis Prideaux to Percy Cox, 23 December 1905, IOR/R/15/2/26. 14 Yacoub al-Ibrahim, conversation with the author, 5 June 2019; Palgrave, Personal Narrative, ii, p. 212. 15 ‘Persian Gulf – Turkish Jurisdiction along the Arabian coast (Part iv)’, ior/l/ps/18/B19/4. 16 J. G. Lorimer, Gazetteer of the Persian Gulf, Oman and Central Arabia, vol. ii (Calcutta, 1908), p. 612. 17 Lorimer, Gazetteer, i/1, p. 806. 18 Ibid. 19 Ibid, p. 819. 20 R. Hughes Thomas, ed., Arabian Gulf Intelligence (Cambridge, 1985); ‘The History of Qatar’, ior/l/ps/20/C91/1. 21 Jassim to Abdullah bin Faisal, 8 June 1888, ior/r/15/6/19. 22 Lorimer, Gazetteer, i/1, p. 821. 23 Residency Agent, Bahrain, 14 March 1889, ior/r/15/1/189. 24 Sheikh Jassim to the Political Resident, 17 February 1889, ior/r/15/1/189. 25 Residency Agent to the Political Resident, 24 February 1889, ior/r/15/1/189. 26 Ibid.; Cox to Sheikh Zayed, 1 December 1906, ior/r/15/2/160. 4  ‘AM I NOT THE RULER OF THIS PLACE?’

1 See James W. Fiscus, ‘Gun Running in Arabia: The Introduction of Modern Arms to the Peninsula, 1880–1914’ (1987), Dissertations and Theses, paper 1624, Portland State University.

240

References

2 ‘33 File 665: Hostilities between Shaikh Zaid and Shaikh Jasim’, ior/r/15/1/189. 3 Penelope Tuson, The Records of Qatar, 1820–1960 (Cambridge, 1991), p. 351. 4 Zekeriya Kurşun, The Ottomans in Qatar (Istanbul, 2002), p. 91; J. G. Lorimer, Gazetteer of the Arabian Gulf, i/i, Historical (Calcutta, 1915), p. 823. 5 Rosemarie Said Zahlan, The Creation of Qatar (London, 1979), p. 66; Yacoub al-Ibrahim, personal correspondence; Kurşun, The Ottomans in Qatar, p. 91. 6 Kurşun, The Ottomans in Qatar, pp. 93, 95 n. 44. 7 Diwan al-Shaykh Jassim bin Muhammad Al Thani (Bombay, 1910). 8 Kurşun, The Ottomans in Qatar, p. 99, n. 63; Stuart George Knox to Percy Cox, 30 September 1906, ior/r/15/1/478; Yacoub al-Ibrahim, personal correspondence, 2019. 9 John Calcott Gaskin to J. H. Pelly, 8 July 1895, ior/r/15/1/314; Frederick Wilson to the Secretary to the Government of India, 4 May 1895, ior/r/15/1/314. 10 Pelly to Wilson, 7 September 1895, ‘Bahrain, Précis of Zobara Affairs in 1895’, ior/r/15/1/314. 11 Lorimer, Gazetteer of the Arabian Gulf, ‘Précis of Katar Affairs, 1873–1904’, p. 45. 12 Ibid. 13 Francis Prideaux to Cox, 23 December 1905, ior/r/15/2/4. 14 Ibid. 15 ‘Administration Reports, 1905–1910’, p. 81, ior/15/1/710. 16 Prideaux to Jassim, 9 January 1906, ior/r/15/2/26. 17 Extracts from the reports of Youssef Kanoo, 2 August 1914, IOR/R/15/2/30. 18 Political Agent to Resident, 10 July 1910, ior/r/15/5/51; Jassim to Cox, 18 September 1906, ior/r/15/2/26. 19 Prideaux to Cox, 16 July 1905, ior/r/15/2/26. 20 Lorimer, Gazetteer, i/i, p. 833. 21 Al-Bu-Ainain settlement at Qasr-as-Sabaih’, ior/r/15/5/86. 22 Extracts from the reports of Youssef Kanoo, 13 May 1913 and 2 August 1914, IOR/R/15/2/30; Anie Montigny-Kozlowska, ‘Histoire et Changements Sociaux au Qatar’, in La Péninsule Arabique aujourd’hui, ed. Paul Bonnenfant, (Paris, 1982), p. 489. 23 fo memorandum, 29 July 1911, cited in John Craven Wilkinson, Arabia’s Frontiers: The Story of Britain’s Boundary Drawing in the Desert (London, 1991), p. 90. 24 Note on letter from Political Agent to Cox, 23 July 1913, ior/r/15/2/26. 25 Anie Montigny-Kozlowska, ‘Le Partage des bien d’un ancien ancien dirigeant de Qatar’, in Hériter en Pays Musulman, ed. Marceau Gast (Paris, 1987). 5  OF PEARLS AND SLAVES

1 J. G. Lorimer, Gazetteer of the Arabian Gulf, I/II, Historical (Calcutta, 1915), pp. 2256–9.

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M AS T ER S o f t he P E A R L

2 Ibid., p. 2221. 3 J. G. Lorimer, Gazetteer of the Arabian Gulf, Geographical and Statistical, II (Calcutta, 1908), p. 1532. 4 Jerzy Zdanowski, Slavery in the Gulf in the First Half of the 20th Century (Warsaw, 2008), pp. 24, 102. 5 Paul Harrison, The Arab at Home (New York, 1924), p. 93. 6 Robert Carter ‘The Origins of Doha: Historical and Global Context, Archaeological Discoveries’, www.originsofdoha.files.wordpress.com, 10 March 2015. 7 The estimate of £114,000 is based on an exchange rate of 1.5 rupees to the Maria Theresa dollar. The exchange rate varied during these years between 1.2 and 1.8 rupees, so the mean figure of 1.5 rupees was used, then converted to sterling and adjusted for inflation. 8 H. Burchardt, ‘Ost-Arabien von Basra bisMaskat auf GrundeigenerReisen’, Zeitschrift der GesellschaftfürErdkundezuBerlin (Berlin, 1906), cited in Carter, ‘The Origins of Doha and Qatar Project’. 9 Lorimer, Gazetteer, i/ii, p. 2220. 10 John Craven Wilkinson, personal correspondence, 2019. 11 ‘180 Administration Report 1918 & later’, 28 January 1919–5 May 1921, ior/r/15/2/951. 12 Alan Villiers, Sons of Sinbad: An Account of Sailing with the Arabs in Their Dhows [1940] (London, 2006), p. 317. 13 Mark Hobbs, ‘Divers are a Pearl’s Best Friend: Pearl Diving in the Gulf 1840s–1930s’, Qatar Digital Library, www.qdl.qa, accessed 15 January 2019; George Middleton, Annual Report, 28 December 1958, in Political Diaries of the Arab World, Arabian Gulf, 1947–58, ed. Robert L. Jarman (Farnham, 1998), p. 353. 14 William Gifford Palgrave, Personal Narrative of a Year’s Journey through Central and Eastern Arabia (London 1865), vol. ii, p. 232. 15 Cited in Rolf Killius, ‘Fann al-Bah.ri – The Great Art of the Sea’, British Library blog, www.qdl.qa, accessed 22 January 2019. 16 Masud bin Ali, 3 September 1932, cited in Jerzy Zdanowski, Speaking with Their Own Voices: The Stories of Slaves in the Persian Gulf in the 20th Century (Newcastle upon Tyne, 2014), p. 22. 17 ‘Administration Reports 1925–1930’, ior/r/15/1/714. 18 Bashir bin Farajullah, 11 March 1934, ior/r/15/1/209. 19 Abdullah al-Utaibi, 12 July 1933, cited in Zdanowski, Speaking with Their Own Voices, p. 23. 20 Faraj bin Ibrahim, 25 November 1937, ibid., p. 27. 21 Saed, 24 August 1932, ior 15/2/1825. 22 ‘Cases of Slaves Manumitted at Bahrain, Trucial Coast and Kuwait, 13 May 1921–18 January 1943’, ior r/15/1/207. 6  THE POLITICS OF PROTECTION

1 Percy Cox to Foreign (Government of India), 7 August 1913,

ior/r/15/2/31. 2 Cox to Foreign, 25 May 1913, ior/r/15/5/27; ‘El Katr, 1908–1916’, ior/l/ps/18/B402.

242

References

3 Cox to the Secretary to the Government of India, 4 November 1916, ior/l/ps/10/386. 4 Ibid.; Cox to Abdullah bin Jassim, 3 November 1916, ior/l/ps/18/B429; ‘Persian Gulf Katr Treaty’, ior/l/ps/10/386. 5 Arthur Prescott Trevor to D. de S. Bray (Government of India), 10 November 1922, cited in Rosemarie Said Zahlan, The Creation of Qatar (London, 1979), p. 79. 6 Ibid.; ‘The Trucial Chiefs, 1908–28’, ior/l/ps/18/B403. 7 ‘Administration Report, Bahrain, 1928’, ior/r/15/1/714. 8 Administration Reports, 1931–5, ior/r/15/1/715. 9 Kuwait Intelligence, September 1933, ior/l/ps/12/2115. 10 ‘Reports of K’, ior/r/15/2/924. 11 Zahlan, The Creation of Qatar, p. 98. The stationery was headed ‘Casim and Abdullah Derwish Fakhro’; ‘Reports of K’, ior/r/15/2/924. 12 Charles Mylles, Diary of a Visit to Qatar, bp Archive 135500. 13 Charles Burnett to Trenchard Fowle, 28 November 1933, ioR/15/1/627; John Craven Wilkinson, personal correspondence, 2019. 14 Mylles, Diary of a Visit to Qatar; Zahlan, The Creation of Qatar, p. 96. 15 Notes of a meeting with Sheikh Abdullah, 12 March 1934, ior/r/15/2/412. 16 Translation of a letter from Ibn Saud to Sheikh Abdullah, 6 August 1935, ior/l/ps/12/3848; Thani relations to Political Agent, 1 July 1938, ior/r/15/2/204. 17 F. E. Wellings, cited in Edgar Wesley Owen, Trek of the Oil Finders: A History of Exploration for Petroleum (Tulsa, ok, 1975), p. 1342. 18 Michael Field, The Merchants: Big Business Families of Arabia (London, 1984), p. 250. 19 ‘Junked’, Edward Birkbeck Wakefield to M.G.R.E. Tenth Army, 7 July 1942, IOR/R/15/2/729; ‘worst than miserable’, Razzaq, report of 12 November 1944, ior 15/2/143. 20 Fowle, telegram of 28 April 1937, ior/l/ps/12/3883. 21 Percy Gordon Loch to Fowle, 25 January 1936, ior/r/15/1/606. 22 Sheikh Abdullah to Fowle, 9 June 1937, ior/r/15/1/369. 23 Charles Belgrave, Personal Column (Beirut, 1960), p. 155. 24 Note of an interview with Belgrave, 1 July 1937, ior/r/15/2/203. 25 Cited in John Craven Wilkinson, Arabia’s Frontiers: The Story of Britain’s Boundary Drawing in the Desert (London, 1991), p. 220. 26 Abdullah bin Jassim to Fowle, 4 August 1939, ior/r/15/2/547. 7  THE QATARI WAY

1 Herbert Jakins to Basil Lermitte, 30 July 1949, ior/r/15/2/865.

2 ‘Bahrain Intelligence Summary’, ior/r/15/2/320. 3 Ibid. 4 The British Government of India disappeared with Indian independence in 1947, and its responsibilities for the Gulf were transferred to the Foreign Office in London. Members of the Indian Civil Service in the Gulf became members of the Diplomatic Service.

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The Political Residency was moved from Bushire to Bahrain, marking a political shift towards the Arabian side of the Gulf. 5 John Wilton, unpublished memoir, ‘Qatar and Sharjah, 1949–1952’, Special Collections, University of Exeter Library, Exeter. 6 Ibid. 7 Political Agent to Wilton, 2 October 1949, ior/r/15/2/1048; Wilton, Qatar Diary, 30 September–14 October 1950, in Robert L. Jarman, Political Diaries of the Arab World, Arabian Gulf (Farnham, 1998), vol. xviii, p. 436. 8 Roderic Owen, The Golden Bubble: Arabian Gulf Documentary (Kindle edition, 2017), p. 160. 9 Sir John Graham, interview in 2016, British Diplomatic Oral History Programme, Churchill College, Cambridge; the Political Agent was Christopher Ewart-Biggs, who was killed by an ira bomb in 1976. 10 John Craven Wilkinson, personal correspondence, 2019. 11 Geoffrey Bibby, Looking for Dilmun (New York, 1970), p. 118; Philip McKearney to J. R. Rich, 31 December 1964, FO 371/17465. 12 Rupert Hay to G. W. Furlonge, 14 June 1950, FO 371/82006; ‘Current Political Developments in Qatar’, M. R. Rutherford, 31 October 1950, both cited in in Simon C. Smith, Britain’s Revival and Fall in the Gulf (New York, 2013), p. 8. 13 Charles Denman, ‘Memories of Old Qatar’, Gulf Times, 19 January 2013. 14 George Middleton, Annual Report, 28 December 1958, in Jarman, Political Diaries, pp. 353–63. 15 Ibid. 16 Ibid. 17 Wilkinson, personal correspondence. 18 In 1958 there was talk of compromise, with Sheikh Ali abdicating in favour of Ahmad, whose share of the revenues would be divided with Khalifa in a 2:1 ratio, and Khalifa being named as Ahmad’s heir. But Khalifa refused to back down, relying on his grandfather’s written promise and figuratively waving the letter in the face of anyone who questioned his right to succeed Ali. 19 ‘Qatar: The Sheikh Steps Down’, Time, 7 November 1960; Yitzhak Oron, ed., Middle East Record, vol. i (1960), p. 406. 20 Derek Riches, 19 August 1958, FO 371/140064; M.C.G. Mann to R. A. Beaumont, 25 October 1960, FO 371/149172. 21 Donald Hawley, The Emirates: Witness to a Metamorphosis (London, 2007), p. 284. 22 A. Burdett, Records of Qatar, 1966–1971 (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 90–92. 23 Ranald Boyle, ‘Review of Events in Qatar, 1967’, ibid., p. 483. 24 Boyle, report of 21 March 1968, fco 8/723. 25 Hugh Boustead, Wind of the Morning: An Autobiography (London, 1971), p. 231. 26 Richard Schofield, ‘The Crystallisation of a Complex Territorial Dispute: Britain and the Saudi-Abu Dhabi Borderland, 1966–71’, Journal of Arabian Studies, i/1 (2011), p. 29.

244

References 8  STRANGE WONDERS

1 Roderic Owen, The Golden Bubble: Arabian Gulf Documentary

(Kindle edition, 2017), p. 171. 2 John Craven Wilkinson, personal correspondence, 2019. 3 Anh Nga Longva, Walls Built on Sand: Migration, Exclusion and Society in Kuwait (Boulder, co, 1997), p. 106. 4 Nasser al-Othman, With Their Bare Hands: The Story of the Oil Industry in Qatar (London, 1984), pp. 76–81, 90–95. 5 Helga Graham, Arabian Time Machine: Self Portrait of an Oil State (London, 1978), pp. 96–8. 6 Doctor Steele, cited in ‘Cures for Qataris: The First Hospital in Doha’, Origins of Qatar and Doha Project, www.originsofdoha.wordpress.com. 7 Mohammed al-Jaber, oral history in Muhammad Bin Jassim House, which is part of the Msheireb Museum. 8 Alan Villiers, Sons of Sinbad: An Account of Sailing with the Arabs in Their Dhows (London, 2006), p. 164. 9 Daniel Eddisford and Robert Carter, ‘Report on Architectural Recording and Archaeological Survey Undertaken at Nu’aija, Doha’, Origins of Doha and Qatar Project, May 2015. 10 David Lepeska, ‘Shifting a Paradigm in Doha’, The National, 1 January 2010. 11 Joyce Standring, notes to the author, February 2013. 12 Klaus Ferdinand, The Bedouins of Qatar (London, 1993), p. 78. 9  A STATE OF INDEPENDENCE

1 ‘Persian Gulf ’, P. S. Mews to Nicholls, 10 October 1969, National

Archives of the uk (tna), t 225/3404, cited in Simon C. Smith, ‘Britain’s Decision to Withdraw from the Persian Gulf: A Pattern Not a Puzzle’, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, xliv/2 (2016). 2 Ranald Boyle to Stewart Crawford, 29 February 1968, in A. Burdett, Records of Qatar, 1966–1971 (Cambridge, 2006), p. 345. 3 Rosemarie Said Zahlan, The Creation of Qatar (London, 1979), p. 14. 4 Edward Henderson to T. J. Everard, 23 June 1969, fco 8/919. 5 Geoffrey Arthur, ‘The Independence of Qatar’, 21 October 1971, fco 8/1724. 6 Henderson to J. L. Beaven, 21 February 1972, fco 8/1891. 7 ‘Coup d’état in Qatar’, 22 February 1972, fco 8/1892. 8 Ibid. 9 ‘Vacationing Ruler of Qatar Displaced by his Cousin in a Bloodless Uprising’, New York Times, 23 February 1972. 10 ‘Coup d’état in Qatar’, fco 8/1892. 11 Henderson to Beaven, 29 February 1972; ‘Coup d’état in Qatar’, fco 8/1892. 12 ‘Disputes within Qatar’s Ruling Family’, S. J. Berryman, August 1977, fco 8/3002. 13 D. G. Crawford to D. E. Tatham, 7 December 1977, ‘Internal Affairs of Qatar’, fco 8/3002.

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14 Andrew Killgore to Dept of State, 7 November 1979, www.wikileaks.org. 15 Muhammad Jabir al-Kubaisi, ‘Coming to Doha’, in Qatari Voices: A Celebration of New Writers, ed. Carol Henderson and Mohanalakshmi Rajakumar (Doha, 2010), p. 17. 16 Ibid. 17 Saad Rashid al-Matwi, ‘The Sidra Tree’, in Qatari Voices, p. 36. 10  OLD GHOSTS AND NEW REALITIES

1 Robert Paganelli to State Dept, 13 November 1976, www.wikileaks.org.

2 ‘ Arabia and the Gulf ’, 28 February 1977, fco 8/6354. 3 Andrew Killgore to Dept of State, 6 August 1979, www.wikileaks.org. 4 Paganelli to Dept of State, 24 October 1976, www.wikileaks.org. 5 Paganelli to Sec. of State, 13 November 1976, www.wikileaks.org. 6 Killgore to Dept of State, 6 August 1979, www.wikileaks.org. 7 D. L. Hardinge to J. P. Nason, 9 June 1977, fco 8/3002; Paganelli to Secretary of State, 13 November 1976, www.wikileaks.org. 8 Killgore to Dept of State, 11 October 1978, www.wikileaks.org; Killgore to Dept of State, 6 August 1979, www.wikileaks.org. 9 Killgore to Dept of State, 7 November 1979, www.wikileaks.org. 10 D. G. Crawford to D. E. Tatham, 7 December 1977, ‘Internal Affairs of Qatar’, fco 8/3002. 11 Julian Walker to Geoffrey Howe, ‘Qatar First Impressions’, 6 February 1985, fco 8/5962. 12 Ibid. 13 Ibid.. 14 Sarah Searight, ‘A Cautious Man with Total Power’, The Times, 12 November 1985. 15 ‘Gulf State of Qatar Gets Stinger Missiles’, International Herald Tribune, 29 June 1988. 16 ‘The Power Structure in Qatar’, June 1988; Patrick Nixon to J. A. Ashdown, 6 August 1988; Nixon, memorandum of December 1988, fco 8/7103; Allen J. Fromerz, Qatar: A Modern History (London, 2012), pp. 84–5; Helen Chapin Metz, ed., Persian Gulf States: A Country Study (1993), www.countrystudies.us, accessed 14 February 2019. 17 Ami Ayalon, ed., Middle East Contemporary Survey (Boulder, co, 1990), vol. xiv, p. 584. 18 Randeep Ramesh, ‘The Long-running Family Rivalries behind the Qatar Crisis’, The Guardian, 21 July 2017. 19 Sir Graham Boyce, ‘Qatar’s Foreign Policy’, Asian Affairs, xliv/3 (2013), pp. 365–77; interview with Charles E. Marthinsen, Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training Foreign Affairs (adst) Oral History Project, www.adst.org, 18 July 2003. 20 Interview with Marthinsen, ibid. 21 Boyce, ‘Qatar’s Foreign Policy’. 22 Ayalon, Middle East Contemporary Survey, pp. 237 and 658–60. 23 Ibid., pp. 660–62. 24 Boyce, ‘Qatar’s Foreign Policy’. 25 Ayalon, Middle East Contemporary Survey, pp. 660–62.

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References

26 Interview with Kenton W. Keith, www.adst.org, 4 June 1998. 27 Ibid. 28 Bruce Maddy-Weitzman, ed., Middle East Contemporary Survey (1995), vol. xix, p. 525. 29 Ibid. 30 Ian Black, ‘Wary Qatar Digs in for More Trouble’, The Guardian, 4 March 1996. 31 Mary Anne Weaver, ‘Revolution from the Top Down’, National Geographic, March 2003. 32 ‘Life Sentences for Qatari Coup Plotters’, bbc News, 29 February 2000. 33 Kathy Evans, ‘Saudi Ruler Ends Qatari Emirs Feud’, The Guardian, 16 September 1996. 34 Interview with Patrick Theros, www.adst.org, 25 April 2002; ‘New Details Revealed on 1996 Coup Attempt Against Qatar’, Al Jazeera, 4 March 2018. 35 Simeon Kerr, ‘Man in the News: Hamad bin Jassim Al Thani’, Financial Times, 27 June 2008. 36 Reuters, 10 October 1995, cited in Maddy-Weitzman, Middle East Contemporary Survey, vol. xix, p. 527. 37 Ayalon, Middle East Contemporary Survey, vol. xvi, p. 665. 38 Allen J. Fromerz, Qatar: A Modern History (London, 2012), pp. 146–7; Ramesh, ‘The Long-running Family Rivalries behind the Qatar Crisis’. 39 icj proceedings, 8 June 2000, p. 11; icj Order of 17 February 1999, www.icj-cij.org, accessed 27 February 2019; John Craven Wilkinson personal correspondence, 2019.. 40 ‘Court Ruling Ushers in Hopes for Warmer Ties Between Qatar and Bahrain’, Agence France Presse, 16 March, 2001. 41 ‘Qatar Steps up Arrests of Bahrain-based Fishermen’, Reuters, 5 June 2010. 42 Ali al-Qattan, ‘Bahraini Documents Reveal Historic Al Khalifa Rule of Peninsula’, Asharq al-Awsat, 1 July 2018. 11  SHADES OF POWER

1 Interview with Patrick Theros, www.adst.org, 25 April 2002.

2 ‘Key Trends in Qatar over the Next 36 Months – An Update’, Joseph LeBaron to Washington, www.wikileaks.org, 24 March 2009. 3 ‘Scene Setter for December 18 Gulf Security Dialogue with Qatar’, Michael Ratney to Sec. of State, www.wikileaks.org, 12 December 2007. 4 Joseph Nye, The Powers to Lead: Soft, Hard, and Smart (Oxford, 2008). 5 Jamal Abdullah, ‘Analysis: Qatar’s Foreign Policy – the Old and the New’, Al Jazeera, 21 November 2014. 6 Bruce Maddy-Weitzman, Middle East Contemporary Survey (1997), vol. xxi, p. 606. 7 ‘Ras Laffan – Qatar’s “Gas Capital of the World”’, Business Times, 27 February 2017. 8 Cited in Andrew Hammond, ‘Qatar’s Leadership Transition: Like Father, Like Son’, European Council on Foreign Relations, briefing

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paper, www.ecfr.eu, February 2014; Sir Graham Boyce, ‘Qatar’s Foreign Policy’, Asian Affairs, xliv/3 (2013). 9 Ciar Burne, ‘Kuwait Shuts Down Al-Jazeera Bureau’, The Guardian, 5 November 2002. 10 ‘Senator Kerry’s Meeting with Qatar’s Prime Minister’, LeBaron to Sec. of State, www.wikileaks.org, 24 February 2011; Boyce, ‘Qatar’s Foreign Policy’. 11 Albright to Dept of State, ‘Views on Qatar-Saudi Meeting, Qatar’s Ties with the uae’, 22 June 2004; ‘MBZ’s Views on Iraq Compact, Hezbollah and Al Jazeera’, www.wikileaks.org, 31 July 2006. 12 Robert F. Worth, ‘Qatar, Playing All Sides, is a Nonstop Mediator’, New York Times, 9 July 2008. 13 Kemrava Mehran, ‘Mediation and Qatari Foreign Policy’, Middle East Journal, September 2011; Kristian Ulrichsen, email to the author, 23 July 2019. 14 Ereli to Sec. State for Defence, ‘Bahrain’s King Hamad Concerned about Qatar, gcc Unity’, www.wikileaks.org, 18 January 2010. 15 Cited in Damien Whitworth, ‘Where’s Qatar? We’ll Soon Know’, The Times, 23 January 2003; Boyce, ‘Qatar’s Foreign Policy’. 16 Christopher Phillips, The Battle for Syria: International Rivalry in the New Middle East (New Haven, ct, 2016), pp. 135–6. 17 ‘Key Trends in Qatar over the Next 36 Months – An Update’, LeBaron to Washington, www.wikileaks.org, 24 March 2009; Kenneth Katzman, ‘Qatar: Governance, Security, and u.s. Policy’, Congressional Research Service, 4 October 2018, p. 4. 18 Arthur, ‘The Independence of Qatar’, 21 October 1971, fco 8/1724. 19 Interview with Patrick Theros, www.adst.org, 25 April 2002. 20 Boyce, ‘Qatar’s Foreign Policy’. 21 Sara Hamdan, ‘Broadcasting Provocative Debate from an Island of Free Speech’, New York Times, 8 June 2011. 22 Carla Power, ‘Hillary Clinton, Stand Aside’, Newsweek, 11 October 2003. 23 James M. Dorsey, ‘Qatari Wahhabism vs Saudi Wahhabism and the Perils of Top-down Change’, Huff Post, www.huffpost.com, 12 April 2017. 24 Interview with Patrick Theros, www.adst.org, 25 April 2002. 25 Allen J. Fromerz, Qatar: A Modern History (London, 2012), p. 93; Michael Ratney to Sec. of State, ‘Qatar Forges its own Wahhabi Path’, 8 November 2007 www, wikileaks.org. 26 Ibid. 27 David French, ‘Exclusive – Qatar’s Secretive Sovereign Fund to Restructure, Say Sources’, Reuters, 16 June 2015. 28 Stephen Adams, ‘Prince of Wales’s Emotional Chelsea Barracks Letter Revealed’, The Telegraph, 24 June 2010. 29 Worth, ‘Qatar, Playing All Sides’. 30 ‘Qatar Celebrates World Cup Bid Win’, Al Jazeera, 4 December 2010; Jamie Jackson, ‘Qatar Wins 2022 World Cup Bid’, The Guardian, 2 December 2010. 31 ‘Qatar in Black Ops Plot to Poison Rival World Cup Bids’, The Times, 29 July 2018.

248

References

32 Matthew Dickinson, ‘Never Mind the Ballots, Qatar Farce Must End’, The Times, 16 November 2016. 33 Only those earning more than 10,000 Qatari riyals (£1,775) a month could bring in their families. 34 Pete Pattison, ‘Revealed: The World Cup’s “Slaves”’, The Guardian, 25 September 2013. 35 Rebecca Ratcliffe, ‘Qatar Law Change Hailed as Milestone for Migrant Workers in World Cup Run-up’, The Guardian, 6 September 2018; Saeed Kamali Dehghan, ‘Qatar Eases Exit Rules but Concerns Linger over Abuse of Domestic Workers’, The Guardian, 23 January 2020. 36 Conor P. O’Brien, ‘Skin-deep Style’, The Times, 2 September 1977. 37 Justin Marozzi, Islamic Empires: Fifteen Cities That Define a Civilization (Kindle edition, 2019), pp. 362–7. 38 Abdullah Baabood, ‘Qatar’s Resilience Strategy and Implications for State–Society Relations’, pp. 14–15, December 2017, Istituto Affari Internazionali. 12  THEATRE OF THE DAMNED

1 Hamed A. Hamed, ‘Islamic Religion in Qatar During the Twentieth

Century: Personnel and Institutions’, PhD thesis, University of Manchester, 1993, p. 120; Madeleine Bunting, ‘Friendly Fire’, The Guardian, 29 October 2005. 2 Interview with Patrick Theros, www.adst.org, 25 April 2002; Untermeyer, ‘Qaradawi Viewed Locally as a Moderate Scholar’, www.wikileaks.org, 12 July 2005; Sudarsan Raghavan and Joby Warrick, ‘How a 91-year-old Imam Came to Symbolize the Feud between Qatar and its Neighbours’, Washington Post, 27 June 2017. 3 Maureen Quinn to Sec. of State, www.wikileaks.org, 15 October 2005. 4 Cited in Andrew Hammond, ‘Qatar’s Leadership Transition: Like Father, Like Son’, European Council on Foreign Relations, briefing paper, www.ecfr.eu, February 2014. 5 Interview with Richard W. Murphy, www.adst.org, 6 December 2017. 6 ‘ Transcript: Emir’s Speech’, Al Jazeera, 25 June 2013. 7 ‘Qatar’s Emir Transfers Power to Son’, Al Jazeera, 25 June 2013; ‘Who is Qatar’s Emir?’ Al Jazeera, 5 June 2017. 8 Hammond, ‘Qatar’s Leadership Transition’. 9 Jim Sciutto and Jeremy Herb, ‘Exclusive: The Secret Documents that Help Explain the Qatar Crisis’, CNN, 11 July 2017. 10 Habib Toumi, ‘gcc Endured its Worst Diplomatic Crisis in 2014’, Gulf News, 27 December 2014. 11 Paul Wood, ‘Billion Dollar Ransom: Did Qatar Pay Record Sum?’ bbc News, Doha, 17 July 2018. 12 Robert F. Worth, ‘Kidnapped Royalty Become Pawns in Iran’s Deadly Plot’, New York Times Magazine, 14 March 2018. 13 Dexter Filkins, ‘The Shadow Commander’, New Yorker, 30 September 2013. Qassim Suleimani was killed in a u.s. drone strike in January 2020. 14 Wood, ‘Billion Dollar Ransom’.

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15 Ibid. 16 ‘The Online War between Qatar and Saudi Arabia’, bbc News, 3 June 2018. 17 Yolande Knell, ‘Qatar Cash and Cows Help Buck Gulf Boycott’, bbc News, 5 June 2018. 18 Sudarsan Raghavan and Joby Warrick, ‘How a 91-year-old Imam Came to Symbolize the Feud between Qatar and its Neighbors’. 19 Anne Gadel and Mourad el-Bouanani, ‘MbS and MbZ: Two Princes in a Hurry Shake up the Gulf ’, New Arab, 27 April 2018. 20 Donald Trump, Twitter, 6 June 2017; Jon Swaine, ‘Jared Kushner Challenged on Conflicts of Interest by Trump Aides, Book Claims’, The Guardian, 13 March 2019; Kristian Coates Ulrichsen, ‘The Qatar Standoff and u.s. Interests’, E-International Relations, www.e-ir.info, 11 August 2017. 21 Bethan McKernan, ‘Qatar Crisis: Saudi Arabia Insists Gulf Country Must Meet its Demands “Soon”’, Independent, 7 June 2017. 22 Josh Lederman, ‘Trump Extols Qatar on Anti-terror, Reversing Past Critique’, AP News, 10 April 2018. 23 Kristian Coates Ulrichsen, ‘Qatari Emir’s Timely Visit to Washington’, Lobelog, 9 July 2019. 24 Aya Batrawy, ‘Gulf Feud Hits New Low with Proposal to Make Qatar an Island’, Canadian Press, 9 April 2018. 25 Kristian Coates Ulrichsen, Qatar and the Arab Spring (Oxford, 2014), p. 145. 26 Geoffrey Arthur, ‘The Independence of Qatar’, 21 October 1971, fco 8/1724. 27 ‘Trump Praises Qatar’s Efforts on Combating Terrorist Financing’, bbc News, 11 April 2018. 28 ‘fifa Shelves Plan to Expand 2022 World Cup to 48 Teams’, Al Jazeera, www.aljazeera.com, 23 May 2019. 29 Robin Pogrebin, ‘Qatari Riches are Buying Art World Influence’, New York Times, 22 July 2013. 30 Hasan Hasan, ‘Qatar Won the Saudi Blockade’, Foreign Policy, 4 June 2018, www.foreignpolicy.com’; ‘Trump Says Khashoggi Murder “Worst Cover-up in History”’, bbc News, 24 October 2018. EPILOGUE

1 Sean Ingle, ‘Dire in Doha: World Championships “Catastrophe” Leaves Athletics Reeling’, The Guardian, 30 September 2019.

250

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Althani, Mohamed A. J., Jassim the Leader: Founder of Qatar (London, 2012) Anscombe, Frederick F., The Ottoman Gulf: The Creation of Kuwait, Saudi Arabia and Qatar (New York, 1997) Carter, Robert A., Sea of Pearls: Seven Thousand Years of the Industry that Shaped the Gulf (2012) Crystal, Jill, Oil and Politics in the Gulf: Rulers and Merchants in Kuwait and Qatar (Cambridge, 1990) Ferdinand, Klaus, The Bedouins of Qatar (London, 1993) Fromerz, Allen J., Qatar: A Modern History (London, 2017) Henderson, Carol, and Mohanalakshmi Rajakumar, eds, Qatari Voices: A Celebration of New Writers (Doha, 2010) Kechichian, Joseph A., Power and Succession in Arab Monarchies: A Reference Guide (Boulder, co, 2008) Kurşun, Zekeriyah, The Ottomans in Qatar (Istanbul, 2002) Lorimer, John Gordon, Gazetteer of the Persian Gulf, Oman and Central Arabia, i and ii (Calcutta, 1915 and 1908 respectively) al-Othman, Nasser,With Their Bare Hands: Story of the Oil Industry in Qatar (London 1984) Rahman, Habibur, The Emergence of Qatar (New York) Slot, B. J., The Arabs of the Gulf, 1602–1784 (Leidschendam, 1993) Ulrichsen, Kristian Coates, Qatar and the Arab Spring (Oxford, 2014) Wilkinson, John Craven, Arabia’s Frontiers:The Story of Britain’s Boundary Drawing in the Desert (London, 1991) Zahlan, Rosemarie Said, The Creation of Qatar (London, 1979) Zdanowski, Jerzy, Speaking with Their Own Voices: The Stories of Slaves in the Persian Gulf in the Twentieth Century (Newcastle upon Tyne, 2014)

251

Acknowledgements

Having lived in the Dukhan oil camp in the 1950s hardly qualifies me to write a history of Qatar, for most of my memories of the country are childhood ones. Since then, however, I have acquired a degree of knowledge of Gulf history through my research and writing about the region, and the advice and assistance I received from those with knowledge and experience of Qatar and the Gulf has greatly helped me to write this book. There are few books about Qatar that take in the full sweep of its history, from earliest to modern times; there are those that deal with Sheikh Jassim and the creation of Qatar, and others that deal with the current situation. It seemed to me that many of those books had missed an opportunity to trace the historical themes into the present day. For the early history, I am grateful to the advice of Yacoub al-Ibrahim, a Kuwaiti historian who shared his vast knowledge of nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Qatar, made suggestions on the detail, particularly for the period of Sheikh Jassim’s rule, and helped me to see historical events through an Arab lens. For the modern era, Sir Graham Boyce, the uk ambassador to Qatar from 1990 to 1993, was most generous in reading and commenting on my manuscript, and providing a copy of his 2013 article ‘Qatar’s Foreign Policy’ from Asian Affairs. I was also fortunate to benefit from the wealth of knowledge and experience of Dr John Craven Wilkinson, who worked for the same company, the Iraq Petroleum Company, as my father and is the author of Arabia’s Frontiers: The Story of Britain’s Boundary Drawing in the Desert. Dr Kristian Ulrichsen, the author of several books about Qatar and the Gulf, kindly read and commented on the last two chapters of my book. I would like to thank the staff of the National Archives and the British Library for their help and assistance, and also the Qatar Digital Library Project, which allowed me to remotely access India Office records and spared me many train journeys to St Pancras. The bp Archive in Warwick (bp was a partner in qpc) provided several images for the book, and I am indebted to Joanne Burman, who has been unfailing in her support. I am most grateful to the Kent County Council Library service, which enabled me to obtain many books on Gulf history and, through their electronic resources section, allowed me to access a wide range of historical newspapers and journals.

252

Acknowledgements

Last though not least, I would like to thank my brother Peter for reading and commenting on the manuscript, my wife Gill for her love and encouragement, and my late father, whose tales of the desert first sparked my interest in the Middle East.

253

Photo Acknowledgements

The author and publishers wish to express their thanks to the below sources of illustrative material and/or permission to reproduce it. Antiqua Print Gallery/Alamy Stock Photo: p. 47; Art of Travel/Alamy Stock Photo: p. 36; photos bp (British Petroleum) Archive, University of Warwick, Coventry: pp. 90, 109, 117, 121, 124, 136, 143, 147, 149, 212; photos bpk/Ethno­ logisches Museum, smb/Hermann Burchardt: pp. 55, 68; photo Diego Delso: p. 51; John Engel/Alamy Stock Photo: p. 23; photo Mohamod Fasil: p. 158; photo Staff Sgt. Derrick C. Goode, u.s. Air Force: p. 185; from Illustrated London News, photo Mary Evans Picture Library: p. 130; photos iStock by Getty Images: pp. 27 (typhoonski), 201 (Cylonphoto); Barry Iverson/Alamy Stock Photo: p. 39; Keystone Press/Alamy Stock Photo: p. 154; Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, dc: p. 93; photo Gary McGovern: p. 62; Middle East Centre Archive, St Antony’s College, Oxford (Jill Brown Collection, gb165-0553): p. 168; photo Dr Colleen Morgan/Origins of Doha Project: p. 44; Michael Quentin Morton: pp. 8, 9, 10, 32, 139, 164, 215; photo Naval History and Heritage Command: p. 76; nasa Image Library: p. 16; Christine Osborne Pictures/Alamy Stock Photo: p. 161; photo William Tracy and Gian Luigi Scarfiotti/Saudi Aramco World Digital Image Archive (sawdia): p. 80; Qatar Digital Library: pp. 85, 101, 112; photo Alexey Sergeev: p. 224; photo W.H.I. Shakespear/Royal Geographical Society: p. 59; photos Shutterstock.com: pp. 21 (cpaulfell), 72 (Nico Traut), 172 (Philip Lange), 179 (Alizada Studios), 220 (ibrar.kunri); Edmund Sumner–view/Alamy Stock Photo: p. 97; from Bertram Thomas, Arabia Felix: Across the Empty Quarter of Arabia (London, 1932), photo courtesy Royal Geographical Society: p. 105; photos United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (unctad): pp. 177, 196; photos u.s. Department of State: pp. 192, 209 (Alexander W. Riedel); photos courtesy John Craven Wilkinson: pp. 133, 181; photo Liam Wyatt: p. 188. Mohamod Fasil, the copyright holder of the image on p. 158, has published it online under conditions imposed by a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0

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Photo Acknowledgements

Generic License. United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (unctad), the copyright holder of the images on pp. 177 and 196, has published them online under conditions imposed by a Creative Commons AttributionShareAlike 2.0 Generic License. Diego Delso, the copyright holder of the image on p. 51, and Liam Wyatt, the copyright holder of the image on p. 188, have published them online under conditions imposed by a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Readers are free to: Share – copy and redistribute the material in any medium or format. Adapt – remix, transform, and build upon the material for any purpose, even commercially. Under the following terms: Attribution – You must give appropriate credit, provide a link to the license, and indicate if changes were made. You may do so in any reasonable manner, but not in any way that suggests the licensor endorses you or your use. ShareAlike – If you remix, transform, or build upon the material, you must distribute your contributions under the same license as the original.

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Index

Page numbers in italic refer to illustrations Abdulhammid ii (Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, 1876–1909) 67, 78, 232 Abdullah al-Utaibi 93 Abdullah bin Jaluwi (‘Ibn Jaluwi’) 103, 106, 133 Abdullah bin Muhammad al-Othman 188 Abu Dhabi, relations with 18, 35, 44–5, 59–63, 88, 132–3, 153, 155 Abu Dhalouf 62, 77 Abdullah al-Missned 128, 129 Adel al-Jubeir 217 Ahl Shimal tribes 42, 47, 111, 114, 235 Ahmad bin Rizq 22, 226 Ahmad bin Salman 76 Ajman tribe 58, 59, 76 Al Attiyah tribe 175, 202 Al bin Ali tribe 25, 35, 37, 69–71, 186 Al bu Ainain tribe 34, 35, 38, 77, 202 Al bu Kuwara tribe 38, 41, 44, 47, 58, 77, 114, 126, 202, 203 Al Hunaynia 36 Al Jassra 108, 144 Al Jazeera 178, 186–8, 191, 208, 210, 227 Al Jemail 29, 32 Al Khalifa dynasty 22 Abdullah bin Ahmad 33, 34–7, 226, 230 Ahmad bin Khalifa 24–6, 230

Ahmad bin Muhammad 230 Ahmad bin Muhammad al-Fatih 24–6, 230 Ali bin Khalifa bin Salman (ruler 1868–9) 35, 36, 42, 48, 230 Hamad bin Isa bin Ali (ruler 1932–42) 110, 113 Hamad bin Isa bin Salman (ruler 1999–present) 181 Isa bin Ali (ruler 1869–1932) 54, 69–70, 77, 230 Khalifa al-Kabir 22 Khalifa bin Muhammad 24 Mubarak bin Abdullah 37, 42, 230 Muhammad bin Khalifa al-Kabir 22, 226, 230 Muhammad bin Khalifa bin Salman (ruler 1843–68, 1869) 35–7, 42, 45–6, 226, 230 Nasr bin Mubarak 37, 54, 56, 69, 74, 230 Al Khor 17, 18, 19, 40, 49, 54, 62, 128, 140, 223 Al Khufus incident 173, 227 Al Maktoum dynasty Rashid bin Said 153, 233 Al Murrah tribe 43, 60, 147, 148, 149, 178, 217 Al Nahyan dynasty Zayed bin Khalifa (‘Zayed the Great’) 57, 59–63, 231

256

Index

Zayed bin Sultan 133, 134, 153, 155, 231 Shakhbut bin Sultan 132, 231 Mohammed bin Zayed (‘MBZ’) 187, 216, 231 Al Sabah dynasty 22 Abdullah bin Sabah 48, 231 Mubarak bin Sabah 72, 231 Sabah al-Ahmad 209, 231 Al Saud dynasty 20 Abdul Aziz bin Abdul Rahman (Ibn Saud) 69, 73–4, 79, 98, 99–104, 106–7, 111, 114, 131, 227, 231 Abdul Rahman bin Faisal 69, 79 Abdullah bin Faisal 48, 231 Faisal bin Turki 42, 232 Faisal bin Abdul Aziz 153, 155 Mohammed bin Salman (‘MBS’) 216 Faisal bin Turki 42, 226, 232 Saud bin Abdul Aziz 26 Saud bin Faisal 49, 50, 232 Al Saya, Battle of 37 Al Shamal 160–61 Al Thani dynasty 13, 40, 202 Abdul Aziz bin Ahmad 156, 157, 228 Abdul Aziz bin Khalifa 163, 165, 175, 228 Abdul Rahman bin Mohammed 128, 130–31 Abdullah bin Jassim (ruler 1913–49) 75–7, 96, 98, 101–6, 105, 110–14, 115–16, 227, 228 Abdur Rahman bin Jassim 77, 99 Ahmad bin Ali (ruler 1960–72) 56, 121, 124–5, 127–9, 130, 131, 152, 156–7, 205, 227, 228 Ahmad bin Muhammad 73–5, 227, 228 Ahmed bin Jassim bin Mohammed 187 Ali bin Abdullah (ruler 1949–60) 116, 117, 118–27, 131–2, 135, 138, 141, 142, 144, 227, 228

Ali bin Jassim 60–61, 227 Hamad bin Abdullah (crown prince c. 1940–48) 104, 108–9, 116, 121, 122, 227, 229 Hamad bin Jassim bin Hamad 158, 176, 177, 178, 229 Hamad bin Jassim bin Jabir Al Thani (‘HBJ’) 174, 175, 179, 184, 186, 187, 189, 190–92, 198, 207, 208, 229, 11.3 Hamad bin Khalifa (amir 1995– 2013) 165, 170–171, 174–6, 178–98, 192, 205, 207, 208, 219, 227, 229 Hamad bin Suhaym 171 Jassim bin Muhammad (ruler 1876–1913) 44–5, 49, 52–63, 66–73, 74–6, 79, 156, 188, 226, 227, 229 Khalifa bin Hamad (amir 1972–95) 121–2, 124–5, 127–8, 132, 152, 153, 154, 156–60, 163, 167–9, 174–5, 178, 184–5, 227, 229 Khalifa bin Jassim 77 Mohammed bin Abdul Rahman 211, 212 Mozah bint Nasser Al Missned, Sheikha 146, 175, 177, 190, 193, 194, 229 Muhammad bin Thani (head of Doha confederation 1850–76) 41–2, 44, 46, 47, 49, 50, 53, 83, 226, 227, 229 Nasir bin Khalid (head of the Bani Khalid), 229 Narir bin Hamad 127 Saud bin Abdur Rahman 115 Suhaym bin Hamad 163–6, 229 Sultan bin Suhaym 217 Tamim bin Hamad (amir 2013– present) 190, 205, 207–8, 209, 209, 214–17, 215, 220, 222, 227, 229 Thani (founder) 40 Al Udaid airbase 183–4, 185, 188, 227 Ali bin Thamir 44 Amamera tribe 71, 186 Anglo Ottoman Convention (1913) 78, 98, 227

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Anglo-Persian Oil Company 103–4, 108, 227 Aqariyah 48 Arab Spring, 182, 188, 191, 206, 209, 218, 227 Arabian Gulf 15–16 Aramco 135 Arbilli, Sabah 224 Arthur, Sir Geoffrey 155, 156, 193, 219 Bahrain, relations with 11–13, 18, 24, 25–6, 28, 31, 32, 34–8, 42–5, 46, 48, 50, 54, 190, 207, 214 see also Hawar Islands and Zubarah Bang, Jette 147 Bani Hajir tribe 40, 54, 57, 58, 66, 69, 72, 73, 75, 76 Bani Khalid (section of the Al Thani) 130 Bani Khalid tribe 23, 26, 33 Bani Tamim tribal confederation 19, 20, 65, 226 Banyans 49, 56, 57, 86, 100 Barrett, Colonel Cyril Charles 103 Barzan Holdings 219 Bashir bin Farajullah 93 Basra 226 Belgrave, Charles 11 Bida’a 37–40, 43, 226 Bin Jelmoud House 94, 96, 97 Bishr bin Rahma al-Jalahimah 33, 36 border disputes 111, 131–4, 173–4 Boyce, Sir Graham 174, 187 Boyle, Ranald 129, 131 Brucks, George 26, 38, 41 Bu Draeyah 17 Buckingham, James Silk 31 Buhur bin Jubran 34 Burchardt, Hermann 55, 68, 87 Cochrane, Ronald (Muhammad Mahdi) 119, 120, 122, 123, 127, 130, 138, 152, 159 Cox, Major Percy 62, 76, 98, 99–100, 104 Daly, Major Clive 102 Damisah, Battle of 45

Darwish, Abdullah 108, 109, 118, 120, 123, 124, 232 Darwish, Abdur Rahman 125 democracy 179–80 Denman, Charles 120 Doha 34, 37–40, 43–4, 44, 45, 73, 101, 124, 142–6, 143, 149, 149, 160–62, 164, 222–5, 224, 226 Doha Council 129 Douglas-Home, Sir Alec (Lord Home) 130 Dukhan oil camp 14, 115, 123, 148 Dukhan oilfield 108, 135, 136, 138–40, 147, 227 education 140–41, 193–5 Egypt, relations with 207, 214 Fasht Bu Saafa 132 Fasht al-Dibal 170 Ferdinand, Klaus 147 fifa World Cup (2022) 12, 199–201, 227 Fowle, Lieutenant-Col. Trenchard 100, 105, 106, 110, 111, 114 Fuwairat 19, 34, 37, 40, 41, 52, 58, 62, 77, 83, 112, 137 Fuwairat, Battle of 37 Gaskin, John 70, 76 Gaza 191–2 Ghanim al-Kuwari 166 Ghariyah 58, 59, 111, 112 Greater Bahrain 18 Gulf Aviation 124, 146 Gulf Co-Operation Council (gcc) 169, 170, 174, 176, 179, 182, 190, 192, 207, 209, 210 Gulf War (1990–91) 171–2, 183, 227 Hafiz Mehmet Pasha 66–7, 232 Halul Island 82, 132, 137 Hamad al-Attiya 123, 128 Hancock, Geoffrey 120, 125, 126, 127 Harrison, Paul 86 Hawar Islands 110, 112, 114, 132, 152, 170, 180, 182, 227 Hay, Sir Rupert 115, 116, 119, 120

258

Index

healthcare 141–2 Henderson, Edward 156, 157 Henderson, Ian 152 Hennell, Lt-Col. Samuel 41 Hezbollah 189, 213, 214 Hickinbotham, Captain Tom 111 hms Lapwing 76, 76 Holmes, Major Frank 104 Huwailah 23, 35, 226 Ibn Rashid of Jebel Shammar 61, 72 Ibrahim bin Ufaysan 26 Ibrahim Fawzi Pasha 69 Ibrahim Pasha 26 International Court of Justice (icj) 180, 227 Iran, relations with 13, 133, 152, 153, 169, 172–3, 184, 189, 190, 213, 216, 218, 219 Iran–Iraq War (1980–88) 169, 227 Iraq 126, 128, 149, 169, 171, 183, 199, 210 Isa bin Tarif 35, 37, 69, 226, 232 Jakins, Herbert 116 Jassim bin Jabir (Raqraqi) 38, 41 Jebel Dukhan 109, 110, 111 Jebel Jassasiya 36 Jebel Nakhsh 111 kafala system 12, 119, 138, 201–2, 235 Kamil, Dr Hassan 127, 132, 152, 155–6, 232 Kataib Hezbollah 211 Katara Heritage Village 222 Kerry, John 12, 192 Keyes, Major Terence 98–9 Khalid al-Attiyah 208 Khalifah al-Attiyah 123 Khanfar, Wadah 187 Khashoggi, Jamal 221 Khomeini, Ayatollah Ruhollah 173 Khor al-Udaid 15, 49, 54, 59–63, 62, 73, 132–4, 223 Khor Hassan (Khuwair) 26, 29, 30, 31, 35, 45, 46, 77 kidnap of Qatari hunting party (2015–16) 210–14 Killgore, Andrew 166, 167

Kokichi Mikimoto 88 Kushner, Jared 216 Kuwait 22, 30, 37, 54, 65, 72, 77, 129, 169, 171, 176, 181, 186, 187, 226 LeBaron, Joseph 192 Lees, George Martin 104, 109 Liwa Oasis 61, 64 Loch, Lieutenant-Col. Percy Gordon 105 Lock, Ronald 159 Lorimer, John Gordon 22, 23, 31, 34, 37, 42, 69, 73, 82, 83, 86, 87 Ma’adhid tribe 19–21, 40, 226 MacLeod, Captain John 38 Madinat al-Khalifa 160–61 Mahmoud al-Jaidah 210 Manasir tribe 38, 41, 43, 58, 66 Mann, M.C.G. 127 Manners, Lieutenant Fredrick 41 Mansour bin Khalil al-Hajiri 107–8, 109, 132 Martini-Henri rifle 61, 64, 65, 66, 67 Masud bin Ali 91 Midhat Pasha 48 Mohammed Rashid al-Ajami 192 Morsi, Mohamed 206, 207, 208 Morton, D. M. (‘Mike’) 14 Msheireb 50, 61, 82, 138, 142–5, 222 Mubarak, Hosni 174, 187 Muhammad al-Maktoor 25 Muhammad al-Manah 105 Muhammad al-Uthman 118, 121, 122, 123 Muhammad bin Abdul Wahhab (Qatar) 58–9, 232 Muhammad bin Jelmoud 94, 95 Muhammad bin Khamis 34 Muhammad bin Said al-Kuwara 41, 44, 232 Muhammad ibn Abd al-Wahhab (Nejd) 20, 79, 232 Musallam fort (Al Kut) 39, 49, 50, 51, 53, 98 Musallam tribe 23, 24, 41, 227 Muslim Brotherhood 141, 191, 205, 206–7, 209, 210, 214

259

M AS T ER S o f t he P E A R L

Nafiz Pasha 48 Naim tribe 11, 26, 38, 44, 45, 46, 47, 54, 56, 110–13, 147–9, 226 Nasser al-Khairi 35 Nasr al-Mathkoor 24, 25 Nasser bin Abdullah al-Missned 129, 175 Nasser, Gamal 122, 126, 141 National Unity Front 128, 175, 227 National Vision (2030) 203 Nejd 19–21, 24, 48, 49 Nixon, Patrick 171 North Field 137, 169, 172–3, 184, 185, 218 Nye, Joseph 184 O’Brien, Conor 202 Oil Company House 138, 139 oil industry 107–9, 135–40, 136, 147, 150 Oman 18, 24, 26, 28–9, 31–2, 91, 92, 149, 169 Omer Bey, Major 50 Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (opec) 129, 137 Ottoman troops 51, 68 Ottomans in Qatar 48–63, 66–71, 68 Paganelli, Robert 164 Palgrave, William 13, 42–4, 52, 226 pearl trade 13, 14, 16, 19, 22, 34, 40, 59, 82–91, 85, 90, 102, 108, 117, 138, 150, 169 Pearl-Qatar, The 10, 90 Pelly, Captain J.H. 70 Pelly, Col. Lewis 45–6 Petroleum Development (Qatar) Ltd (pdq) 108–9, 118, 136, 141, 227 piracy 31, 47, 51 Plant, Captain Phillip 119–20 Prideaux, Captain Francis 74, 77 Qalat al-Askar 50, 51, 98 see also Musallam Fort (Al Kut) Qassim al-Araji 213 Qatar Foundation 194, 195

Qatar Investment Authority (qia) 189, 198–9, 208, 219, 227 Qatar National Convention Centre 161, 196 Qatar National Day 72, 158, 172 Qatar National Museum 52, 80, 220, 222 Qatar News Agency 214 Qatar Petroleum Company Ltd (qpc) 133, 136 Qatarization 203 Quartet, The 214–21, 218, 227 Qubaisat tribe 59–60 Rafsanjani, Akbar 173 Rahma bin Jabir al-Jalahimah 29–33, 226, 233 Rashid bin Muhammad al-Jabir 110 Rawdat al-Araij 72 Reid, Sir Edward 120 religion 18, 140–41, 195–7, 205 Roberts, Goronwy 151 Ross, Lt-Col. Edward 56–8, 62 Rusk, Dean 153 Ruwais 21, 34, 62, 69, 77 Saddam Hussein 171, 172, 183 Saleh al-Manah 108, 117, 118, 233 Salman bin Faraj 95 Salwa 15 Salwa Island Project 15, 218 Saudi Arabia, relations with 12–13, 125, 131–4, 153, 155, 169, 170, 173–4, 176, 178–9, 180, 184, 185, 187, 190, 191, 206–10, 209, 214, 216–18, 220–21 Sayyid Said bin Sultan 26, 32, 37 Seton, Captain David 38 Shell Oil Company 136–7 Sheraton Hotel, Doha 164, 166 slavery 91–7, 93, 100, 119, 137 sport 199–200 see also fifa World Cup (2022) Standard Oil of California (SoCal) 104, 106 Stannus, Colonel Ephraim 33 Sudan tribe 37, 38, 41, 56, 87, 202, 203 Suez Canal 64, 122, 219

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Index

Suez Crisis (1956) 122, 128, 138, 227 Suleimani, Qassim 212 Sultan bin Muhammad bin Salamah 69, 71, 233 Sumaisma 47 Sumaisma, Battle of 24, 226 Superior Oil of California 136 Suq Waqif 39, 145, 149, 222 Syria 191, 208, 213

Ushayqir 19, 21, 226 Utub tribal confederation 22, 25, 26, 33, 226 Villiers, Alan 89, 144

Talib bin Lahoom bin Shuraim 217 Taliban 218 Tariq bin Zayed base 216 Theros, Patrick 178 Tillerson, Rex 209, 217 Treadwell, James 155 treaties and agreements General Maritime Treaty (1820) 38, 92 Perpetual Truce of Peace and Friendship (1861) 43 Riyadh Agreement (2013) 209, 210 Treaty of Protection (1916) 100, 227 Treaty of Protection (1935) 106, 227 Treaty of Riyadh (1974) 134 Treaty with Great Britain (1868) 46–7 tribal raiding 58 Tronson, Lieutenant 41 Trucial Coast/States 88, 155 Trump, Donald 216–18, 220

Wahhabis 20–21, 26, 31, 32, 35, 37, 42, 43, 44, 45, 73, 103, 195, 197 Wajba, Battle of 66–7 Wakrah 17, 35, 44, 45, 46, 47, 58, 71, 73, 77, 83, 87, 91, 92, 115, 149 Walker, Julian 167, 168 Washm 19–21 Weightman, Hugh 107, 114 Wilkinson, John 125, 133, 138, 181 Williamson, William Richard (‘Haji’) 104, 106 Wilson, Harold 151 Wilton, John 117–19, 132 Wönckhaus & Co. 88 Yabrin Oasis 20, 21, 226 Yassin, Ahmad 189 Yemen 189–90 Yusuf al-Ibrahim 61, 65, 72, 233 Yusuf al-Qaradawi 195, 205, 216 Zakhnuniya Island 78 Zarqa 40 Zekrit 108, 223 Zubarah 11, 20–28, 23, 27, 36, 48, 53–6, 63, 69–71, 73, 75, 78, 110–14, 116, 152, 180–84, 181, 223, 226–7

uk, relations with 38, 42, 45–7, 49, 51–2, 56–7, 60, 62–3, 64, 70–71, 74–5, 78–9, 116, 123, 132–4, 151–6, 226 Umm Bab 131, 140 Umm Said 135 unification talks (1968–71) 151–6 United Arab Emirates (uae), relations with 12–13, 206–7, 214 United States of America, relations with 12, 170–71, 184, 186, 218 Untermeyer, Chase 206

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