LiwaJournal of the National Center for Documentation & Research

Volume 1 • Number 1 • June 2009ISSN 1729-9039

مجلة علمية محكّمة ي�صدرها المركز الوطني للوثائق والبحوث

ال�سنة الأولى • العدد الأول • يونيو 2009ISSN 1729-9039

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LiwaJournal of the National Center for Documentation & Research (NCDR)

Editor-In-ChiefDr. Abdulla El ReyesDirector General of the National Center for Documentation and Research

Advisory BoardH.E. Zaki Anwar NusseibehAdviser in the Ministry of Presidential Affairs, Deputy Chairman of Abu Dhabi Authority for Culture and Heritage (ADACH) and Board Member of National Center for Documentation & Research

Prof. Abd al- Malik Khalaf al-TamimiProfessor of Modern History-Kuwait University

Prof. Mustafa Aqil al- KhatibProfessor of Modern History-Qatar University

Dr. John E. PetersonHistorian and Political Analyst

Dr. Muhammad Sa’ad al- MuqaddamAssistant Professor of Modern HistorySultan Qaboos University

Dr. Sa’ad Abdulla al- KobaisiAssistant Professor of AnthropologyUAE University

Managing EditorDr. L. Usra Soffan

Editorial BoardDr. Jayanti MaitraDr. Abdalla Mansy OmariMr. Ali Darwish Imran

Editorial Secretary Sharifa Al Faheem

Design & Layout Mohamed Adel

© National Center for Documentation and Research, 2009Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates

The Editor of the Liwa Journal (ISSN 1729-9039) invites the submission of original and unpublished scholarly articles in English and Arabic related to archaeology, history and heritage of the UAE and the Arabian Gulf region.

Manuscripts and all other correspondences concerning ‘Liwa’ should be addressed to: liwa@ncdr.ae

Books sent for review in the Journal cannot be returned.

For more details about ‘Liwa’ and subscriptions, access www.ncdr.ae

The views expressed in this issue are those of the individual authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Editorial Board or the National Center for Documentation & Research.

مجلة علمية محكّمة ي�صدرها المركز الوطني للوثائق والبحوث

رئي�س التحريرد. عبد الله الري�س

المدير العام للمركز الوطني للوثائق والبحوث

الهيئة ال�ست�ساريةمدير التحرير�سعادة زكي اأنور ن�سيبة

م�ست�سار وزارة �سوؤون الرئا�سة، ونائب رئي�س هيئة اأبوظبي للثقافة والتراث، وع�سو مجل�ساإدارة المركز الوطني للوثائق والبحوث

اأ. د. عبدالمالك خلف التميمياأ�ستاذ التاريخ الحديث - جامعة الكويت

اأ. د. م�سطفى عقيل الخطيباأ�ستاذ التاريخ الحديث - جامعة قطر

د. جون بيتر�سونموؤرخ ومحلل �سيا�سي

د. محمد �سعد المقدماأ�ستاذ التاريخ الحديث الم�ساعد - جامعة ال�سلطان قابو�س

د. �سعد عبدالله الكبي�سي اأ�ستاذ الأنثروبولوجيا الم�ساعد - جامعة الإمارات العربية المتحدة

د. ي�سرى �سوفان

هيئة التحريرد. جوينتي مايترا

د. عبد الله من�سي العمريعلي دروي�س عمران

�سكرتيرة التحرير�سريفة الفهيم

الت�سميم والإخراجمحمد عادل

© المركز الوطني للوثائق والبحوث، 2009اأبوظبي، الإمارات العربية المتحدة

العربية باللغتين المن�سورة، غير الأ�سيلة العلمية بالبحوث )ISSN1729-9039( ليوا مجلة تحرير هيئة ترحب والإنجليزية، في مو�سوعات تخت�س بالتاريخ والتراث والآثار للإمارات العربية المتحدة ومنطقة الخليج العربي.

liwa@ncdr.ae تر�سل البحوث وجميع المرا�سلت المتعلقة بمجلة ليوا اإلى العنوان الإلكترونيالكتب التي ت�سل اإلى المجلة لمراجعتها ل تُردّ اإلى اأ�سحابها.

www.ncdr.ae لمزيد من المعلومات ولل�ستراك في المجلة يرجى الدخول اإلى موقعما ورد في هذا العدد يعبر عن اآراء الكُتّاب ول يعك�س بال�سرورة اآراء هيئة التحرير اأو المركز الوطني للوثائق

والبحوث.

Printed in the National Center for Documentation & Research Printing Press طبعت في مطابع المركز الوطني للوثائق والبحوث

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Volume 1 • Number 1 • June 2009

LiwaJournal of the National Center for Documentation & Research

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Contents

Editorial Note

Dr. Abdulla El Reyes, Director General, National Center for Documentation & Research.

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From Liwa to Abu DhabiProf. John C. Wilkinson, St. Hugh’s College, Oxford University (retd.).

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The Portuguese Cartazes System and the ‘Magumbayas’ on Pearl Fishing in the GulfDr. Agnelo Paulo Fernandes, Documentation Department, NCDR.

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The Politics of Protection: The Arabian Gulf Rulers and the Pax Britanica in the Nineteenth CenturyDr. James Onley, Institute of Arab and Islamic Studies, University of Exeter.

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Documenting Cultural History with Oral Sources: Collecting Oral Testimony to Establish a Modern UAE National IdentityDr. Victor W. Geraci, University of California-Berkeley, Regional Oral History Office.

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Editorial Note

It gives me great pleasure to launch the inaugural issue of our journal titled ‘Liwa’ under the directives of H.H. Shaikh Mansour bin Zayed Al Nahyan, Deputy Prime Minister, Minister of Presidential Affairs and the Chairman of the National Center for Documentation and Research (NCDR).

This bi-annual journal in English and Arabic takes its name from the Liwa oasis which for centuries was the heartland of the Abu Dhabi Ruling Family and occupies a special place in the history of the Emirate.

Our aim is to publish a well-balanced and high quality journal reflecting the history and heritage of the UAE and the Arabian Gulf region in fulfillment of our mission to create historical awareness and foster national identity.

The publication of ‘Liwa’, as an academic refereed journal represents another important milestone in the many-sided activities of the NCDR. This first issue features articles on varied subjects authored by reputed scholars.

We invite scholarly submissions from experts in the fields of archaeology, history and heritage of the Arabian Gulf region covering all periods - from ancient times to the present.

‘Liwa’ is available to readers both in hard copy and online on the NCDR website. The Editors of ‘Liwa’ will welcome suggestions and comments from its readers as we look forward to providing a useful forum for scholars and researchers interested in the history and culture of this part of the world.

Abdulla El Reyes

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The geographical regionThe name Lîwâ clearly derives from some form of the word jaww (jîm > yîm), the hollows formed between the south-facing slip faces (butûn) of great dune ridges (qa’âyid) and the hard backs (zuhûr) of the succeeding ridge in the inland sand sea of western Abu Dhabi. These may be deflated down to the level of the hard pan or indurated sands of the desert platform, above which the largest dunes (zimâm) may tower some 125m or more. Consequently, the sparse rainfall that is stored in the dunes seeps out at the base and may be adequate for cultivating a few palm trees.

These Lîwâ settlements (mahâdir) have been variously estimated as between 38 and 48 according to their degree of occupancy, which traditionally was essentially in the summer months1. A 1968 survey gave a figure of 301 families living in 37 hollows: 6 were used by between 20 and 32, and another ten between 10 and 20: 8 were only used by a single family. They extend in a crescent (possibly another reason for the name), west to east for about 70km and lie approximately the same distance from the sea. The inner side of this crescent, the Batâna like the Lîwâ itself offers poor grazing, mostly halophytes (harm etc), but the hard packed dunes on the coastal side (Zahâra) has better, albeit sparse potential, and forms part of the region known as the Dhafra (al-Zafra). Consequently the Lîwâ forms the core of an economy based on date palm cultivation (mostly dabbâs but some fard and khassâb), livestock herding (essentially camels) and maritime occupations, fishing, some pearling and basic trade.

It is difficult to work out when the actual name Lîwâ first features2, but it is clearly designated by the references in Omani history to the Dhafra and the associated Bani Yâs, when the first Ya’rubi Imam of Oman, Nâsir bin Murshid (1624-49), was establishing his authority3. However, the area features in earlier times as the Baynûna. This name occurs in both classical and Omani sources for the region which separates

From Liwa to Abu DhabiJohn C. Wilkinson

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(whence the name) Bahrayn (that is Greater Bahrayn, north-eastern Arabia) from (Greater) Oman. Today, the name designates a relatively small region juxtaposing the Sabkhat Matti but that is because the toponyms of northern Oman have changed as the result of the influx of relatively new tribes whose appreciation of its geography was somewhat different from the earlier inhabitants. Thus the old names of the three great northern regions in the better watered areas on the western side of the mountains, Julfâr (Sharja-Ras al-Khaima area), Tuwâm (Buraimi oasis region) Sirr (‘Ibri region) disappear, along with the tribal designations of the hinterland mountains, Jabal Kinda4 who occupied the mountains northwards of Tuwâm, and Jabal Huddân (between the Dhahira and the northern Batina).

The tribal patternAzd and ‘Abd al-QaysThe history of Arab migration into the (Greater) Oman region5 starts with the Mâlik bin Fahm Azd, along with some Qudâ’a (largely Qamr-Riyâm) who arrived by the south coast of Arabia and concentrated in two regions, the Ja’lân (which then designated much of south-eastern Oman) and Tuwâm (the Jaww = Buraimi oasis region). But they also spread into (Greater) Bahrayn, where they joined with another stream of Azd, notably ‘Imrân, to form the Azd Bahrayn, from where a migration into the borderlands of Iraq took the name Tanûkh. The Omani sources emphasize that it was the Mâlik bin Fahm who originally dominated in eastern Arabia. There they became allies of the ‘Abd al-Qays who predominated in the Greater Bahrayn area and were the main bedu groups of northern Oman as far as the Sirr (‘Ibri area).

The Arabo-Muslim sources speak of the ‘Abd al-Qays being in Bahrayn in Shâpûr II’s reign, that is, in the first half of the third century AD, but if that is so they were forerunners of the main groups. The great Sabaic inscription (‘Ab 1)6 from the ‘Abadân valley of Hadramawt dating to 470 himyari (about 360 AD) records a dozen previous expeditions led by the great Hadrami dynasy of the Yaz’anids on behalf of Himyar, including one in which the ‘Abd al-Qays were defeated at the wells of Sigah in Siyyân, which has been identified with the Arabic al-Siyy, 410 km NE of Mecca (and the site of a battle of the Prophet against the Hawâzin in 8h). This indicates that most had not yet arrived in Bahrayn, and confirms the Omani sources, which make clear that they arrived after the Mâlik bin Fahm migration. Furthermore, this epigraphic evidence helps confirm the genealogical, for the inscription describes three ‘Abd al-Qays groupings, Shann, Bin Nukra (Lukayz bin Afsâ bin ‘Abd al-Qays) and Bin Sabîra (either a Shann or Nukra subdivision). The fact that they lost 400 captives, 4,000 camels and 12,000 small livestock and compare that with Ma’add, whose losses were almost entirely camels, makes it fairly clear that the ‘Abd al-Qays, although described as nomads, were not pure camel herders but practised the sort of mixed herding that characterized the territory of those who settled in the outwash fans of northern Oman. It was perhaps because of this severe defeat that their move

From Liwa to Abu Dhabi

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eastwards accelerated. There they came into contact with the Mâlik bin Fahm-Qudâ’a and the good relationships established between these two major groupings of bedouin tribes is represented by the story of how the ‘Abdi leader’s panegyric of Mâlik bin Fahm was rewarded by being appointed his wazîr and his people given the right to settle in his territory. It was reinforced by certain enmities shared with the Azd, notably for the (Nizâri) Bin Sa’d (Tamîm) and the ‘Âmir bin Sa’sa’a of central Arabia. Very full accounts of the tribe’s distribution are given in the classical as well as Omani sources7, but most of the details need not concern us, except to note that the Dîl were dominant in the Tuwâm area and Bin Hârith of the Anmâr/Ammâr in the present day Dhahira. Other Ammâr groupings lived in the sands of Hajar, Qatar and Baynûna where they started to overlap with their enemies the Bin Sa’d. But the majority of ‘Abd al-Qays, notably the Labu’ and Shann were located in Bahrayn and their importance there is summed up by Ibn Faqîh where he generalizes that al-Yamâma belonged to the Bin Hanîfa, al-Bahrayn to the ‘Abd al-Qays and al-Jazîra to the Bin Taghlibin

There is an interesting probable reference to the Lîwâ area in ‘Awtabi’s treatment of the ‘Abd al-Qays.8 In this, he recounts how a band of 200 from the Dîl living in the sand country on the borders of Oman (the Lîwâ=Baynûna area?) and renowned as fearsome warriors, left their dârs and moved first into Jurfâr (=Julfâr) from where they took Awâl (Bahrain islands) from the majûs. The leader of this band, known as the Banu Khârijiyya, then proceeded to divide it up amongst his kinsmen.

The Oman civil war 9

The terrible civil war at the end of the 3/9th century, which saw the collapse of the First Ibâdi Imamate in Oman and finished with a Caliphate invasion, is always portrayed as between Yaman and Nizâr. A close study of the groupings shows that in fact it was essentially a war between the northern tribes, whose political and economic position had been largely peripheralized by the growing power of the Yahmad tribes of the Rustâq area, who had monopolized the Imamate and increasingly controlled wealth through their appointments, notably in Sohar, whose profitable maritime trade was rapidly expanding. The details of what happened after the deposing of the aged al-Salt bin Mâlik al-Kharûsi in 272/886, need not concern us except to note that the leading ‘ulamâ who had traditionally held a sort of balance of power quit the Jawf (central Oman where the seat of the Imamate was at Nizwâ) to recruit from their own tribesmen in the Sirr-Tuwâm region. The “rebel” force was essentially made up of Bin Nâjiyya (Nizâri Sâma bin Lu’ay) whose main tribal territory lay in the Tuwâm area, and Huddân (Shanu’a Azd, and rivals of the Yahmad) whose Jabal lay between the area of Yanqul (their capital) in the Sirr, and they were joined by the northern Bin al-Hârith bin Mâlik bin Fahm (Azd) and Bin ‘Awf bin ‘Âmir (bin al-Dîl, Lukayz ‘Abd al-Qays). After electing al-Hawâri bin ‘Abdullâh al-Huddâni al-Salûti as Imam, the force moved on to Sohar where the new Imam was proclaimed. It will be noted that every single one of these tribes came from the Sirr northwards, and that the

John C. Wilkinson

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man elected was an Azdi (i.e. Yamani), as were the Bin al-Hârith (Mâlik bin Fahm) who supported the Bin Sâma-Nâjiyya. But they were defeated by an army recruited entirely from various Azd groupings living in the Rustâq, Batina and present day al-Hamra areas, with the result that the defeated Sâmi leaders went off to Bahrayn and Baghdad, where they presented it as a defeat of the Nizâr. The Caliphate invading force was consequently made up of the tribal enemies of the Yamani Azd and Kinda who after the defeat of their great leaders Ibn al-Ash’ath and Yazîd bin al-Muhallab in Iraq and Khurasan had adopted Ibâdi ideology; it was principally their “shurât” that had established Imamates in southern Arabia.

The extremist dogma developed by the so-called Rustâq school over the deposing of al-Salt precluded all compromise and northern Oman was permanently alienated. It was from this time that the history of northern Oman began to develop independently, and the region fell increasingly under (Greater) Bahrayni influence. This was first marked by the Qarmati incursions.

The ‘Âmiri tribes and the break up of the old alliances in northern OmanUntil the Qarâmita established power, the ‘Âmir bin Sa’sa’a had been more or less confined to Yamâma. But during their period of authority, the ‘Abd al-Qays were largely suppressed and the ‘Âmir feature increasingly in Bahrayni affairs. As a result, it was to the ‘Uqaylids that the Imam Râshid bin Sa’îd al-Yahmadi turned towards the middle of the 5/11th century when trying to re-establish Imamate authority throughout Oman10. His success in driving out the Bûyids was short lived, the Imamate fragmented once again and Sohar’s commerce returned under the control of foreigners and their vassals. Nevertheless, from that time onwards, the ‘Âmir Rabî’a affairs groups increasingly feature in internal Omani.

The migration of their tribes towards Oman can perhaps be dated to the end of the 5/11th century. The Qarâmita had already lost the Bahrain Islands (Awâl) in 450/1058-9, but it was not until 469/1076-7 that ‘Abdullâh bin ‘Ali, the founder of the ‘Uyûnid dynasty started to establish power on the mainland and defeated the Qarâmita, after which he dealt with their ‘Âmiri allies, driving their tribesmen out towards Iraq and Oman11. The apogee of ‘Uyûnid power came under his grandson, Muhammad bin Abi ‘l-Husayn Ahmad, who established authority over all the desert borderlands from Aleppo to Oman.

So it was virtually as refugees that the ‘Âmir bedu tribes first feature in events, as mercenaries fighting on both sides, when Mûsâ bin Abi ‘l-Mu’âli bin Mûsâ bin Nijâd from Manâh led a revolt against the leading power in the land, al-Sayyid Muhammad bin Mâlik, the mâlik of Rustâq. The Rustâq Lord’s army included his own Yahmadi tribesmen, but the majority were from ‘Âmir Rabî’a, some of whom were also with the Ibâdis. The Omanis from the interior got as far as Taww (that is the toe of the

From Liwa to Abu Dhabi

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mountains separating the Rustâq area from the lower Wadi Sumâyil), but weary of the campaign decided to return home and sue for peace. Strung out as they made their way over a steep pass, the bedu and Yahmad fell on them, seizing their baggage train with their armaments and treasury, and killed large numbers, including the Imam, his brother and the other leading Ibâdis: many were captured or died of thirst escaping. This is reported to have occurred in Safar 579 12. Shortly after, they were again to feature as auxiliaries of the Nabâhina of Sohar in their battle with the last powerful Imam of Oman for many centuries, Muhammad bin Ghassân al-Kharûsi, who also carried the war into Hasâ.

But although with the re-conquest of Greater Bahrayn by the ‘Uyûnids, an ‘Abdi clan was once again in control of the region, the ‘Âmir remained politically active. Eventually, during the 630s and 640s (1230s and 1240s), the last of the ‘Abd al-Qays dynasties went down before them, and for the next three hundred or so years, it was ‘Uqaylid families, Bin ‘Usfûr, Bin Jirwân and Jubûr who controlled power there13. Their penetration into northern Oman was aided by the break up of the old alliances. The Huddân had remained implacable foes of the Yahmad and initially allied with the Qarâmita. After their influence waned, it was to the Persian coast opposite that they turned and their enmity for the tribes of central Oman continued unabated during the Nabâhina period when in 642/1244-5 they helped the “Shirâzis’ under Fakhr al-Dîn Ahmad and Shihâb al-Dîn in an invasion which got as far as Bahlâ. A couple of decades later in 675/1277, they joined the Awlâd Ra’îs (Riyâyisa from the Persian side of the Gulf14) in a highly destructive raid on Nizwâ, which they attacked in the rear when the menfolk were away with the Nabhâni malik who had gone to the coast to intercept the invading force. Revenge was taken and the Awlâd Ra’îs and Huddân smashed15. And that was the end of this famous tribe, which had played such a prominent role in seven centuries of Omani history.

So as ‘Uqaylid and ‘Âmiri power expanded and any central Omani authority in northern Oman vanished, their dynasties began to establish influence there and their tribes to form confederations with the old settlers, notably the Na’îm/Nu’aym-Âl Bu Shâmis who absorbed many of the Azd, Kinda and Bin Sâma clans. These old tribes retained some of their identity in the form of the Zawâhir, the inhabitants of the region that the newcomers called the Zâhira (Dhahira)16. The names of the old settlers may be traced in such clans as the Kunûd and Darâmika (and Sûdân?) of Kinda and Maqâbîl of Huddân stock. But it was not until the Jubûr, (known to the Portuguese as the Benjabar) developed power in the 15th century, that the incomers began to threaten central Oman; and after they were dispossessed of Bahrain by the Portuguese, they and associated clans (the Hilâl, Qutn bin Qutn, Muhammad bin Jayfar, Bin Khâlid etc of the Omani histories) took control of many of the forts of the region and threatened its very core. It was reaction to that menace on its landward side, and the Portuguese on its seaward, that finally led the Omanis to swallow their differences and unite under Nâsir bin Murshid al-Ya’rubi in 162417.

John C. Wilkinson

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The Bani YâsAnd that, as we have seen, was when the Bani Yâs first feature: as allies of the Hilâli sheikh, Nâsir bin Qutn who used the Dhafra as a base for his continuing raids on Oman after members of his family had been evicted from Samad al-Shan and himself driven out of Yanqul. It is very probable that it was this Hilali family which welded together the somewhat disparate tribes of the region extending from the lower Qatar Peninsla to present-day Dubai under the name of a forebear, Yâs, one of the two great branches of Mudar’s descent. The Bani Yâs, along with many of the Dhahira tribes, including the Nu’aym, also feature a century later in the terrible civil war which brought to an end the Ya’âruba Imamate, as allies of the Ghâfiri Imam. That “Hinâwi-Ghâfiri” confrontation, which once again tore Oman apart, as the Yaman-Nizâr one had nine hundred years earlier, led in the same way to the development of a new political geography. It was also a period of immense change in the Gulf itself when families who founded the present sheikhdoms began to feature, notably the ‘Utub (Al Sabâh, Al Khalîfa) and Qawâsim on the Arab side. The Âl Bu Falâh sheikhly family, whose forebears were living in the Lîwâ at that time, first began to feature in the aftermath of those events in Oman. It is the present writer’s opinion that they were probably the descendants of the Hilâli sheikhs, or at least one of the families associated with the Jubûr.

The emergence of the Abu Dhabi StateLittle need be said about the subsequent emergence of Abu Dhabi as a state: the history is generally familiar18. It is said that water was discovered in Abu Dhabi island about 1761, and a small colony established there, but it was Sheikh Shakhbût bin Dhiyâb (ruled 1793-1816), son of the first recorded ruler who moved there. In my opinion that move was probably more to do with the Wahhabi threat after they had evicted the old dynasty of the Bin Khâlid from the Bahrayn mainland ca 1795. But the orientation towards the coast was rapidly reinforced by the growing importance of pearling.

PearlingPearling had always formed part of the economy of western Abu Dhabi, as the very name of the Mijann in what one source19 describes as the Khîrân Bani Yâs indicates, and Dalmâ Island was the centre for the main season, the ghaws al-kabîr in the qayz. But the main fisheries were in Bahrain waters. The huge rise in demand, fired by the rapidly expanding Indian and European markets, led to the exploitation of the more distant banks which lie within a line running from a little north of Doha to roughly Dubai. Abu Dhabi and Dubai became the mainland bases and Halûl Island the summer base. Technological changes such as marine surveys, boat construction and navigation methods, the security of the maritime peace enforced by the British, the rise of large scale financing for expeditions and the enlargement of the international merchant network, all played a role in developing what became an integrated industry. And it reinforced the central power of the local rulers who

From Liwa to Abu Dhabi

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controlled the ports from which virtually every able bodied male joined the fleets, which remained at sea from June to late September. So the agreement of 182920, brokered by the Sheikh of Lingeh between the Qawâsim and Abu Dhabi, saw the authority of Sheikh Tahnûn being recognized as running from Deira to Bida’ (i.e. from the Dubai area to the main port on the eastern Qatar coast). That also meant that many local groupings, like the Rumaythât who lived in the coastal regions of eastern Abu Dhabi were incorporated into the state, as too groups like the Sûdân (Suwaydi), some of whom broke away from Sharja and became effectively members of the Bin Yâs, while relations were reinforced with those Manâsîr sections that nomadized in the Dhafra and Lîwâ areas.

Pearling too, was not unconnected with Abu Dhabi expansion into the Buraimi oases in the 1880s and 1890s. It was not simply conquest. The Dhawahir and other tribes of that area also were drawn into the seasonal migration to the coast and it should be remembered that whatever Sheikh Zâyid bin Khalîfa’s personal qualities, pearling provided over 80% of his revenues, so his ability to distribute largesse as well control access to a now essential element in the regional economy gave him great influence. Consequently, although there was some fighting over the capture of al-‘Ayn (‘Ayn al-Dhawahir), matters soon settled down and the population won over.

But the new financial power also engendered rivalries. Already in 1833 we see the Al Bu Falâsa breaking away and establishing independence in Dubai, while the rise of the Al Thani confederation on the east coast of Qatar, based on Doha as the main pearl port led to a challenge both to the Sheikhs of Bahrain and Abu Dhabi. It was exacerbated by internal rivalries within the Bani Yâs. The western end of the Liwa settlements largely belonged to the Mazari’, the main Yâs nomads who nomadized westwards, while the eastern end belonged more or less to the nomadic Hawâmil. But in the main central section where the Âl Nihayân sheikhs of the Âl Bu Falâh had lived, the two main Yâsi groups were the Muhâriba and the Qubaysât. It was the latter who challenged the ruler’s authority, at least in the domain of pearling. On numerous occasions, starting in 1835 the Qubaysi sheikhs upped stakes and did a hijra, generally to the Khawr al-’Udayd. In 1869 there was a serious rupture with Sheikh Zâyid bin Khalîfa and the Qubaysi leader declared his territory, extending from Wakra to opposite Yâsât Island including the main pearling centre of Dalmâ, as his independent territory. On other occasions he made for Bida’ (Doha) where he exacerbated the growing rivalry between the Âl Thani (Sheikh Jâsim) and the Abu Dhabi sheikh, complicating in the process relations between the British and Ottoman governments21.

Finally, early in the 20th century Sheikh Zâyid’s eldest son, Khalîfa, reached agreement with the Qubaysi sheikh, Buti bin Khâdim bin Nuhaymân over sharing the pearling revenue. The pact was sealed by the marriage of Buti bin Khâdim to the daughter of one of Sheikh Zayed’s paternal uncles. It was the daughter of that marriage, Sheikha Salâma bint Buti, who was given in marriage to Sheikh Sultân bin Zâyid and two of their sons became the rulers of Abu Dhabi after 1928. This and similar intermarriages also strongly reinforced the traditional position of the rulers 22.

John C. Wilkinson

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The final stage in the creation of the Abu Dhabi state came with the advent of oil money, the accession of Sheikh Zâyid bin Sultân, and the formation of the United Arab Emirates following the British withdrawal from the Gulf.

NotesSee in particular the Buckmaster report and many other studies in British archives relative to 1. the frontier dispute with Saudi Arabia, notably in Le Quesne 1954. It is worth noting that Lorimer’s celebrated 2. Persian Gulf Gazetteer (vol iii 1908) does not have a specific article devoted to it.Notably in the 3. Kashf al-Ghumma. Ross’s English translation is somewhat confusing but it should be noted that the name Lawâ, which occurs in the account, is not the Lîwâ but the town at the northern end of the Batina coast.‘Awtabi A 173v-180r/AB 118v-122v; A is far better than AB here.4. The essential source is the 5. Ansâb of al-‘Awtabi, written most probably in the second half of the 5/11th century but just possibly a century earlier. The Ishtiqâq of Ibn Durayd (of Omani origins and who lived there for some considerable time in the 3/9th century) is also useful.Cf 6. inter alia Robin 1986 and Robin & Gajda 1994.While ‘Awtabi (A.66rff, AB 46vff is rather defective) provides some precious details, his basic 7. account of the tribe’s distribution derives from Ibn Qutayba (cf Ma’ârif ed Okacha, Cairo 1960 93-4). This may be compared with the article on the tribe in EI2 by Caskel (with corrections under Bakr bin Wâ’il) and also Hamdâni Sifa 136. See also for Omani details Wilkinson 1993 (Bahrain through the Ages).AB 45v.8. The following two sections are dealt with in depth in my forthcoming book, 9. The Origins and Early Development of Ibâdism in Oman.al-Sâlimi 10. Tuhfa i 304-5Cf 11. EI2 arts ‘Abd al-Qays and al-Bahrayn.Anon A12. . For an abbreviated version see al-Sâlimi Tuhfa i, 342.Al-A13. hsâ’i 1960, 118ff; al-Humaydân 1983. Nb Al-Ahsâ’i’s main source for this period is the poet originating from Hasa, Ibn Muqarrib whose floruit was in the second half of the 6/12th century. Cf also Caskel 1949.Almost certainly part of the Baluch groupings that had reached Kirmân by the 4/1014. th century and the Makran coast by at least the 7/13th.Al-Sâlimi 15. Tuhfa i 353-4, is in fact based largely on items from the Sîrat Ibn Maddâd (d 917/1511-12).Cf also the former name of modern al-‘Ayn (Buraimi oasis), ‘Ayn al-16. Zawâhir. Imamate Tradition17. 80-82.See notably Maitra and Al-Hajji, 2001 18. (Qasr Al Hosn).Lum’ al-Shihâb19. BL 23.346 which Abu Hakima published (Beirut 1967). I have further discussed this source, which was clearly written for the British Resident in Iraq, concerned with the rapidly evolving Gulf scene at the start of the 19th century, in my Arabia’s Frontiers 380 n4. Sharja letter of 17 June 1829 to PRPG.20. Details may be found in Saldanha 1904a and 1904b, as also Lorimer.21. Cf Wilkinson 1991 (22. Arabia’s Frontiers) p.394 n7 and 2008 (vol ii Trucial States 1959-62).

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Based on my latest research on Documents for the History of Arabia, this paper intends to describe the different aspects of pearl fishing in the Arabian Gulf during the sixteenth to early eighteenth centuries, with focus on the Portuguese Cartazes System (navigation permit) and the Magumbayas (taxes).

Pearl fishing was carried out by the native inhabitants of the region during the summer months in areas surrounding most of the islands in the Gulf. About two to three thousand terradas (local ships) were involved in the seasonal extraction of pearls from the seabed. The annual income from pearl trade was over a half million cruzados, (old Portuguese currency) and their abundance is evident from the fact that the workers at Julfar and surrounding areas were paid in the form of pearls instead of cash.

Without disrupting the traditional pattern of pearl fishing, the Portuguese took over the taxation system which existed before they took control of Hormuz. The tribute or taxes paid on pearl fishing, Magumbayas, was collected by the Sultan of Hormuz from 1523 to 1622. Thereafter, up to the second decade of the eighteenth century, the revenues were collected by the Portuguese. The centers of distribution of Cartazes and collection of Magumbayas included Julfar and other ports up to Lhasa (Al Hasa). Additionally, the Portuguese Factor at Qatif distributed Cartazes and the Factor of Bandar Kung did the same to the Arabs on the Persian coast up to Raxel on the southwest coast of Iran.

The Cartazes System demanded that every local ship that sailed had to possess a written license (Cartaz) purchased at a fee from the Portuguese. In addition, the rules that were written on the Cartaz, had to be followed.³ Any ship sailing without a valid Cartaz was liable to be captured by the Portuguese Armada (fleet), together with its cargo. Fear of the Armada’s cannons resulted in complete naval subjugation

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and maritime control. Every year, the Portuguese prepared a powerful Armada to be sent to the Gulf region, usually referred to as the ‘Armada do Estreito de Ormuz’ or later ‘Armada de Muscate’ or simply ‘Armada do Estreito’. Captain General of the fleet carried a ‘Regimento’ (‘Standing Orders’), issued by the Portuguese Viceroy at Goa, which he had to follow and execute. Thus, the Captain General in conjunction with the captains of different Centers and Forts in the Gulf area looked after the interests of the Portuguese.

One of the main responsibilities of the Captain General was to oversee the working of the Cartazes System with regard to the immensely profitable pearl fishing in the Gulf, especially at Bahrain.⁴ All ‘terradas’ and ‘terraquins’ involved in the trade purchased the Cartazes from the Portuguese and paid the tribute accordingly.⁵ Accounts of these activities is found in several sources, including the letters of António Tenreiro (1528)⁶ and Fr. Manuel Godinho (1663),⁷ the two Portuguese travelers who used the land route to go from India to Europe.

Pearl Fishing in the GulfOn the eve of the start of the pearling season, several thousand terradas/terraquins equipped with necessary provisions to last through June, July, August and sometimes September, gathered at a fixed place to agree on the day of commencement of the voyage. On that day, great celebrations were held. After the customary observance of religious rites and the tradition of charming the sharks so that they should not harm the divers, and finding the day clear, windless, and the sea calm, the terradas dispersed to the pearl beds.

Each ship carried divers who went to the bottom of the sea where the shells which were called mother-pearls, lay in a chain formation stuck to the soil; and the others who were responsible to pull the divers up out of the water on receiving signals from them. In order to enable the diver to reach the bottom of the sea fast, two big stones were tied to his feet, and a chord to the waist, the end of which remained in the hands of those who were to pull him out. No sooner did the diver reach the bottom, he would pull the shells and fill the bag he carried. When the bag became full or he needed to respire, the diver would give a signal to be pulled up. Those who pulled had to remain very alert otherwise the diver could die of suffocation. Once on top and having emptied the bag, he would dive again.

Very often some divers, who were experts in identifying the shells containing pearls, would open them underwater and swallow the contents to deceive the owners as well as to avoid the payment of taxes.⁸ Some shells were as big as the palm of the hand, black outside and very brilliant inside.⁹ At the end of the day, all the divers went to the shore where the shells were buried. When unearthed, either seed pearls or pearls would be found. At times, the shells were spread over sheets of cloth and exposed to the sun.

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Pearl Fisheries at Bahrain and the UAE coastAccording to the Portuguese Chronicler João Barros, “Pearls and seed pearls are found everywhere in this Persian Sea from Bahrain to the inner side of Hormuz but the largest and most plentiful are around Bahrain“. In fact, they were the best in the world in quality, brilliance and proportion¹⁰ especially when compared to those found at the pearl fisheries around the Gulf of Manar (India) or on the coasts of China or East Africa. The Portuguese also collected revenues from the last three fisheries. Manuel Godinho has stated that the annual income from the pearl trade of Bahrain area alone was over 500,000 Cruzados, besides the large number of seed pearls and pearls that were hidden and those swallowed by the thousands of divers.

King D. Manuel-I of Portugal knew about the rich trade in the Gulf long before the visit of Afonso de Albuquerque. In the late 1480’s, on being informed of the profitable trade of Hormuz, the King sent Rabi Abraham (Habrão) and Pero Covilhão to the Gulf to provide him with all details of local pearl trading.¹¹ One of the Royal instructions that Albuquerque carried with him was to capture Bahrain. To excuse his delayed response, he wrote to his king “I have seen that Your Highness writes about the capturing (of ) Bahrain. The task is easy but has not yet been accomplished because much time was taken for repairs of the Naus (ships); the limited knowledge of the seas of India slows us and makes it difficult; and also so as not to sacrifice a greater and more delicate task - to expand the rule of Your Highness in Aden and the Red Sea. But, once Hormuz is secured, it is hoped that all the lands in those parts will be subdued. Bahrain is rich and profitable; its pearl fisheries are easy to secure and develop. Once Hormuz is captured, Bahrain will be acquired and what is in the Sea of Persia…”¹²

Afonso de Albuquerque captured Hormuz in March 1515, thus securing Portuguese control on both sides of the Gulf, but Bahrain did not come under the control of the Portuguese. “ Everything is owned and governed by this Principal Head of Hormuz, except Bahrain, that Kwaja Atar (Cojeatar) and Sultan Saif-ud-din (Ҫeifadyn) having died, there entered Arabs, who once again captured it and kicked out the soldiers of the Sultan who were there….”¹³

Chronicler João de Barros¹⁴ reported that Sultan ‘Sargol’, the predecessor of Sultan Saif-ud-din, in the fratricidal war against his brother Sultan ‘Xavez’ for the throne of Hormuz, had secured the support of the powerful Arab king ‘Atjot’, ¹⁵ ruler of Lassah, (Al Hasa) a city situated 30 leagues in the interior countryside of Arabia opposite the island of Bahrain. King ‘Atjot’ was of ‘Bengebras’ lineage - one of the most respected Arab tribes. ‘Sargol’ had informed him of the support he had from powerful Persian personalities including Raes Nordin and Raes Kamal,¹⁶ in his attempt to capture the throne of Hormuz. King ‘Atjot’ agreed to ally with him in the war against the Sultan of Hormuz, provided ‘Sargol’ first sign an agreement with him. Once on the throne, ‘Sargol’ agreed that he would give the Arab king

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the island of Bahrain and the town of Qatif which belonged to the kingdom of Hormuz, as both were near Lassah and offered huge revenues, particularly Bahrain ‘s rich pearling grounds.

The Allies agreed to meet at the town of Julfar. In the battle that followed, Sultan ‘Xavez’ found himself largely deserted and was captured by King ‘Atjot’. ‘Sargol’ took over and ruled Hormuz for the next 30 years, during which time the island of Bahrain remained in the hands of the Arabs of Lassah.

The Portuguese made several attempts during the rule of the Sultan of Hormuz, as well as later in 17th century, to capture Bahrain but their success in occupying the island was short-lived.¹⁷

According to the Portuguese traveler Duarte Barboza,¹⁸ writing between 1516 to 1518, “The merchants of the island of Bahrain themselves fish for these pearls and have made great profits and the Sultan of Hormuz draws from it large sum in revenues and duties. The merchants of Hormuz come here to purchase the seed pearls and the large pearls and these they carry away and sell in India, whereby they have great gains”. He further states that merchants from Hormuz also visited the city of Julfar, where in the sea near the coasts surrounding it, there was great activity of pearl fishing, where too seed pearls and large pearls were found in plenty.¹⁹ Thus it can be seen that Hormuz did have some control on the island of Bahrain and Julfar at the time of Sultan Saif-ud-din and it earned immense revenues on pearl fishing.

In 1516, Isma’il Shah,²⁰ the Emperor of Persia, tried to capture Bahrain. He requested help of the Sultan of Hormuz in this venture. The latter directed him to Afonso de Albuquerque who declined despite being on friendly relations with him.²¹

Order of King Dom João III in favor of Sultan Mohammad ShahIn 1523, D. João III, the King of Portugal, presented to Mohammed Shah, the Sultan of Hormuz, the son of Sultan Saif-ud-din Abanadar, “all the revenues, tributes and incomes of forts (‘Alcadaryas’) and of all offices and posts in the said Kingdom”²² that included the revenues from Magumbayas for services the latter had rendered to Portugal, with hereditary rights for the same to his descendants/successors.

Every year, the Sultan of Hormuz paid 1500 to 2000 pardaos from these revenues of Magumbayas to the Captain General of the Portuguese Armada of the Gulf, the presence of which forced regular payment of revenues to the Sultan of Hormuz. Seldom do we see the Portuguese surrendering their rights on revenues of Taxation in their System of Cartazes in the Indian Ocean as was done in the Gulf. The Free Cartazes to some powerful rulers like the Mughal Emperors in the Indian Subcontinent was another such major concession, but that was in the context of political necessity. The Portuguese did not mind this situation, the reason being their income on duties at the Customs House of Hormuz was quite considerable.²³

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The revenues of Magumbayas contributed greatly to the Hormuzian economy. According to the Portuguese Chronicler, Ferrão Lopes Castanhada, the annual Tribute paid to the Sultan of Hormuz by “Raix Bardadim”, his governor at Bahrain, was 40,000 xeraphins.²⁴ The Portuguese Gulf Armada played a crucial role in forcing the merchants in pearl fishing to pay to the Sultan of Hormuz the tribute of Magumbayas on their terradas/other ships involved in pearl trade and other duties.

The abundance of pearls on the Arabian Gulf coastal areas is evident from the fact that the people on that coast were getting their salaries/payments in the form of pearls, according to a Regimento issued on 26th December 1614, by Viceroy Dom Jeronimo Azavedo on this subject. It orders the Captain of the fort of Hormuz not to pay the residents of Julfar in money or goods but in pearls only. This order was issued at the request of the Sultan of Hormuz.²⁵

The statement of account of the Estado da India for 1541-43, earlier referred to, has another section entitled “Statement of Revenues which the king of Portugal has besides that of Hormuz”. It shows that these revenues amounted to 12,783 ½ pardaos. To this total, Julfar contributed 45 ‘leques’ and an additional two and half ‘leques’ as revenues of market place (almoteceria), and fifteen ‘leques’ and thirteen ‘azares’ as taxes which the terradas paid after returning from pearl fishing. Other contributions included that of Kassap, twelve ‘leques’, Qatyat, thirty ‘leques’, and Khor Fakkan, twenty five ‘leques’ etc.²⁶

Portuguese seizure of the Magumbayas revenuesThe Hormuzian dynastic rule ended in 1622 when the Persians captured the Portuguese fort of Hormuz with the help of the English. With this, the Portuguese were ousted from the Persian side of the Gulf and were forced to make Muscat their new headquarters. With the termination of the ruling lineage of Hormuz, the Portuguese brought the revenues of Pearl Fishing in the Gulf area under their Cartazes System. The State Revenue Council at Goa, in its meeting of 20th October 1638,²⁷ decided that it was natural that whatever revenues were thenceforth generated from the Cartazes issued for the terradas involved in pearl fishing, and other duties in Arabian Gulf, should belong to the State. Since the loss of Hormuz, the Captains General had reserved for themselves these revenues which were earlier enjoyed by the Sultan of Hormuz.

Accordingly, a new Regimento²⁸ dated 24th October 1638, governing the functioning of the Cartazes System in the Gulf areas, was issued. These Standing Orders or Regimento, while maintaining that the revenues from pearl fishing would belong to the State, also reiterated the right of the Captain General to the benefits which the Sultans of Hormuz used to grant him. The amount involved in such benefits would depend on the earnings from the said Cartazes. However in no case, it could exceed the said amount of 2,000 pardaos. The King of Portugal declared the right to collect

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the revenues of Cartazes and Magumbayas in the Arabian Gulf in continuation of the custom practised since the times of the Sultans of Hormuz. With the end of the Hormuzian dynasty, their vassals acknowledged the right of the King of Portugal to both navigation and commerce as well as to pearl fishing.

In order to safeguard these revenues, it was ordered that all the details of the transaction concerning the issuing of Cartazes be entered in the Book of Receipts of the Factor at Muscat with clear declaration as to whom the Cartazes were issued; to which destination the terradas involved were to go; how much was paid for them. Furthermore, in order to ascertain the validity of the Cartazes issued, the said Factor was to issue a Certificate which would be written on the reverse side of the same Cartazes.

Distribution of the CartazesThe said Regimento further instructed the Captain General to issue the customary Cartazes which would be valid at all ports from where the terradas set out for navigation or pearl fishing. These were signed by the same Captain General and sealed with the Seal of Royal Arms present in the ‘feitoria’ of Muscat. The reverse side of the Cartazes was the declaration of the cost of each Cartaz, signed by His Majesty’s Factor Resident of Muscat. These were then arranged in separate bundles according to their respective destinations, i.e. the coast of Arabia or the coast of Persia. Caution was taken that the Cartazes given for pearl fishing were in the nature of tributes known as Magumbayas; and that these types of Cartazes were more than double the value of an ordinary Cartaz. If, for example, an ordinary Cartaz cost 5 larins for terradas and terraquins that were involved in navigation and trade, those that were involved in Pearl Fishing had to pay 15 larins each. In fact, according to certain opinions, the cost could be much higher.

All the bundles of these Cartazes to Julfar, Rams or to Jazira, or to Bandar Kung, Niquilus, Asselus and Qatif, were counted first before being handed over to the agents who distributed and collected the amounts in the lands where they were sent. All the receipts of such Cartazes were immediately entered by the Factor at Muscat with all the necessary statements.

After all receipts have been entered, the Captain General, in the absence of a Superintendent of Revenue, handed over the Cartazes bundles to trusted emissaries to deliver to ports where the terradas for which it was customary to give and collect duties were located. These emissaries kept sureties with the Factor commensurate to the number and value of Cartazes he received, so that the Factor would later collect from the designated person the amount of money that was collected and the Cartazes that remained indisposed, adjusting the amount received with the money that was handed over.

In the event that the Factor finished his three-year term before the return of the designated collector of Cartazes, the details of the transaction would be entered in the account books of the new Factor who would have to issue receipts as had his

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predecessor declaring the duties and their value. It was left to the Captain General and the Factor, in the absence of a Superintendent of Revenue Department, to authenticate the references of the Cartazes duty collector.

As the posts of Factors at Bandar Kung and Qatif were filled, the Factor at Muscat sent them bundles of Cartazes based on their need. The Captain General appointed another person at Julfar to distribute the Cartazes at that port and to neighboring Arabian ports such as Rams, Jazira and others on the coast up to the port of Lhasa. Similarly, the Factor at Qatif distributed Cartazes further along the remaining ports. The Factor at Bandar Kung distributed Cartazes to the Arabs on the coast of Persia up to Rayel.

Once the requirements of the Portuguese Captain General or Superintendent of Revenue of Muscat were met, Cartazes bundles could be sent to Basra port for distribution there as it was the busiest of all the ports of the Strait. Finally, all were obliged to submit their accounts to the Portuguese Factor of Muscat.

This Order was absolutely binding in full on all Captains General and, similarly, on the Factors and related officials and persons without exception.

To put this Regimento into effect, the Captain General, Dom Manuel Pereira, held a meeting with the captain of Muscat, its Factor and the Clerk, as per royal instructions. Many old and experienced persons who knew about the customs and mode of functioning of Cartazes were also called to attend that meeting. The King had also requested not to harass the pearl fishers and look into the difficulties of those who due to poverty had requested permission to pay their duties on a half yearly basis.

According to the report dated June 1638, from Diogo Nunes, the Portuguese Factor at the Port of Bander Kung, to his king in Portugal, each Cartaz for pearl fishing amounted to 32 larins ²⁹.

Agreement of 1633By examining the clauses of the Peace Agreement of 1633 between Luis Miz de Souza, the Captain General of the Armada of Gulf, and the Persian Governor of Bandar Kung, (in 1633) one can see how effective the Portuguese Cartazes System was in the Persian-ruled areas of the Gulf.

A copy of the Agreement was sent to Conde Linhares, the Portuguese Viceroy at Goa for confirmation. The relevant clauses are as follows:³⁰

“…that the Portuguese Armada cannot capture or harass any Muslim ship from the port of Jask to the ports of Machul and Aveza, Dora, Bahrain and Qatar”.

“… the Portuguese will send five Factors to reside in five ports of Persia, (including) …at the port of Gombroon one Factor to issue Cartazes to terradas of that port, and those of Kism of Sarbararmỹ, Costaça, Messỹ; together with Bareca, Jask, Hormuz, Xamel and Minaû”.

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“…another Factor at the port of Bandar Kung to issue Cartazes to terradas from that port and of Reiga Camir, Bemsafala, Bassidu, Camiron, Senaue, Randuan, Vaquassa, Chareca and Taullâ”…

“…another Factor at the port of Nequellu to issue Cartazes to terradas of that port and those of Axelû, Betqhan, Xirabo Bardeston”…

“…another Factor at the port of Raxel who would issue Cartazes to terradas of that port and of Regasafadin, Jduan, Janaba, Luluten, Vacoreuer, Vaumãmia, Machol, Faneza and Dourâ”.

“…another Factor at the port of Bahrain who would issue Cartazes to terradas of that port and those of Qatar”.

“The same Cartazes will be issued for a period of six months at a value of 650 Dinars for each Cartaz”.

“… allowing for a period of four months, during which this Agreement will be confirmed and signed by the Shah and Viceroy, the Armada will not trouble any Muslim ship which may sail to the declared stations”.

Although this Regimento of 1638 does not mention Bahrain and Qatar, the Agreement of 1633 does, thus confirming that at that time Bahrain and Qatar were still in the hands of the Persians.

The Portuguese Factory at Bandar KungAfter the Portuguese lost Hormuz, although Rui Freire de Andrade, the Captain General of the Armada of the Gulf, was unsuccessful in recapturing Hormuz, he unleashed great terror on the coastal lands of Arabia and Persia for the next decade.³¹ In July 28, 1630, the Portuguese, under Rui Freire de Andrade, captured Julfar and other places in its neighborhood, including the forts at ‘Cate’ and ‘Rams’ and so harassed the Persian locals, that the Captain of the Shah of Persia, on orders of Khan of Xiraz, granted to the Portuguese half the customs duties at the Customs House of the Port of Bandar Kung and some rights over the pearl fisheries at Bahrain.³² The Portuguese were also permitted to have a factory of their own at Bandar Kung which provided them a new base for trade in Persia. The Portuguese ruled Julfar and the surrounding areas up to 1633 when the Arabs under Imam Nasir bin Murshid captured them.³³

After Muscat³⁴ was finally captured by the Imam Sultan-bin Saif-I on 20th January 1650, the Portuguese tried to control the Magumbayas revenues from their factory at Bandar Kung. This factory was soon the main trade center where most of the pearls were brought for onward trade. As the visits of the Portuguese Armadas to the Gulf became irregular in late 17th century, the Persians took advantage of this and the annual payment of the revenues of the Bandar Kung Customs House to the Portuguese fell

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in arrears. Their control over the pearl fisheries increased. Whenever the Portuguese managed to send a strong Armada to the Gulf, its Captain General forced the payment of arrears on the Persians³⁵ and collected the revenues on pearl fishing.

Bahrain remained under Persia for most of the latter part of the 17th century. Under Imam Sultan bin Saif-II, the Arabs who had built a very powerful navy, captured Bahrain and its pearl fisheries in 1717,³⁶ and in the same year foiled a serious Persian attempt to re-conquer it. However, his successors embroiled in internal problems handed Bahrain back to the Persians in 1721. ³⁷

Portuguese Armadas continued to visit the Gulf but only irregularly as the Viceroys now had other priorities and/or a shortage of vessels.

The last Regimento to the Armadas of the GulfThe Historical Archives of Goa possess copies of the ‘Regimentos’ given to the various Captains General of Armadas sent to the Gulf during these centuries. The last of the ‘Regimentos’ of the ‘Livros dos Regimentos & Instruções’, is dated 17th December 1727. It was given to Luis Melo de Sampaio, the Captain General of the Armada, who headed a powerful expedition to the Gulf in 1728, after he had visited Mombasa.³⁸ This was the last Armada the Portuguese sent to the Strait of Hormuz.³⁹

This last Regimento contained 84 clauses, the first 62 of which pertained to the expedition to Mombasa while the remaining concerned the Gulf. Clause No.64 demanded that Shaikh Rashid be forced to pay the Portuguese Captain General part of the duties that he had received since the time he separated from Persia.

Another clause of interest is No.78, in which the Viceroy João Saldanha da Gama made two suggestions: 1) that the Captain General should help to hand over the island of Bahrain to the Arabs, in return for which he should demand a large sum in the form of either money or pearls; or 2) alternately, if at any stage he was in position to pillage Bahrain, he should do so, provided he reserved the warehouse where the pearls were stored for the King of Portugal.

As regards the Cartazes, the Regimento had two clauses (Nos.70 and 71) asking the Captain General to customarily issue Cartazes to all ships and to check that all ships had the Cartazes of the Portuguese, thus assuring the dominance of the Portuguese over the Cartazes given by the English.

The achievements of the Armada of 1728 are not in this paper’s purview, but from the above Regimento it is clear that the English were gaining ground in the Gulf. After the loss of Mombasa for the second time in 1729-30, and with the Maratha threat to the Portuguese in India at that time along with the changing political power scenario in the Gulf commencing with the rise of Nadir Shah,⁴⁰ the Portuguese had no opportunity for further action of note in the Gulf, though their relations with the rulers therein continued.

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Pearls: Weight and Evaluation Finally, it is noteworthy that there are two documents from the Historical Archives of Goa dated 1642 and 1643, describing pearl fishing at Tuticurim (India) and how pearls were weighed and valued in Goa (Estado da India). The unit of weight used in Goa and other Portuguese centers was ‘chego’. The first document states that of the two bags of pearls sent, the cost of the 23 pearls contained in the first bag, weighing 50 ‘chegos’, was 312 patacas (old coin). The pearls in the second bag, weighing 85 ‘chegos’, were bought at the cost of 188 patacas. Although the pearls in the second bag weighed more ‘chegos’ than those in the first bag, the price of the pearls in the first bag was more than those in the second. This researcher’s immediate reaction was that there must have been a mistake in the numbers as written in the text of the documents. The second document mentioned that the pearls in both the bags weighed 50 and 85 ‘chegos’, were valued by lapidaries at Goa and sold at 848 xeraphins (old Goan coin).

The meaning of ‘chego’ in Grande Enciclopédia Portuguesa e Brasileira and in S. R. Dalgado’s Glossary⁴¹ is defined as a peculiar weight of pearls combined with their volume.⁴² ‘Chego’, used solely in Goa and solely for the trade of pearls,⁴³ was a simple, variable weight. The ingenious combination consisted in the weight of ‘chego’ decreasing as measure as the weight of the pearl increased or, as per another definition, the weight of ‘chego’ decreased in proportion as the weight of pearl increased. (O pesos do chego diminuia consoante aumentava o da perola).

These definitions become even clearer if we analyze the description of pearls in the second bag, which were of “greater circumference, varying from first to fifth size of standard measuring rings” (“mayor de aneo da primeira até quinta Joeira”). It appears from this description that there were standard measuring rings to check the diameter of the pearls and that as their volume increased, the calculation of weight implied the pearls were valued less. One may safely deduce that the greater the circumference of the pearl the lesser the value i.e. increases in volume and weight of the pearl were factors used in calculation which resulted in consequent devaluation of ‘chego’ and lower price.

EpilogueBased on research of two centuries of Portuguese presence in the Gulf, this article offers new insight into various aspects of pearl fisheries. A detailed study of Portuguese documents will lead into fuller understanding of the trade, countries involved, type of pearls, their uses and other relevant details. In order to expound upon the type and volume of source material available on the subject, the reader is referred to a document on the usage of pearls by Antonio Leite de Souza, the Commander of Fragata Palma. De Souza captured and raided a ship named ‘Amady’ in collusion with Antonio Brito Freire, the Captain of ‘Fragata Palma’, but due to differences

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between the two in sharing the booty, the issue eventually became public and led to a judicial inquiry. This was preceded by Commander Antonio Leite de Souza’s arrival to the city of Goa, where he made best use of the treasure in his possession. He sold some pearls to Fondu Sawant Bhonsulo⁴⁴, and had ornaments made out of the others which he gifted to a dancing girl (Bailadeira)⁴⁵ with whom he had relations at that time. Then he sold some of the pearls in Goa and carried the rest with him to Portugal, some packed and others in the form of gift articles such as pearl encrusted earrings (brincos)⁴⁶.

NotesAljofar /1. Aljofre in Portuguese and Al-jauhar in Arabic.While the present article relates about pearl fishing in the Gulf in 162. th, 17th and early 18th centuries, one can have some insight of it in Al Watheekah, No. 34 (17th year), July 1998, p.229-214 and No. 13 (7th year) July 1988, p.215-196 for 19th and 20th centuries, respectively.For details on 3. Cartazes System see 2nd Chapter of my thesis Portuguese and the Mughals, 1626-1707 Mumbai University, 1986; Pearson, N.M., Merchants and Rulers of Gujerat, New Delhi, 1976; and other references in these works.McPherson, Kenneth, 4. The Indian Ocean, A History of People and Sea, Oxford Uni. Press, Delhi, 1993, pp.25 and 27; Fryer, John, New Account of East India and Persia being nine years travel, 1672-1681, Vol. II, p.360. etc.Fernandes, Agnelo P., – ‘Goa Archives and Arab History’ in the 5. Arab Documents-23, Conference on Historical Documents on Arab History in the Archives of the World 1st March to 7th March, 2002, Abu Dhabi, p. 127-128; Historical Archives of Goa (=HAG), Livro de Regimentos e Instruções, Vol. III. fl. 122v. Itinerário de Antonio Tenreiro, 6. in Baião, Antonio, Itinerários da India a Portugal por Terra, Coimbra, 1923, pp. 2-127.Godinho, Pe. Manuel, 7. Relação do novo caminho que fez por terra e mar vindo da India para Portugal no ano 1663, (1944).Godinho, Pe. Manuel, op.cit., pp. 107-108. From this it appears that all pearls that were 8. extracted were evaluated so that taxes could be levied on them.Baião, Antonio, op.cit., p. 108; Ferreira Martins, J., 9. ‘Perolas do Oriente’ in O Oriente Português 1916, Vol. XIII, pp. 192-200.Godinho, Manuel, op.cit, p. 107; 10. Biblioteca Nacional Madrid, MS. 3015, fl. 83v-84 as in Documentação Ultramarina Portuguesa, Vol. II, Lisboa 1962, p. 93. Barros, João, 11. Da Asia de, Decada I, Livro III, Capitulo V.

Letter of Afonso de Albuquerque to King D. Manuel-I dated 2012. th October 1514. Corpo Cronologico, Parte I, Maço 16, No.48 in Arquivo Nacional do Torre do Tombo, Lisbon, published in Alguns Documentos do Arquivo Nacional do Torre do Tombo acerca das Navegações e Conquistas Portuguesas. (=Documentos do ANTT), Lisboa, 1892, p. 263.Letter of Afonso de Albuquerque to King D. Manuel dated 2213. nd Sept., 1515, Corpo Cronologico, Parte I, Maço 18, No.101, as in Documentos do ANTT., op.cit., pp. 380.Barros, J., op.cit. Decada II, Parte I, C. II ; 14. Documentação Ultramarina Portuguesa, Vol. II, op.cit. p. 80.The correct name of this Shaikh/King has not been identified.15. Raeez Kamal possessed a huge fleet of his own as well as large number of persons and soldiers, 16.

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because of which the king of Hormuz feared Kamal more than the king of Lassah himself. Barros, J., op.cit. Decada II, Parte I, Cap. II. For attempt to capture Bahrain by the Portuguese under Simão da Cunha, see Barros, J., 17. op.cit. Decada II, Parte II, Livro X, Capitulo VII, p. 362-372; de Castanhada, F.L., op.cit. Livro VII, Capitulo C.II; Cordeiro, Luciano, Dois Capitães da India, Lisboa 1898 p.104-115; for captain Antonio Correa’s attack on the island of Bahrain and the defeat of king ‘Mucry’ see British Museum Library, London, Codice No. 1.646 of Egerton Collection fl. 88.The Book of Duarte Barbosa,18. edited by Mansel Longworth Dames, 2 Vols. Vol.1 published by Asian Education Service (New Delhi) 1989, pp. 81-82; also see Loureiro, M. Rui Manuel, O Manuscrito de Lisboa da “Suma Oriental” de Tome Pires, Lisbon 1996, p. 81 to 85 or Biblioteca Nacional Lisboa, Codice No. 299, fl. 61-63.op.cit p. 73.19. Xeque Ismael in Portuguese text. 20. Letter of Pero de Albuquerque, dated 421. th August 1516 Corpo Cronologico, Parte 2, Maço 65, No. 156 in Documentos do ANTT. p. 387-391. Letter dated 1922. th August 1523, Gaveta 2, Maço 11, No.1, in Documentos do ANTT. op.cit, pp. 480-482.The annual income on Pearls at Hormuz in 1541 was 45 ‘23. leques’. Total revenue of the said island of Hormuz was 141 and half ‘leques’ which amounted to 52,750 pardaos. See Titulo das rendas que remde a Ylha D’Oromuz (1541-43), in Aubin, Jean, “Les Documents Arabes, Persans et Turcs de la Torre do Tombo”, published in Mare Luso-Indicum, Tome II 1973, pp.217-232. See O Orçamento do Estado da India 1571, edited by Artur Teodoro de Matos, published by Comissão Nacional para as comemorações dos Descobrimentos Portugueses, Lisbon, 1999, p.23. (passim). Setimo Livro da Historia dos Descobrimentos e Conquista da India pelos Portugueses24. , (1554) new edition, Lisboa 1833, Cap. 102, pp. 247-255.Biblioteca da Academia das Ciencias, 25. Lisbon. Cod. 314, fls. 249 v-250.Titolo das Rendas Que El Rey tem ffora D’Ormuz’26. in Aubin, Jean, op.cit, pp.218-219. HAG, 27. Livro de Assentos do Conselho da Fazenda, Vol. Fl. 38v.Regimento q se mandou a fortaleza deste Mascate sobre arrecadação dos Cartazes. 28. HAG. Livro de Regimentos & Instruções, Vol. III, fls.122 to 124.HAG, 29. Livro de Regimento e Instruções op.cit. fl.124.Diário do 3° Conde de Linhares, Vicerei da India30. , Tomo II, published by Biblioteca Nacional, Lisboa, 1945, pp.179-80.‘31. Consulta’ (summary of service record) of Paulo Rois Botelho, HAG, Livro de Consultas No.1, (1614-1649) fl.15-16v; Boxer, C.R., Commentaries of Ruy Freyre de Andrade, London 1929, pp.173-254; Slot, B.J., The Arabs of the Gulf 1662-1784, Leidschendam, 1995, pp.126-136.‘32. Consulta’ of Bartolomeu Toscano de Couto, HAG, Livro de Consultas No.2, (1629-1679) fls. 4 to 5, 38v; also see Gracias, A. Ismael, “O General Antonio de Figueiredo e Utra”, in O Oriente Portugues, 1916, p. 182.Copy of the proceedings of the Council at Muscat, HAG, 33. Livro de Monções No.19D fls.1216-1217; ‘Consulta’ of Jeronimo da Costa Ribeiro, HAG. Livro de Consultas No. 2, fl.39.For some details of war between Arab armies under Imam and the Portuguese, for conquest 34. of Muscat and Matrah from October 1643 to 14th March 1649, read: Fernandes, Agnelo P., ‘Goans in Portuguese Armadas during medieval times’ in Meta History: History questioning History edited by Borges s.j., Charles J., and Pearson, M.N., Nova Vega, Lisbon 2007, pp.107-116.

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See 35. Arquivo Historico Ultramarino, Lisboa, India Caixa 35, No.68 (Doc. dated 31/1/1691) and No. 124 (Doc. dated 22/10/1691).Letter of Frei Antonio Desterro dated 2336. rd December 1717 in Livro das Cartas que o Conde de Ericeiro Dom Luis Menezes ….. escreveo a Magestade de El Rey D. João V… na Monção de 1720, Biblioteca Nacional, Lisbon, Codice 6427, fls. 164-168 v.Slot, B. J., op.cit. p. 244.37. Incidentally, this expedition was funded to the tune of 40,000 38. xeraphins, by 5 Goan merchants, namely: Nillia Camotim, Hari Prabhu, Fondu Camotim, Vengally Camotim and Santopa Naik. HAG, Livro de Assentos do Conselho de Fazenda, Vol. 21, fls. 95v-96. Others who also contributed to the same expedition were: the Jesuits (14,000 xeraphins), Soto Mayor (34,000 xeraphins) 7,000 from deposits of Tribunal of Accounts, 7,000 from deposits of Deceased, etc. HAG, op.cit. fls. 96v-97v; 89-89v; 98-98v respectively.For details see HAG, 39. Livro de Regimentos & Instruções, Vol. XII (1727-1737), fl.12v-19; Biblioteca Nacional, Lisbon, F.G. 485, fl. 9-13v; Slot, B. J., op.cit. 265.Phillips, Wendell, – Oman: A History, Lebanon 1971 pp.55, 62, 100; Abu Hakima, M.A., 40. History of Eastern Arabia, Beirut, 1973, ‘Introduction’, p.XVIII as in India and the Indian Ocean, 1500-1800, eds. Das Gupta, Ashin and Pearson, M.N., 1987, p. 133.Dalgado, Sebastião R., 41. Glossário Luso-Asiático: 2 Vols. Coimbra, 1919-21.Following equivalence is given in 42. Grande Enciclopédia Portuguesa e Brasileira: 1 carat = 5 chegos = 0.20735 grains 6 carats = 27 chegos = 1.244 grainsChego 43. is a word from India, which the Portuguese in those lands used in dealing with fine precious stones, and has become a Portuguese dialect. It corresponds to carat. In India only pearls were sold in ‘chegos’, as diamonds in mangelins, rubies and sapphires in ‘fanoens’ and emeralds in ratins, see Dalgado, S. R., op.cit. He was a powerful chieftain of Konkan in the neighbourhood of Goa. At that time, he was 44. opposed to Portuguese. That Pearls were in great demand with rulers of different states in India is amply documented.Many of the Portuguese 45. Fidalgos as well as other Europeans spent much of their treasures, gathered in the East, on Indian dancing girls.HAG, 46. Livro de Regimentos & Instruções, Vol. XII, fl.30v.

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IntroductionThe history of Anglo -Arab relations in the Arabian Gulf has been overshadowed by the general assumption that the Maritime Truces (1835-1971) and the resulting Pax Britannica were imposed by Britain. This assumption has led to the development of two opposing interpretations of the Pax. At one extreme is the view that the Maritime Truces were imposed as necessary acts of British benevolence that benefited the Arabs more than the British. At the other extreme is the view that they were acts of imperialistic domination that benefited the British far more than the Arabs.

This article attempts to resolve the argument between these opposing points of view by considering Britain’s presence in the nineteenth century Gulf from the perspective of the Gulf Arab rulers. It argues that the Gulf Arab rulers, faced by the endless problem of protection, defended their shaikhdoms in the nineteenth century by entering into culturally sanctioned protector-protégé relationships: the Arabian custom of protection-seeking, known as dakhalah (‘entering’ the protection of another) in the northern Gulf and as zabana (refuge-seeking) in the lower Gulf. The rulers tried to impose the role of protector (mujawwir) on Britain’s Political Resident in the Gulf from the very outset of the Gulf Political Residency (1820-1971) with the result that, in time, the Resident came to accept the role of protector and to behave, on the whole, as the rulers expected a protector to behave. This legitimized Britain’s presence within the regional political system in terms of Eastern Arabian culture and meant that the Resident’s authority in the Gulf was not based solely on treaties. The norms and obligations of the Arabian protector-protégé relationship continued to define ruler-Resident relations for over a hundred years, until Britain’s military withdrawal from the Gulf in 1971.

The Politics of Protection:

The Arabian Gulf Rulers and the Pax Britannica in the Nineteenth Century1

James Onley

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Historical backgroundBritish India’s initial interest in Eastern Arabia grew out of a need to protect its ships and subjects in Arabian waters. From 1797 onward, maritime toll-levying and raiding by Arabs of the lower Gulf – similar to Bedouin practices along desert trade routes – increasingly threatened British Indian shipping.2 To put an end to these practices, which they considered extortion and piracy, in 1806 the British blockaded a fleet of dhows belonging to the Qawasim (singular Qasimi), who they believed were responsible, and in 1809 and 1819 sent naval expeditions against Qasimi ports on the Persian coast and on the “Pirate Coast”, as they called the Coast of Oman (the Gulf coast of the present-day United Arab Emirates). After the second expedition, the British were able to impose an anti-piracy treaty – known as the General Treaty of 1820 – on the rulers and governors of the Pirate Coast. The Rulers of Bahrain, who wished to avoid maritime toll-paying, were admitted to the Treaty at their request. To manage British India’s relations with these rulers, supervise the enforcement of the General Treaty, and protect British India’s ships and subjects in Arabian waters, the British created the post of Political Agent for the Lower Gulf, headquartered on Qishm Island in the Strait of Hormuz. Two years later, in 1822, the British transferred this post to Bushire on the southwest Persian coast and amalgamated it with the much older post of Bushire Resident. The new post of “Resident in the Persian Gulf” – “Political Resident in the Persian Gulf” (PRPG) after the 1850s – was responsible for Britain’s relations with the entire Gulf region.3 To support the Resident in his role, the British assigned a naval squadron to the Gulf to patrol its waters – a system known as “watch and cruise”. The Gulf Squadron was under the command of the “Senior Naval Officer in the Persian Gulf” (SNOPG) and was headquartered at the entrance to the Gulf, first on Qishm Island (1821-63, 1869-79) and then on neighbouring Henjam Island (1879-1935). When Reza Shah began to reassert Iranian sovereignty over the northern tier of the Gulf in the 1920s and ’30s, the British moved the Squadron’s headquarters across the Gulf to Bahrain (1935-71), where they established a naval base at Ras al-Jufair (southeast of Manamah).4 Today, the former Royal Navy base is the headquarters of the US Fifth Fleet.

After the imposition of the General Treaty, Gulf rulers consented to other treaties over the course of the century. The most important of these were the Maritime Truces, which established the Pax Britannica in the Gulf. The first Maritime Truce, signed in 1835 by the rulers of Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Ajman and the Qasimi state (Hirah, Khan, Sharjah, Hamriyah, Umm al-Qaiwain, Jazirah al-Hamra, Ras al-Khaimah, Rams, Dibbah, Khor Fakkan, Fujairah, and Kalba along the Arab coast; Charak, Mughu, and Lingah along the Persian coast; and a number of Gulf islands: Abu Musa, Greater Tunb, Lesser Tunb, Kish, and Qishm), was an experimental ban on maritime warfare during the pearling season. The Truce was a great success and a second Truce was arranged the following year, which the newly-independent Ruler of Umm al-Qaiwain also signed. After a series of annual twelve-month truces and a ten-year Truce in 1843, the rulers signed a Perpetual Maritime Truce in 1853.

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In recognition of the shaikhdoms’ membership in the Maritime Truce, the British referred to them as the “Trucial States” and to the Coast of Oman as the “Trucial Coast”.5 The British eventually invited the rulers of Bahrain and Qatar to join the Truce in 1861 and 1916 respectively. Under the terms of the Truce, the Gulf rulers gave up their right to wage war by sea in return for British protection against maritime aggression. This arrangement, known as the “Trucial system”, cast Britain in the roles of protector, mediator, arbiter, and guarantor of settlements. Later on, the rulers also signed Exclusive Agreements (Bahrain in 1880, the Trucial States in 1892, Kuwait in 1899, Najd and Hasa in 1915, Qatar in 1916) binding them into exclusive treaty relations with, and ceding control of their external affairs to, the British Government.6 Although these states were still foreign territory and their rulers remained as heads of state, their status vis-à-vis the British Government of India and (after 1947) the British Government in London placed them informally within the British Empire.7

The rulers’ economic concernsEastern Arabia’s harsh environment is the key to understanding the nature of regional politics in the pre-oil Gulf. There was fierce competition between and within ruling families for control of the Gulf ’s few resources. Lucrative economic activity occurred only in the coastal towns, where it was limited to the exportation of pearls and dates, the importation of goods from abroad, shipping, and ship-building.8 Because those who possessed scarce resources were always at risk of losing them, an atmosphere of uncertainty and insecurity prevailed.9 This state of affairs had serious implications for regional relations. One Gulf Resident described it as “a condition wherein every man’s hand was ever prone to be raised against his neighbour.”10 As a result, the acute need for protection dominated and shaped regional politics more than any other factor.

A shaikhdom’s most vulnerable source of income was its pearling fleets. Before oil, the pearling industry was the Arabian Gulf ’s largest single income source and its biggest employer.11 It follows that the prosperity of a Gulf shaikhdom was linked to a ruler’s ability to safeguard his commercial ports and surrounding waters. A further problem was the security of ships and caravans travelling between a shaikhdom and distant markets. Rulers and tribes who controlled the maritime and overland trade routes connecting Eastern Arabia’s towns with distant markets often levied tolls on those who used them in the form of khuwah (a ‘brotherhood fee’ for protection) or juwaizah (a fee for free passage). A merchant who travelled along controlled routes had to call at the principal towns of the controllers and pay a fee to guarantee his safe passage.12 If he did not and was subsequently intercepted by one of the controller’s patrols, his ship or caravan would be raided. Such raids could be fatal. Before the General Treaty of 1820 banning “piracy”, ships sailing through the Gulf had to pay khuwah or juwaizah to the Imam of Muscat13 (who controlled the Gulf of Oman and the Strait of Hormuz), the Ruler of the Qasimi state (which controlled the lower Gulf between Lingah and Sharjah), and the Ruler of the Ka‘ab (who controlled the sea route between Bushire and Basrah).

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Two other forms of raiding also threatened caravans and ships. Before the first Maritime Truce of 1835, all rulers, including those who did not control a trade route, used privateers as well as their own military forces to engage in the wartime raiding (ghazu) of their enemies.14 Pearling fleets were the most vulnerable to ghazu, as raiders always knew where to find them. A successful raid on a pearling fleet could plunge a shaikhdom into deep recession. The other form of raiding was piracy, in the usual meaning of the term. To the British, the different kinds of maritime raiding were all piracy. And it is apparent that they all interfered with the economic well-being of the Gulf shaikhdoms whose ships were plundered and destroyed.

What clearly emerges from this overview of the Arabian Gulf shaikhdoms’ economy is the high vulnerability of the main sources of income to raiding, the extent to which raiding could seize or destroy limited resources, and the resulting importance of protection. The next sections examine how the Arabian Gulf rulers sought to provide the necessary protection.

The rulers’ military concernsWithout military power, a ruler could not protect and maintain the economic well-being and political integrity of his shaikhdom. Henry Rosenfeld has observed in Arabia “an interlocking hierarchical social structure status-scale ... based on military power and the ability to control certain territory and groups and maintain independence from other groups.”15 In other words, the greater a ruler’s military strength, the more territory and economic resources he could control, and the higher his status in regional politics. Borders naturally fluctuated according to rulers’ military abilities. If a ruler was succeeded by one of significantly greater or lesser ability, there were often territorial consequences. There are countless examples of village shaikhs asserting their independence and of town rulers taking villages under their control.16 The majority of Gulf Arab rulers lacked the resources they needed to guarantee the security of their shaikhdoms. Their personal military forces were small, leaving the rulers vulnerable to antagonistic regional powers, or alliances formed against them.17

Military forces in the full-time employ of Arabian Gulf rulers in the nineteenth century ranged in size from 20 to 200 men – few rulers could afford to employ more.18 In 1905, for instance, John Lorimer notes that the Gulf rulers had the following number of armed retainers:

Gulf rulers’ armed retainers19

STATE ARMED RETAINERSOman 1,050Bahrain 200 (plus another 240 retained by his brother and three sons)Kuwait 100Dubai 100Ras al-Khaimah 70Sharjah 20

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A rulers’ military forces were composed primarily of armed retainers — known as fidawiyyah (singular fidawi) in the northern Gulf and mutarziyyah (singular mutarzi) in the southern Gulf — employed to enforce the ruler’s will within his shaikhdom, and secondarily of warriors from tribes in subordinate alliance with the ruler, whom the ruler called up as needed. The extent of a ruler’s military resources depended upon the economic prosperity of his shaikhdom. The greater a ruler’s financial resources, the more fidawiyyah or mutarziyyah he could employ, and the more tribal shaikhs he could reward for their loyalty and military support. Madawi al-Rasheed explains how the rulers “maintained a tradition of subsidising these [tribal] shaikhs through the continuous distribution of cash and gifts of rice, coffee, sugar, camels, and weapons. These gifts acted as a bribe to maintain the allegiance of the shaikhs, who remained to a great extent autonomous.”20 As one Assistant Resident noted in 1845: “Of so great importance is [the Bedouin tribes’] alliance or forbearance considered by the maritime chieftains, that these ... find it their best policy to conciliate them by repeated and considerable presents.”21 A ruler’s payments to secure loyalty accounted for the majority of his expenses.

The principal difference between the leading shaikh of a tribe and the ruling shaikh of a shaikhdom was the latter’s command of fidawiyyah or mutarziyyah. While both shaikhs had authority derived from their leadership qualities and social status, only the latter had the coercive power to collect taxes and tribute, enforce laws, and punish criminals.22 Both led, but only the latter ruled. Only the latter had the ability to control enough people and territory to constitute a shaikhdom or emirate. The key to rulership was the consistent loyalty of one’s people, but even the ablest leader could not secure this without money.23 That no shaikh could rule his people without a command of economic power explains why all rulerships were town-based, at the heart of economic activity in the Gulf.24 A town fort, therefore, symbolized both control of a town and the rulership of a shaikh. It also symbolized the difference between a ruler of a shaikhdom and a leader of a tribe, who lived in a tent. Peter Lienhardt explains that, “when rulers have been overthrown, the seizing of the fort has often been the main steppingstone to power.”25 The British, too, drew upon the symbolism of forts to great effect. If a ruler seriously breached the terms of the General Treaty or Maritime Truce and then ignored the Resident’s instructions for reparation, the Resident usually threatened to bombard the ruler’s fort. In the rare instances when the Resident was forced to follow through on his threat, the ruler suffered a powerful blow to his rulership, if not the end of it.

As their military forces were never very large, the rulers relied upon tribal alliances either to redress the balance when faced by a stronger enemy, or to gain an advantage over an enemy of equal strength.26 Alliances did not always work, of course, nor did they always last. In the ever-changing political environment of the Gulf, rulers were quick to seize advantages and abandon liabilities with the result that alliances themselves were ever-shifting.27 The rulers’ allies were often fair weather friends.

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The rulers’ tribute relationsIf a ruler faced the impending attack of a much stronger enemy, he would typically seek the protection of a regional power to ward off the threat. These protectors gave guarantees of defence in return for subservience or the relinquishment of some degree of independence. The protégé’s payment of tribute symbolized this and had a transforming effect.28 The protector regarded his tributary as a part of his own tribe.29 Similarly, the protector regarded his tributary’s territory as his territory, but with one important distinction. The protector considered such land, especially if it was at some distance from his shaikhdom, to be a ‘dependency’ rather than a part of his shaikhdom. The protector usually left the governing of his dependency to the local ruler or tribal leader who had submitted to his authority.30 When he did, the only noticeable difference between an independent shaikhdom and a dependency, apart from the tribute payments, was that the dependants or protégés owed allegiance to their protector as if they were his own subjects. Indeed, he considered them his subjects.

Custom dictated the amount of tribute an individual protégé should pay his protector, if he were to pay any at all.31 Custom did not dictate what a protégé ruler should pay, however, although he was usually able to negotiate the payment. If the parties failed to agree on the amount, they would often enlist a neutral ruler to arbitrate. Tribute was normally paid annually and could take many forms: a fixed sum of money; a share of the annual customs revenue; a share of the agricultural produce (mainly dates); a certain number of horses, camels, etc.; provision of men for military service; and even zakat (enjoined Islamic alms that, in the Sunni interpretation, Muslim officials normally collect from Muslim subjects).32 Tribute was typically imposed as khuwah. In its original form, khuwah was a ‘brotherhood fee’ paid voluntarily by the weak to the strong in return for protection.33 The protector became, in effect, his protégé’s big brother, with all the responsibilities that entailed.

A would-be attacker’s forceful imposition of khuwah as a ‘protection tax’ on an opponent, however, symbolized not brotherly relations but political domination.34 Militarily strong rulers would often threaten to attack weaker rulers with the intention of tribute-collection, not military conquest. The same tactic was employed by those who controlled Arabia’s trade routes and imposed tolls (often as khuwah) on those who used them. If the ruler of a shaikhdom, skipper of a ship, or leader of a caravan refused to pay tribute to a would-be attacker, he risked military conquest or raiding. Payment in this context depended largely upon the payer’s belief in the likelihood of attack. There had to be a threat, or a perceived future threat; no threat, no tribute. From a Western perspective this looked like extortion – an Arabian form of protection-racketeering. But there was one important difference: the ‘extortionist’ assumed responsibility for the complete protection of his ‘victim’. Where actual war was involved, tribute could have the positive effect of transforming an adversarial relationship into a protective one, and was the

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customary method of settling a conflict. Paul Harrison observed in 1924 that “the amount of tribute extorted is simply the measure of the balance reached between [the] two contending forces.”35

Henry Rosenfeld tells us how a group’s increased power typically resulted in “increased tribute payments, tributary groups, and honour”, while decreased power meant “less ability to receive tribute, less recognition and, as the group itself becomes tributary, [a] gradual reduction on the status scale of honour.”36 Madawi al-Rasheed elaborates on this analysis:

The inter-connection between military power and economic power was a cyclical process. The two factors, power and tribute, were interdependent; the alteration of one factor automatically affected the other. The more power the amirs had, the more they were able to collect tribute. Equally, more tribute meant more power. The reverse of the cycle was also possible. Less military power meant no effective control over trade, pilgrims, and subjects, consequently, less tribute. Any decrease in tribute meant less subsidies, less loyalty, and a diminished ability to invest in the means of coercion. As a result, the amirs’ power would inevitably be affected and would tend to decrease.37

Tribute payment created what Rosenfeld calls the “web of overlordship and the recognition of a hierarchy of dominance” in Arabia.38 Personal honour and status relations were at the centre of Arabian politics in the nineteenth century, as they are today. Just as one speaks of ‘status relations’ and not ‘class relations’ at the personal level in Arabia,39 so are regional relations a reflection of status relations between rulers vis-à-vis their military power. Saddam Husain’s financial demands on the Amir of Kuwait in the months preceding the August 1990 invasion, for example, resemble the familiar pattern of tribute-collection followed by Gulf Arab rulers in the nineteenth century.

The rulers, protection-seeking, and the protector-protégé relationshipHitherto, historians have explained the relations between Gulf Arab rulers and the rulers’ ever-changing alliances solely in terms of self-interest and shrewd pragmatism. As yet, no historical explanation has viewed intraregional relations through the lens of Arabian political culture. Yet the tribute system upon which these relations were based was in fact regulated by the Arabian custom of protection-seeking. The norms and obligations of the protector-protégé relationship provided the rulers with an effective survival strategy in the face of Arabia’s ever-shifting power dynamics. The rulers used these norms and obligations in a variety of ways to legitimate and regulate their political relations with others – including their relations with the British Government.

As political relations between the shaikhdoms were really relations between individual shaikhs, anthropological studies of protection-seeking customs at the individual level

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are relevant to the study of regional political relations in the Gulf. Paul Dresch, Harold Dickson, Peter Lienhardt, and Sulayman Khalaf have examined these customs in Arabia.40 What follows is a synthesis of their findings.

Just as personal honour was central to regional political relations, so too was it central to the politics of protection. If someone requests protection, honour demands that protection be given.41 The granting of protection is considered an honourable deed, which enhances the reputation of the protector, while refusing protection has the opposite effect.42 Once protection is granted, the protégé (al-dakhil, al-zabin, or al-jar) is ‘on the honour’ (fi wajhhu) of his protector (mujawwir).43 The protégé is henceforth in his charge and the protector is obligated to defend him.44 If the protector is weaker than his protégé’s enemy, he may only be able to hide his protégé and smuggle him to safety.45 Protégés of the same protector are forbidden to offend or attack each other, just as all others – including the protector himself – are forbidden to violate the protection placed over them.46 For a protector to offend his own protégé is the greatest disgrace of all.47 Although respect for the honour of the protector and fear of disgrace restrains the protector’s own people from harming his protégé, it does not inhibit outsiders. There is no question of outsiders ‘respecting’ the honour of the protector. They are not restrained by piety, shame, or fear of God because protection is not the same as sanctuary. What restrains outsiders is fear of the protector and his people and the vengeance they will seek.48

This law of entering another’s protection, known as dakhalah (entering the protection of another) in the upper Gulf and zabana (refuge-seeking) in the lower Gulf, is a sacred and honoured custom throughout Arabia.49 One claims dakhalah by saying ana dakhilak or ana dakhil ‘ala Allah wa ‘alaik (I am your protégé, I enter upon God’s pardon and yours).50 Dresch describes this as entering the ‘personal peace’ of another. Every tribesman has a ‘peace’ by virtue of his personal honour.51 If a protégé offends someone else, especially a fellow protégé, or otherwise behaves badly, he violates this ‘peace’ and insults the honour or ‘face’ (wajh) of his protector. When this happens, the protector may justifiably take action against his protégé or revoke his protection. If someone violates dakhalah, the consequences for the protector and his people are severe.52 Honour demands that the protector exact compensation or take revenge on behalf of the victim. If he cannot, he is obligated to personally compensate the victim out of his own pocket. Only revenge or compensation will restore the honour of the victim and wipe out the disgrace to himself. In this system of protection, a protégé is answerable to his protector who, in turn, is answerable to the public for the actions of his protégé. If one has a claim against a protégé, he is supposed to go to the protector, not the protégé.53 This effectively casts the protector in the secondary roles of mediator, arbiter, and guarantor of settlements. If one side breaks a settlement, the settlement’s guarantor is supposed to intervene on the side of the victim.54 These norms and expectations influenced the conduct of the Gulf rulers toward the British, and eventually became a shaping force in Anglo-Arab relations.55

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One may become the protégé of another without demeaning himself. The protégé has a ‘peace’ of his own and one day the protector may be in need of it.56 A ruler who seeks protection, however, loses some of his personal honour and prestige, as Rosenfeld’s comments in the previous section suggest. Protégés of rulers – be they individuals, tribes, or other rulers – normally paid tribute to their protector.57 In this sense, protégés become like a ruler’s own subjects, from whom he collects taxes such as zakat. In both cases the payer is entitled to the payee’s protection.

If a ruler was unable to secure, or unwilling to accept, the protection of a regional power, or an alliance with a less powerful ruler, and faced certain defeat in battle against his enemy, he had one last resort. It was acceptable for him to place himself under his enemy’s protection as a form of reluctant nominal subservience. This was a political compromise preferable to outright military defeat. A skilful ruler might even use such a temporary submission to his advantage. This practice originates from the tactic Bedouin warriors resorted to in the face of certain death in battle, whereby the supplicant says to his enemy, Ya fulan ana fi wajhak (O so-and-so, I place myself under your protection / on your honour). If he gets the reply, Inta fi wajh hi, sallim salahak (You are under my protection / on my honour, hand over your arms), the supplicant is safe. The protector is then obligated to defend the supplicant with his life until the battle, and possibly the war, is over. The supplicant becomes, effectively, a prisoner of war and is not free to go on his way.58

For a ruler, there was little advantage in surrendering after the commencement of hostilities; only his life would be spared. It was far better for him to offer submission before battle, then his rulership would be spared as well. If he did this, he became a protégé and was required to pay tribute as a sign of submission and political subordination. Henceforth, the ruler’s shaikhdom was considered a dependency of his protector, as discussed above. The ruler became, in effect, a governor who ruled on behalf of his protector.59 Unlike a military conquest, a submission was not normally followed by military occupation, although the protector might send a political agent (wakil or muctamad) to reside at the ruler’s court, making the ruler’s submission largely symbolic and the incorporation often nominal.60 With his rulership intact, a submissive ruler or tribal leader would pay tribute and bide his time until he was able to reassert his independence, often by securing the protection of another regional power or an alliance with a less powerful ruler or tribal leader. For powerful rulers and tribes, these submissions were often nominal and always temporary, lasting no more than a few years. For weak rulers and tribes, submission involved a greater loss of autonomy and tended to be more permanent, lasting for decades or even generations, as did the tribute payments.

Frauke Heard-Bey explains how the greater the geographical distance between the governor of a dependency and his ruler, the greater the governor’s independence, and the less his ruler’s personal influence in the town, district, or dependency under the

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governor’s supervision.61 Another factor was a ruler’s choice of governor. The stronger the bonds of trust between governor and ruler, the more a ruler could delegate authority without the risk of secession. “This is the reason”, says Heard-Bey, “why most Rulers put a brother or a son in charge of an important dependency, but this was not always a sure safeguard against secessionist movements, either led by the wali [governor] or perpetrated by the inhabitants themselves.”62

The rulers also had governors to contend with at home because a shaikhdom was typically divided into areas controlled by governors on behalf of the ruler. The governing of a ruler’s shaikhdom and dependencies by a number of semi-autonomous governors, some of whom might be rivals for the rulership, meant that a ruler’s authority rested, not only on a general acceptance of his rule and his command of economic resources and armed retainers, but ultimately on his superior ability to protect his subjects and dependants. A ruler’s presumed or actual skill at both forging military alliances and devising effective protection-seeking tactics when his shaikhdom and dependencies were threatened was what kept him in power over his governors. The internal structure of his shaikhdom and dependencies thus motivated him to obtain the most powerful protector he could – hence the frequent appeals of the Gulf rulers for British protection.

The protection of their shaikhdoms and dependencies from antagonistic regional powers was an on-going problem for the smaller Gulf rulers. Often they lacked sufficient military resources and were forced to seek or accept outside support, as these tables of facts from the history of the ruling family of Bahrain, the Al Khalifah, illustrate:

Occasions when the Al Khalifah of Bahrain sought military alliances: 63

ALLIES DATES

1. Ruler of Kuwait (al-Sabah) 1770, 1782-3, 1811, 184364

2. Shaikh of Ruwais and Qais Island (al-Jalahimah) 1782-3, 184265

3. Shaikh of Qais Island and Bida‘ (al-Bin-‘Ali) 1842, 1847

4. Shaikhs of western Qatar (al-Na‘im) c.1766-1937

5. Rulers of Sharjah and Ras al-Khaimah (al-Qasimi) 1816-19, 1843, 1867

6. Ruler of Dubai (al-Maktum) 1843

7. Bani Hajir tribe of Hasa 1843, 1869

8. Ruler of Abu Dhabi (Al Nahyan) 1829, 1867

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Occasions when the Al Khalifah of Bahrain sought or accepted protection: 66

PROTECTORS DATES

1. Ruler of Hasa (Bani Khalid) 1716-95

2. Persian Prince-Governor of Fars c.1784-9, 1839, 1843, 1859-60

3. Persian Governor of Bushire 1799

4. Amir of Najd and Hasa (Al Sa‘ud) 1801-5, 1810-11, 1816-17, 1830-3, 1836, 1843, 1847-50, 1851-5, 1856-9 1861-5, 1867-71

5. Imam of Muscat (Al Bu-Sa‘id) 1800, 1801, 1805-6, 1811-16, 1820-1, 1829

6. Commander of the Egyptian army in Hasa 1839-40

7. Ottoman Governor of Egypt 1853

8. Ottoman Sharif of Mecca 1853

9. Ottoman Governor of Baghdad 1859-60

10. British Resident in the Gulf 1805, 1823, 1828, 1830, 1838, 1839, 1842, 1843, 1844, 1846, 1847, 1848, 1849, 1851, 1854, 1859, 1861, 1869, 1872, 1873,1874, 1875, 1878, 1879, 1880,1881, 1887, 1888, 1892, 1895

The Al Khalifah may have had an unusually high number of protectors, but they were by no means unusual in having been protégés. All the ruling families of the Gulf today have been the protégés of regional and extra-regional powers in the past. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, most of them sought British protection. The reason was simple: the Resident had the greatest coercive power in the Gulf at his command: the Gulf Squadron of the Indian Navy and later of the Royal Navy. The Resident had a better chance than any other regional protector of punishing and exacting compensation from offenders. As a result, British protection was the least likely to be violated.

By allying with a powerful protector like the British Government, a ruler also reinforced his own position. If a ruler could create the impression amongst his family and governors that he alone had access to the Resident and that the beneficial connection would be lost without him, he gained security for his rulership against internal rivals.67 In the act of protecting a shaikhdom, either militarily or politically, Britain also enhanced the political status of the ruler and his shaikhdom within the regional political system. British protection “bestowed a legal status on the concept of ‘shaykhdom’,” as J. E. Peterson puts it.68 It also served as recognition of shaikhly families as sovereign governments, thus reinforcing their independence within the regional political system. Peter Lienhardt explains that British protection and recognition accorded the rulers “a status higher than the traditional way of life had allowed them”, reinforcing their authority within their

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shaikhdoms and dependencies.69 The withdrawal of British protection and recognition from a shaikhdom or its dependencies, therefore, made a ruler vulnerable to a family coup d’état or a tribal secession respectively. In the case of the Trucial Coast, British protection and recognition of the coastal rulers also helped to empower most of them to dominate the independent rulers and tribal leaders of the interior, whom the British had not recognized. The result was the conversion of the interior shaikhdoms and tribal areas (dirahs) into dependencies of the coastal shaikhdoms. In the 1950s and ’60s, the British helped the coastal rulers to achieve complete control over these dependencies, in effect to annex them, enabling a British-run oil company, Petroleum Development (Trucial Coast), to explore and drill wells there.

Despite the advantages British protection brought, it proved to be a double-edged sword for the rulers. It came at a high price: accountability to the Resident for any action he disapproved of. Accountability was common to both British and Arabian understandings of the protégé-protector relationship, of course, but the problem for the rulers was that the Resident was able to hold them thoroughly accountable. Once a Gulf Arab ruler obtained a promise of British protection, he disregarded the resulting obligations at his peril. Furthermore, while British protection had enabled many rulers to acquire new inland dependencies, it had the opposite effect on rulers with overseas dependencies. The Maritime Truces forbad the use of maritime force, and the protection and control of tributary domain was no exception. By 1872, the Al Khalifah of Bahrain had lost the majority of their dependencies in Qatar and, by 1887, the Qawasim (singular: Qasimi) of the Trucial Coast had lost their last dependency on the Persian coast: Lingah.

Britain and the role of protectorThe British Government had been extremely reluctant to assume the role of protector in the Gulf. Although the Gulf Residency had been created in 1820 with the aim of stabilizing the region, the British Government rejected the idea of a Maritime Truce until 1835. Even then, the early Truces were temporary, giving the Resident a measure of flexibility in their annual renewal. Not until 1853 did the Government accept responsibility for the permanent maritime protection of the Trucial Coast. The reasons for the Government’s hesitation were, first, that adopting the role of protector might draw Britain into the unstable and unpredictable affairs of the mainland, forcing it to commit military forces there. Shortly after the establishment of the Gulf Residency, the Government realized that the Pax Britannica would be more effectively maintained without land forces. The high death rate of the first Gulf garrison – 444 soldiers and 10 officers killed in battles against just one interior Omani tribe during 1820-21 and the decimation of the garrison by disease during 1821-22 – prompted Britain to withdraw its land forces from the Arabian Gulf in early 1823.70 Thereafter, Britain limited its military activity to the range of its naval guns. It re-constituted its Gulf garrison only in wartime or when war threatened (1856-58, 1914-18, 1939-45,

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and 1961-71). Added to this was the problem that the Imam of Muscat, the Amir of Najd and Hasa, the Persian Prince-Governor of Fars, and the Ottoman Governor of Baghdad all claimed Bahrain as a dependency and had attempted to subjugate it at one time or another. Successive Residents feared, rightly, that the protection of Bahrain would bring them into conflict with these regional powers. For this reason, the Ruler of Bahrain was not invited to join the Maritime Truce until 1861, twenty-six years after the Trucial Rulers.

The second reason for the Government’s hesitation to offer permanent protection before 1853 was that the British feared it might encourage despotism, as it had in some Indian states. The third reason was that the Resident would lose political leverage with the Gulf rulers if he switched from a conditional to an unconditional protection policy. The fourth reason was that permanent protection would shoulder the Government with the role of guarantor of the state. Successive Residents feared that such a role might considerably add to their burden by placing upon them “the onus and responsibility of being the arbiter in every dispute, and [the] settlement of endless claims”, to use the words of Major James Morrison (Resident 1835-37).71

Possible misunderstandings about what the Gulf rulers were asking of the Resident might have also contributed to the Government’s reluctance to assume a protective role in the Gulf. The British concept of protection relied on the protector’s ability to defend his protégé physically and bring an attacker to justice. As a deterrent to attack, it relied solely on a would-be attacker’s respect for the firepower of the protector. The Arabian concept relied additionally on a protégé’s respect for the honour of his protector, thus inhibiting enemies who shared the same protector from attacking each other. It also relied on the protector’s secondary roles of mediator, arbiter, and guarantor of settlements to provide a peaceful channel for would-be attackers to settle their differences with the protégé, as discussed above. It seems that early Residents either misunderstood or rejected the duties of this role, in which Gulf rulers were trying to cast them. Many rulers were frustrated by the failure of successive Residents to live up to these expectations. For instance, early Residents were usually willing to mediate between rulers, but they refused to play the role of guarantor for the settlements reached. Settlement negotiations usually broke down as a result, as Lieutenant Arnold Kemball (Assistant Resident 1841-52, Resident 1852-55) observed in 1844: “Experience has shown that the most solemn engagements between these chieftains ..., formed without the guarantee of the Government, are no security whatever for the maintenance of peace”. “[They] deem the guarantee of the British to any sort of arrangement a sine qua non.” “Attempts have been made to induce the several chiefs to enter into a mutual agreement among themselves, without British guarantee ...; but these have ever been rendered nugatory by Arab pride and sense of honour”.72 The greatest frustration, of course, came from the early Residents’ routine rejection of the rulers’ requests for protection in the first place.

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Before the first Maritime Truce in 1835 – the experimental ban on maritime warfare during the pearling season – Residents feared that a larger naval presence and corresponding expenditure would be necessary if Britain were to assume responsibility for the maritime protection of the Gulf shaikhdoms. The acting Resident who proposed the Truce to the Rulers of the Coast of Oman (later the Trucial Coast), Lieutenant Samuel Hennell (1834-35), only did so because of the Rulers’ enthusiastic support for the idea.73 So desirable was British protection in Eastern Arabia that, shortly after the signing of the General Treaty of 1820 banning “piracy”, the principal pearl merchants of Sharjah offered to pay khuwah to the British Government of India at the rate of MT$20 (Rs.40) per boat if the Gulf Squadron would permanently station a gunboat at the pearl banks to protect their pearling fleets.74 British reports on the first Maritime Truces clearly indicate that its annual renewal was a product of the initiative and insistence of the majority of the rulers, and was not imposed upon them by the Resident. When the time came for the Truce’s first renewal in April 1836, Lieutenant Kemball, observed that it was renewed “with the undisguised satisfaction of the respective chiefs”.75

The idea to extend the Truce’s coverage beyond the summer pearling season into a perpetual ban on all maritime warfare was first proposed by Shaikh Sultan bin Saqr al-Qasimi of Sharjah in September 1836, just sixteen months after the introduction of the first Maritime Truce. The Resident, Major James Morrison, rejected the Shaikh’s proposal. The British Government, Morrison explained, lacked the resources to enforce a perpetual truce. Or so he believed.76 The British were also convinced that, so long as the ban on maritime warfare permitted rulers to pursue feuds outside of the pearling season, they would be content “to allow their feuds and animosities to remain in abeyance, under the idea that after a specified date it would always be in their power to indulge their deeply rooted feelings of animosity, should they feel disposed to do so.”77 Were the ban to become perpetual, it could not provide for this. Samuel Hennell (Assistant Resident 1826-38, Resident 1838-41, 1843-52) believed that precluding the rulers “from avenging insults, or taking satisfaction for wrongs, whether real or imaginary, would so embitter the sentiments of hatred entertained [by the rulers] towards each other, that a series of aggressions and retaliations would speedily arise, which would only tend to defeat the very object for which the peace had been negotiated.”78

In 1838, when Captain Hennell toured the Coast of Oman to renew the Maritime Truce for a third time, Shaikh Sultan bin al-Qasimi “not only expressed his earnest desire for a renewal of the Truce, but added that it would afford him sincere pleasure if it could be changed into the establishment of a permanent peace upon the seas.”79 Hennell rejected the Shaikh’s proposal, for the reasons just mentioned. Undeterred, the Shaikh urged the Resident to agree to an annual twelve-month truce instead. As the other rulers consented to the Shaikh’s proposal, Hennell drew up a new truce accordingly, which the rulers readily signed.80

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So successful were the annually renewed Truces, that the Resident agreed to guarantee a ten-year Maritime Truce in 1843. The following year, Lieutenant Kemball observed that the rulers “are now quite as much interested in its maintenance as ourselves; and of this they exhibited ample proof in their united readiness to renew it for so long a period as ten years, or even more, had such been desired or deemed expedient.”81 J. B. Kelly explains that,

so changed had the shaikhs’ outlook become by the time of the conclusion of the Ten Years’ Truce that they often acted on their own initiative to punish infractions of the truce by their subjects, even before these had been brought to the notice of the Resident. Sometimes they even went further and acted to prevent the commission of piracy. The Shaikh of ‘Ajman, for example, when a Qasimi vessel from Lingah ran aground in a storm off Ajman in 1845, hastened to the scene with his brothers, sword in hand, and swore to cut down the first man who tried to plunder the vessel.82

After the successful completion of the ten-year Truce in 1853, it was evident to the British that their reasons for not granting permanent protection were unfounded. That year, the Resident finally invited the Rulers of the Coast of Oman to sign a Perpetual Maritime Truce, seventeen years after the Ruler of Sharjah first proposed the idea. All the Rulers signed without hesitation.

The slow realisation that earlier British fears were unwarranted is also reflected in the British Government’s gradual change in attitude towards the protection of Bahrain. Until 1838, the Government maintained a straightforward ‘no protection’ policy for the reasons outlined above.83 In 1838, however, it adopted a cautious ‘emergency protection only’ policy dependent upon British approval of the Ruler. In 1851, it adopted an ‘unofficial protection only’ policy irrespective of British approval of the Ruler.84 In 1861, after the Ruler became increasingly warlike, it adopted a ‘permanent protection’ policy and admitted Bahrain to the Perpetual Maritime Truce, making it Bahrain’s Protecting Power.85 Finally, in 1880, it assumed responsibility for Bahrain’s foreign affairs.86 After 1861, it was able to maintain political leverage with the Ruler and avoid encouraging despotism, as experienced in the Indian states, by limiting its protection to the shaikhdom. It would not guarantee the Ruler’s position within the shaikhdom. Time and time again, the Resident informed the Ruler that,

it was highly desirable that the Chief of Bahrein should learn to rely on his own resources for the maintenance of his position, for as long as he could count on the constant presence of foreign support he would surely remain careless and pathetic and disinclined to exert himself in strengthening his position by good administration and a conciliatory policy towards his people.87

The only way the Ruler could secure British support for his rulership in moments of crisis was if the Resident wished it to continue. All the Trucial Rulers were in the

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same position. This motivated most of the rulers most of the time to maintain good relations with the Resident.

The strength of the British position in the Arabian Gulf in the nineteenth century was that the British alone had the power to stop the cyclical pattern of protection-seeking, raiding, and invasion amongst the rulers. Residents could use this position to their advantage as an indirect method of keeping in power those rulers who co-operated with them to maintain the Pax Britannica, and keeping out of power those who did not. Occasionally Residents employed more direct methods, intervening personally to remove rulers unwilling to co-operate with them and installing shaikhs who would uphold the Pax Britannica. One must view this in context, however. Other regional protectors, such as the Al Sa‘ud of Najd and the Al Bu-Sa‘id of Muscat, regarded such interventions as a right and behaved accordingly. The fact that protégés were occasionally deposed by their protectors did nothing to diminish the general demand for protection and the willingness of the rulers to accept it.

Conclusion: the rulers and the Pax BritannicaThis study has argued that the Gulf Arab rulers, faced by the endless problem of protection, defended their shaikhdoms during the nineteenth century by entering into culturally sanctioned protector-protégé relationships. It has shown how the rulers tried to impose the role of protector on the Resident and the British Government from the very outset of the Gulf Residency and that, in time, the Resident came to accept the role of protector and to behave, on the whole, as the rulers expected a protector to behave. This legitimized Britain’s presence within the regional political system in terms of Eastern Arabian culture and meant that the Resident’s authority in the Gulf was not based solely on treaties. From the rulers’ perspective, the Resident was a Gulf ruler himself, except that he was the most powerful and influential ruler they had ever known. The Gulf rulers gave him the respectful titles of Ra’is al-Khalij (Chief of the Gulf ) and Fakhamat al-Ra’is (His High Presence the Chief ).88

Although the ban on maritime warfare deprived the Al Khalifah and the Qawasim of their dependencies in Qatar and on the Persian coast, the Pax Britannica benefited the Gulf shaikhdoms – including Bahrain, Sharjah, and Ras al-Khaimah – as much as it did the British. This explains why the Pax was so successful: it was largely self-enforcing. To assume, as many now do, that Britain imposed its protection on the Gulf shaikhdoms against the will of their rulers, is not only to ignore the Eastern Arabian tradition of protection-seeking and the successful use the rulers made of it, but also to completely disregard the historical record, set forth in this article, which shows that the protection treaties were initiated as much by the Gulf rulers as by the British, and that it was mainly the rulers who worked towards the establishment of the Perpetual Maritime Truce. British protection was not imposed on the Gulf shaikhdoms, but sought after and welcomed by the Gulf rulers, despite the restrictions it placed on their rulerships.89

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The view of British protection as unsolicited and unwanted only arose when memories of the turbulent years before the Maritime Truce became distant, when the benefits of British protection became less apparent, and when the British became increasingly involved in domestic affairs.90 Even so, the need for British protection remained. In 1968, when the British Government declared it could no longer afford the £12,000,000 per annum to keep its forces in the Gulf and would be withdrawing its military in 1971, the Ruler of Abu Dhabi, Shaikh Zayid bin Sultan Al Nahyan, offered to pay for the military presence himself. The Ruler of Dubai made a similar offer, adding that he believed all four oil-producing states under British protection – Abu Dhabi, Bahrain, Dubai, and Qatar – would be willing to cover the cost. The British Government declined these unprecedented offers, however, and withdrew its forces in December 1971.91 One need only compare this with Britain’s withdrawal from Egypt, Palestine, or Aden to appreciate the difference between Britain’s involvement in the Arabian Gulf and its involvement in the rest of the Arab world.

AbbreviationsAsst. AssistantFor. ForeignIOR India Office Records, British Library, LondonMT$ Maria Theresa dollarsn. footnotePRPG Political Resident in the Persian GulfRs. Rupees Sec. SecretarySNOPG Senior Naval Officer in the Persian Gulf (the Commander of the Gulf

Squadron)

NotesThis is a revised version of a substantially longer article, entitled “The Politics of Protection in 1. the Gulf: The Arab Rulers and the British Resident in the Nineteenth Century”, published in New Arabian Studies, vol. 6 (2004), pp. 30-92. It is based on research conducted in Bahrain, funded by the Bahrain-British Foundation; in London at the India Office Records (IOR) of the British Library, funded partly by the Society for Arabian Studies; and in Oxford at the Middle East Centre of St. Antony’s College. For reading drafts of this article and offering helpful comments, I am indebted to Gloria Onley, James Piscatori, Frauke Heard-Bey, Ahmad al-Shahi, and Andrew Gardner. For helpful discussions on the article’s subject, I would also like to thank Paul Dresch, Sulayman Khalaf, Jill Crystal, Ali Akbar Bushiri, Nelida Fuccaro, Yoav Alon, and Samer El-Karanshawy.For more details of this episode in Gulf history, see L.E., Sweet, “Pirates or Polities? Arab 2. Societies of the Persian or Arabian Gulf, 18th Century”, Ethnohistory, vol. 11, no. 3 (summer 1964), pp. 262-80; C. Belgrave, The Pirate Coast (London: G. Bell & Sons, 1966); H. Moyse-Bartlett, The Pirates of Trucial Oman (London: Macdonald, 1966); P. R[isso] Dubuisson, “Qasimi Piracy and the General Treaty of Peace (1820)”, Arabian Studies, vol. 4 (1978), pp. 47-57; S.M. al-Qasimi, The Myth of Arab Piracy in the Gulf (London: Croom Helm, 1986); C.E. Davies, The Blood-Red Arab Flag: An Investigation into Qasimi Piracy, 1797-1820 (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1997); P. Risso, “Cross-Cultural Perceptions of Piracy: Maritime

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Violence in the Western Indian Ocean and Persian Gulf Region during a Long Eighteenth Century”, Journal of World History, vol. 12 (fall 2001), pp. 293-319.For a history of the Gulf Residency, see D. Wright, 3. The English Amongst the Persians during the Qajar Period, 1787-1921 (London: Heinemann, 1977), pp. 62-93; P. Tuson, The Records of the British Residency and Agencies in the Persian Gulf. IOR R/15 (London: India Office Records, 1979), pp. 1-9; G. Balfour-Paul, The End of Empire in the Middle East: Britain’s Relinquishment of Power in Her Last Three Arab Dependencies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 96-136.The title SNOPG was only used after 1869. Earlier variants were the “Senior Indian Marine 4. Officer in the Persian Gulf” (1822-30), the “Senior Indian Naval Officer in the Persian Gulf” (1830-63) and the “Commodore at Bassadore” (1822-63). For the sake of simplicity, SNOPG is used for all four.Sharjah and Ras al-Khaimah became separate Trucial States in 1869, although the British 5. Government did not recognise this until 1921. Fujairah did not follow suit until 1901 and 1952 respectively.For analysis of the treaties, see J.B. Kelly, “The Legal and Historical Basis of the British Position 6. in the Persian Gulf”, St. Antony’s Papers, no. 4: Middle Eastern Affairs, vol. 1 (London: Chatto & Windus, 1958), pp. 119-40; D. Roberts, “The Consequences of the Exclusive Treaties: A British View”, The Arab Gulf and the West, edited by B.R. Pridham (London: Croom Helm, 1985), pp. 1-14; H.M. al-Baharna, “The Consequences of Britain’s Exclusive Treaties: A Gulf View”, The Arab Gulf and the West, pp. 15-37; al-Baharna, The Legal Status of the Arabian Gulf States: A Study of Their Treaty Relations and Their International Problems (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1968).For details, see J. Onley, 7. The Arabian Frontier of the British Raj: Merchants, Rulers, and the British in the Nineteenth-Century Gulf (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007).For more details, see H. Fattah, 8. The Politics of Regional Trade in Iraq, Arabia, and the Gulf, 1745-1900 (Albany: SUNY Press, 1997), pp. 63-90; F. Heard-Bey, From Trucial States to United Arab Emirates, 2nd edn. (London: Longman, 1996), pp. 164-97; Heard-Bey, “The Tribal Society of the UAE and its Traditional Economy”, in E. Ghareeb and I. al-Abed (eds.), Perspectives on the United Arab Emirates (London: Trident Press, 1997), pp. 254-72; P. Lienhardt, The Shaikhdoms of Eastern Arabia, ed. A. al-Shahi (London: Palgrave, 2001), pp. 24-32, 114-64.R.G. Landen, “The Arab Gulf in the Arab World 1800-1918”, 9. Arab Affairs, 1 (summer 1986), pp. 59, 64.Pelly (PRPG) to Gonne (Sec., Bombay For. Dept.), 19 June 1869, L/P&S/9/15 (IOR). Also 10. see Lienhardt, The Shaikhdoms of Eastern Arabia, p. 97.See, for example, Maj. D. Wilson, “Memorandum Respecting the Pearl Fisheries in the 11. Persian Gulf”, Journal of the Royal Geographical Society, 3 (1833), pp. 283-6; Capt. E. L. Durand, “Notes on the Pearl Fisheries of the Persian Gulf”, Government of India, Report on the Administration of the Persian Gulf Political Agency for the Year 1877-78 (Calcutta: For. Dept. Press, 1878), appendix a, pp. 27-41; J. B. Kelly, Britain and the Persian Gulf, 1795-1880 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1968), pp. 29-30.S. B. Miles, 12. The Countries and Tribes of the Persian Gulf (London: Harrison & Sons, 1919), p. 291; Fattah, The Politics of Regional Trade, pp. 5-6, 31, 36-8, 47-9, 60, 126; F. I. Khuri, Tribe and State in Bahrain: The Transformation of Social and Political Authority in an Arab State (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), pp. 19-20; M. al-Rasheed, Politics in an Arabian Oasis: The Rashidis of Saudi Arabia (London: I.B. Tauris, 1990), pp. 111-17; K. H. al-Naqeeb, Society and State in the Gulf Arab Peninsula: A Different Perspective (London: Routledge, 1990), pp. 11, 13-16; C. E. Davies, The Blood-Red Arab Flag: An Investigation into Qasimi Piracy, 1797-1820 (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1997), p. 263; A. M. Abu

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Hakima, History of Eastern Arabia, 1750-1800: The Rise and Development of Bahrain and Kuwait (Beirut: Khayats, 1965), p. 170 (n. 1). The British referred to the Ruler of Muscat as the “Imam of Muscat” (often spelt “Imaum”) 13. until the mid-nineteenth century and as the “Sultan of Muscat” thereafter. The British Government first referred to the Ruler as the “Sultan of Muscat” in the Anglo-Muscati Treaty of 1839. The Ruler himself used the title of Imam until 1786, after which time he used the title of Sayyid. For more details, see Kelly, Britain and the Persian Gulf, pp. 11-12.Davies, 14. The Blood-Red Arab Flag, pp. 263-4; Heard-Bey, From Trucial States to United Arab Emirates, pp. 228-9. Patricia Risso prefers to describe ghazu as “piracy”. P. Risso Dubuisson, “Qasimi Piracy and the General Treaty of Peace (1820)”, Arabian Studies, 4 (1978), p. 47.H. Rosenfeld, “The Social Composition of the Military in the Process of State Formation in 15. the Arabian Desert”, part 1, The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, 95 (1965), p. 79.Lienhardt, 16. The Shaikhdoms of Eastern Arabia, p. 15. For a discussion of the military in nineteenth century Arabia, see Rosenfeld, “The Social 17. Composition of the Military”, parts 1 and 2, pp. 75-86, 174-94; T. Asad, “The Beduin as a Military Force: Notes on Some Aspects of Power Relations between Nomads and Sedentaries in Historical Perspective”, in C. Nelson (ed.), The Desert and the Sown: Nomads in the Wilder Society (Berkeley: Institute of International Studies, University of California, 1973), pp. 61-73; al-Rasheed, Politics in an Arabian Oasis, pp. 133-58; J. Crystal, Oil and Politics in the Gulf: Rulers and Merchants in Kuwait and Qatar (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), p. 60.Rosenfeld, “Social Composition of the Military”, part 2, p. 17818. J. G. Lorimer, 19. Gazetteer of the Persian Gulf, ’Oman, and Central Arabia, 2: Geographical and Statistical (Calcutta: Superintendent of Government Printing, 1908), pp. 252, 454, 1009, 1076, 1422–3, 1761.Al-Rasheed, 20. Politics in an Arabian Oasis, pp. 81-82; al-Rasheed, “The Rashidi Dynasty: Political Centralization among the Shammar of North Arabia”, New Arabian Studies, 2 (1994), p. 146.Lt. A. B. Kemball, “Memoranda on the Resources, Localities, and Relations of the Tribes 21. Inhabiting the Arabian Shores of the Persian Gulf” (1845), in R. H. Thomas (ed.), Selections from the Records of the Bombay Government, new ser., 24 (Bombay: Bombay Education Society Press, 1856; reprinted by Oleander Press, 1985), p. 94.Lienhardt, 22. The Shaikhdoms of Eastern Arabia, pp. 209-10; Khuri, Tribe and State in Bahrain, pp. 51-2; Khuri, “From Tribe to State in Bahrain”, in , S. E. Ibrahim and N. S. Hopkins (eds.), Arab Society: Social Science Perspectives (Cairo: AUC Press, 1985), p. 435.Khuri, “From Tribe to State in Bahrain”, p. 435.23. P. Lienhardt, “The Authority of Shaykhs in the Gulf: An Essay in Nineteenth Century History”, 24. Arabian Studies, 2 (1975), p. 69; Khuri, Tribe and State in Bahrain, p. 435. For an explanation of about how leaders of bedouin tribes became rulers of towns and shaikhdoms, see J. E. Peterson, “Tribes and Politics in Eastern Arabia”, Middle East Journal, 31 (1977), pp. 299-300.Lienhardt, “The Authority of Shaykhs in the Gulf”, p. 69.25. There has been extensive work on alliance-seeking in Arabia. See, for example, al-Rasheed, 26. Politics in an Arabian Oasis; F. F. Anscombe, The Ottoman Gulf: The Creation of Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and Qatar (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997); S. Alghanim, The Reign of Mubarak Al-Sabah: Shaikh of Kuwait, 1896-1915 (London: I.B. Taurus, 1998); F. I. Khuri, Tents and Pyramids: Games and Ideology in Arab Culture from Backgammon to Autocratic Rule (London: Saqi Books, 1990), pp. 114-17.

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Landen, “The Arab Gulf in the Arab World 1800-1918”, p. 59; al-Rasheed, “The Rashidi 27. Dynasty”, p. 152 (n. 20).Rosenfeld, “Social Composition of the Military”, part 1, pp. 78-9; Landen, “The Arab Gulf in 28. the Arab World 1800-1918”, p. 59.Rosenfeld, “Social Composition of the Military”, part 1, p. 76.29. P. W. Harrison, 30. The Arab at Home (New York: Thomas Y. Cromwell & Co., 1924), p. 125. For examples of customary tribute payments, see H. R. P. Dickson, 31. The Arab of the Desert: A Glimpse into Badawin Life in Kuwait and Sa’udi Arabia (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1949), pp. 443-4; al-Rasheed, Politics in an Arabian Oasis, pp. 113-14.For more information on 32. zakat, see Dickson, The Arab of the Desert, pp. 440-1; Heard-Bey, From Trucial States to United Arab Emirates, p. 161.Khuri, 33. Tribe and State in Bahrain, p. 20.Al-Rasheed, 34. Politics in an Arabian Oasis, p. 115. Al-Rasheed discusses khuwah at length on pp. 111-17. Harrison, 35. The Arab at Home, p. 156.Rosenfeld, “Social Composition of the Military”, part 1, p. 79.36. Al-Rasheed, 37. Politics in an Arabian Oasis, pp. 116-17.Rosenfeld, “Social Composition of the Military”, part 1, p. 85 (n. 3).38. Ibid., p. 79.39. P. Dresch, 40. Tribes, Government, and History in Yemen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), pp. 59-64, 93-5, 109, 121, 258; Dickson, The Arab of the Desert, pp. 125, 133-9, 349-50, 440-1, 443-4, 610; Lienhardt, The Shaikhdoms of Eastern Arabia, pp. 105, 112-13; S. N. Khalaf, “Settlement of Violence in Bedouin Society”, Ethnolog, 29 (1990), pp. 225-42.Dresch, 41. Tribes, p. 258.Lienhardt, 42. The Shaikhdoms of Eastern Arabia, p. 112.A protégé is called 43. al-jar in South Arabia, al-dakhil in the upper Gulf, and al-zabin in the lower Gulf. See Dresch, Tribes, pp. 59-61; Dickson, The Arab of the Desert, p. 133-9, 610; Lienhardt, The Shaikhdoms of Eastern Arabia, p. 105. Dresch, 44. Tribes, p. 59. Wajh literally means ‘face’ and fi wajhhu means ‘in his face’.Lienhardt, 45. The Shaikhdoms of Eastern Arabia, p. 112.Dresch, 46. Tribes, pp. 59-60.Ibid., pp. 60-1.47. Lienhardt, 48. The Shaikhdoms of Eastern Arabia, p. 112.Dickson, 49. The Arab of the Desert, p. 133-4; H. Wehr, A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, 3rd edn. (Ithaca, N.Y.: Spoken Language Services, 1976), p. 273; Khalaf, “Settlement of Violence in Bedouin Society”, p. 227.Dickson, 50. The Arab of the Desert, p. 133-4.Dresch, 51. Tribes, pp. 59, 62, 64.Dickson, 52. The Arab of the Desert, pp. 135, 139; Khalaf, “Settlement of Violence in Bedouin Society”, p. 237.Dresch, 53. Tribes, pp. 60-1.Lienhardt, “The Authority of Shaykhs in the Gulf”, p. 73.54. Lienhardt, 55. The Shaikhdoms of Eastern Arabia, pp. 5-8.Dresch, 56. Tribes, p. 64.

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Dickson, 57. The Arab of the Desert, pp. 440-1, 443-4.Ibid., p. 125.58. Harrison, 59. The Arab at Home, p. 126.A. Vassiliev, 60. The History of Saudi Arabia (London: Saqi Books, 1998), p. 188.Heard-Bey, 61. From Trucial States to United Arab Emirates, p. 81.Ibid., pp. 81-2.62. J. G. Lorimer, 63. Gazetteer of the Persian Gulf, ’Oman, and Central Arabia, 1: Historical (Calcutta: Superintendent of Government Printing, 1915), pp. 842-946.The al-Sabah were ancient allies of the Al Khalifah. These dates indicate those times when the 64. al-Sabah came, or were asked to come, to the military assistance of the Al Khalifah.The al-Jalahimah were also ancient allies, but fell out with the Al Khalifah in 1783. These 65. dates indicate those times when the al-Jalahimah came to the military assistance of the Al Khalifah.Lorimer, 66. Gazetteer, 1: Historical, pp. 842-946.My thanks to Yoav Alon for this insight.67. Peterson, “Tribes and Politics in Eastern Arabia”, p. 302.68. Lienhardt, 69. The Shaikhdoms of Eastern Arabia, p. 15. Also see Peterson, “Tribes and Politics in Eastern Arabia”, pp. 297-8.Kelly, 70. Britain and the Persian Gulf, pp. 167-192.Paraphrase of Morrison (PRPG) to Sultan al-Qasimi, Sept. 1836, qtd. in Kemball, 71. “Observations on the Past Policy of the British Government towards the Arab Tribes of the Persian Gulf” (1844), in R. H. Thomas (ed.), Selections from the Records of the Bombay Government, new ser., 24 (Bombay: Bombay Education Society Press, 1856; reprinted by Oleander Press, 1985), p. 69. Kemball, “Observations on the Past Policy” (1844), in Thomas (ed.), 72. Selections, pp. 62-3, 68, 73.Ibid., p. 68.73. Ibid., p. 68 (n. *).74. Ibid., p. 69.75. Ibid.76. Hennell (Asst. PRPG) to Sec., Bombay Pol. Dept., 19 Apr. 1838, qtd. in ibid., p. 70 (n. *). 77. This report is incorrectly dated 19 Apr. 1830.Ibid.78. Kemball, “Observations on the Past Policy” (1844), in Thomas (ed.), 79. Selections, pp. 69-70.Ibid., p. 70.80. Ibid., p. 74.81. Kelly, 82. Britain and the Persian Gulf, p. 369.For details of this policy and the motives behind it, see Kemball, “Observations on the Past 83. Policy” (1844), in Thomas (ed.), Selections, p. 69 (n. *).Lt. A. B. Kemball, “Historical Sketch of the Uttoobbee Tribe of Arabs (Bahrein), 1832-1844” 84. (1844), Thomas (ed.), Selections, pp. 288-89; Lt. H. F. Disbrowe, “Historical Sketch of the Uttoobee Tribe of Arabs (Bahrein), 1844-1853” (1853), ibid., pp. 417, 420. J. A. Saldanha, 85. Précis of Bahrein Affairs, 1854-1904 (Calcutta: Superintendent of Governmant Printing, 1904), pp. 10-11.

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Ibid., pp. 67-8.86. Saldanha’s paraphrase of a report by Ross (PRPG), July 1874, in Saldanha, 87. Précis of Bahrein Affairs, p. 41.D. Hawley, 88. Desert Wind and Tropic Storm: An Autobiography (Wilby: Michael Russell, 2000), p. 44.Many more illustrations of this can be found in J. Onley, “The Politics of Protection in the 89. Gulf: The Arab Rulers and the British Resident in the Nineteenth Century”, New Arabian Studies, vol. 6 (2004), pp. 30-92.My thanks to Frauke Heard-Bey for this insight.90. 91. The Times, 22 Jan. 1968, p. 1; The Times, 26 Jan. 1968, p. 5; L. Y. Saffoury, “Britain’s Withdrawal from the Persian Gulf: Decision and Background”, MA thesis (American University of Beirut, 1970), pp. 104-5; J. B. Kelly, Arabia, the Gulf and the West (London: George Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1980), pp. 49-50.

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In a 17 April 2009 speech in Manama, Bahrain, Gulf Cooperation Council Secretary-General Abdul Rahman Al Attiyah informed listeners that: “We need to consolidate the Gulf identity and turn it into a collective consciousness that prides itself on the land, the culture, the religion and the history of the Gulf.”1 Attiyah, like many in the region, believed that the presence of millions of expatriate workers has impacted the cultural characteristics of local citizens and therefore weakened their sense of national identity. A short time later a similar warning surfaced in the United Arab Emirates during discussions at a two-day conference held at the Sharjah Higher Colleges of Technology. Speakers at this conference focused on the topic of protecting Emirati language, history, and religion as the cornerstones that define citizens of the UAE.2 These loss of identity fears were best summarized by the conference speech of Dr. Abdul Khaleq Abdullah, Political Science Professor at the UAE University, who proclaimed that the country’s 800,000 citizens “are lost” amongst the country’s millions of expatriates.3 Dr. Maryam Byshak, Assistant Dean for Student Affairs at UAE University, argued further that in the case of language Emirati were “losing some national characteristics that distinguish their unique identity.”4 Regional newspapers emphasized the fears with headlines and stories that lamented the increasing numbers of educational courses that were being taught in English and the demographic facts that the nation faced a skyrocketing divorce rate and that a majority of women over age thirty were unmarried.5 Post-9/11 stereotyping and reconfiguration of Middle Eastern peoples in the minds of most Westerners further complicated the issue of loss of national identity.6 Overall, most of the region’s citizens recognized the problem as being produced by the globalizing of their culture.

Documenting Cultural History with Oral Sources:

Collecting Oral Testimony to Establish a Modern UAE National IdentityVictor W. Geraci

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Discussions of the conundrum of identity loss are not new to the region or to the global community. The overwhelming demographic changes and public debate prompted a series of actionable programs by government, scholarly institutions, private organizations, and individuals to directly address the problem. Historian Ali Mohammed al Matroush cited the growing movement of individual citizens to do family genealogical trees as proof of the popular support for the cause. In turn, government officials capitalized on the theme in 2008 by sponsoring the National Identity Conference in Abu Dhabi. At the gathering Sheikh Mansour bin Zayed, the Minister of Presidential Affairs, declared that; “the national and indigenous traditions which are rooted in Islamic and Arab values and traditions” are the heart and soul of identity issues.7

One response to the challenge came from the National Center for Documentation and Research (NCDR) in Abu Dhabi. The NCDR, as an official archive of UAE history and culture, organized and undertook an oral history program to record and make accessible the narrative memories of what many believe is the last generation of citizens who fully lived and understood the traditional ways that had embodied the tenants of what is now a rapidly disappearing cultural heritage. In undertaking this formidable task the NCDR established a collaborative two-year arrangement whereby the University of California Berkeley’s Regional Oral History Office (ROHO) provided advice for planning, staff training, and execution of this large-scale endeavor. As part of the arrangement ROHO staff visited the UAE for two weeks in 2009 and toured cultural centers, museums, national monuments, NCDR facilities, and met possible interviewees and interviewers so as to be able to evaluate the needs and identify possible pitfalls in establishing a national oral history program. ROHO also provided lectures, seminars, and individual assistance, on the field of oral history, during the visit. Continuing collaboration will include NCDR staff visits to UC Berkeley and further ROHO visits to the UAE along with an ongoing collegial relationship.

The intended purpose of this paper is to illuminate the need for the NCDR oral history project and contextualize the issues involved with utilizing oral history and memory to influence current popular perceptions. Imbedded within the discussion will be some of the challenges inherent in executing a regional oral history program that is consistent with international oral history standards and serves both the needs of scholars and those wishing to document social and cultural history for public history audiences. Also included in the

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discussion will be the development of the guiding themes of community and family to capture memories that both document a past cultural heritage and provide twenty-first century Emirati a means to internalize a new sense of National Identity.

Why Oral History?Since the late nineteenth-century sociologists and historians from Western industrialized nations have documented, archived, and analyzed the tempestuous shift of the majority of their nation’s populations from rural to urban lifestyles and the resulting effects on issues such as employment, gender roles, housing, entertainment and recreation, religious beliefs, politics, and secular behaviors. Scholars in the UAE face an additional sense of urgency due to the fact that their modernization process has been accelerated and compacted into a few decades. Thus creating a generational scenario whereby citizens under age 40 have little or no direct recollection of their past heritage and suffer from a noticeable loss of national identity. As in many of the Gulf region nations the UAE has transformed itself from a poor desert and coastal lifestyle to the status of one of the wealthiest nations in the global community.8 To achieve this rank Emirati welcomed, sometimes hesitantly, a flood of immigrant workers that grew to comprise approximately 80 percent of the nation’s total population.9 These demographic changes, unprecedented economic growth, and far-reaching openness to the West resulted in numerous challenges and changes to the intellectual, religious, economic, and social fabric of the nation.

By the 1980s many Emirati realized that modernization had co-opted the heart and soul of the traditional Bedu (Bedouin) ways symbolized by their camel culture. One attempt to revive the spirit of the old ways was the making of camel racing as the national symbol of traditional culture. As a result, during the decade of the 1980s some entrepreneurial citizens systematically developed camel racing as a theatrical stage “upon which culture is played out, reconstituted, or invented.”10 Regretfully, the end result was that the Camel racing phenomenon more directly mirrored the uneasy transition from the cultural icon of the camel as ata Allah (Allah’s gift to man) to a Western material car culture. For many Emirati the races became more of a representation of Western modernization and cultural commoditization than a representation of cultural identification. Sadly, this left many citizens with an unsatisfied intellectual and spiritual hunger for their past traditional cultural heritage.

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Over the next three decades the entire Gulf region faced a continuing loss, due to aging, of the past desert generations whose memories of bygone practices dealing with everyday life, crafts and trades, marriage customs, childrearing traditions, gender roles, clothing, means of entertainment, agricultural techniques, animal husbandry, monarch based political system, forms and building of shelters, transportation, and trade traditions had given way to Westernization promoted by oil wealth. Complicating the problem further was the fact that the majority of traditional written primary source historic records, considered necessary to reconstitute past identity, were those of past Portuguese, Ottoman, and English colonial powers. In essence leaving a very one-sided top-down record that influenced Westerners stereotypical images of Muslim Arabs. In order to gather local memories to ameliorate these deficiencies in the historic record present-day UAE scholars and leaders moved to develop an oral history program to fill the gaps in the written record and help reinforce national identity through the personal memories of the last of those who directly experienced the old ways.

Can Oral History Fill the Gap?Placing the burden on any one discipline or research methodology to fill the gap in the written record is problematic and regional scholars must remember that it has only been in the later half of the twentieth-century that Western scholars have begun to accept oral narrative as a legitimate source of information. The vital question for UAE scholars will be evaluating whether the viability of the methodology of gathering memories through oral narrative can be trusted when compared to available more traditional written sources. Just because Western oral historians have made their case for the importance of oral narratives does not necessarily mean that UAE scholars will not have to develop and execute projects capable of analyzing their sources through their own intellectual and cultural sensibilities. Western style research may offer guidelines but may not be thought of as an out-of-the-box answer to their research problem.

It was not until the later half of the twentieth-century that Western scholars addressed orality and gave it the weight of a vigorous academic discipline. In many ways this seems strange considering that oral history or oral tradition are as old as human societies and have roots dating back to Ancient China, the Greek Thucydides, the Muslim historian Abu Ja’far Muhammad ibn Jarir al-Tabari who wrote his History of the Prophets and Kings utilizing oral sources, 16th century Spanish Chroniclers, French Revolution interviews

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by Jules Michelet, 1775 American Lexington and Concord interviews of Congregationalist Minister William Gordon, and the dictations of the 1870s California Publisher Hubert Howe Bancroft. In a world where most people were not literate few people questioned the oral wisdom passed down through the generations.

In the 19th century German historian Leopold von Ranke, one of the founders of modern source-based history, set the tone for much of today’s historical writing. He introduced ideas such as the reliance on primary sources, empiricism, historism, and an emphasis on narrative history that set the tone for the first half of the twentieth century and established feelings that oral history contained subjective shoddy memories. Despite von Ranke’s warnings, many historians and ethnographers continued to seek ways to thicken their written narratives by expanding their source base to include the written records and paraphrased stories delivered by those in positions of power. Absent from the historical narrative were the personal memories of the lives of everyday citizens who left few, if any, written sources.

In the United States the slow shift toward the academic acceptance of oral history began in the 1890s when the United States Bureau of Ethnography commissioned wax cylinder recordings of interviews of Native Americans. This tradition continued to grow in the 1930s when the Works Progress Administration (WPA) documented the lives of ordinary citizens. But the real shift for the field of oral history benefited most with the invention of new technologies in recording interviews and the groundbreaking work of the early twentieth-century French Annals School that gave birth to the Social History movement.11

Over the last half of the twentieth-century these two changes provided the opportunity for oral history to slowly evolve into its present state of practice. In its first generation (1940s-1950s) oral historians simply recorded and collected the recollections of prominent individuals with the goal in mind of providing future historians the historical narrative of the rich, famous, and powerful. Their stories were solely intended to fill gaps in the written record and provide anecdotal quotes to liven the readability of the chronological flow of traditional stories of change over time. This trend of top-down history dramatically shifted in the 1960s-1970s as the Western world reevaluated its moral compass in radical social and intellectual times. For the field of history one major change was the inclusion of capturing the voices and accounts of everyday citizens as a means to reevaluate traditional history with the inclusion

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of social scientific methods that emphased social rather than political or diplomatic themes. Most importantly this gave the historically disenfranchised and previously unheard and unseen common people a voice that empowered their input into the record and served as a base for their political and economic inclusion into greater societal decisions.

Significant changes came during the decades of the 1980s and 1990s as a third wave of oral history propelled the field into the historical mainstream as oral testimonies became an acceptable means to thicken the written narrative. It was during this time that the field professionalized and comingled with the new practice of public history that introduced academically trained professional historians to positions in museums, historic societies, libraries, and at the university. As part of the new wave many practitioners transitioned from interviewers that simply recorded and transcribed memoir type life stories to oral histories that emphasized theoretical analysis specific to a given time, place or event.12

In 1948, during the first wave of oral history, Columbia University historian Allan Nevins founded the Columbia Oral History Office and pioneered a movement to bring oral history into the main body of scholarly research.13 Historian Gerald L. Fetner, Nevins biographer, saw Nevins work as embracing, “practical notions about the importance of national unity, principled leadership, liberal politics, enlightened journalism, the social responsibility of business and industry, and scientific and technical progress that added to the cultural improvement of humanity.”14 In Nevins own words; “I have come to wish also that history was a little freer—that readers and writers alike would abstain from fettering it with dogmas, and let it be as varied, mutable, catholic, and progressive as so great a branch of literature ought to be.”15

As the new social history scholarship of the 60s and 70s dominated historical research and writing oral history rose in importance as a methodology. In the words of historian Michael Frisch it became “the dominant intellectual reality of our time,” while at the same time it proved to be both problematic and controversial.16 In the United States oral and public history sailed directly into the storm of defining American culture whereby opposing political and ideological camps found their truth in the narrative of selective interviewees. In reality this process tended to make everyone’s opinion of history count and threatened the social status quo of established political, religious, and economic groups in positions of power. Frisch’s belief that oral history had the “capacity to redefine and redistribute intellectual authority” proved to be true.17

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At first this oral methodology drew legitimate resistance from traditional historians who openly questioned the accuracy, neutrality, and reliability of oral histories. These concerns slowly dwindled as two decades of analysis by linguists, folklorists, and historians reflected on the process and the meaning of the newly collected cultural texts. As scholars investigated the links between the imminent problems-at-hand and interview contexts they also began to define the dynamics of authorship. In the course of their theoretical analysis of oral testimony they created a professional organization and began to codify guidelines so as to insure interview consistency and provide scholars a means to analyze and synthesize collected narratives. New discussions over political and financial controls on projects, concerns over language usage for dialects and jargon, interviewee sensitivity to recording equipment, the controversial topical focus of many projects, copyright issues, and gender relations further influenced the canon of the field.18

Despite continued cries that oral history was quasi-history the field continued to grow as a methodology. In the first ten years after the birth of the Columbia program the University of California founded an office at UC Berkeley (1954) and UC Los Angeles (1958). As social history grew so did oral history and in 1967 practitioners founded the Oral History Association (OHA) and quickly developed their own journal (Oral History Review). But it would be the 1970s founding of the field of Public History and the interviews and books of Studs Terkel and Alex Haley that peaked the public interest in making oral history an integral part of historic methodology.

Like all new disciplines and methodological approaches the field of oral history had to prove its scholarly vigor. At first most believed that the field was nothing more than journalism or amateur history-light and was only capable of producing subjective memories of older people. By the 1990s this conundrum waned as social historians from academia entered the field and began an intellectual discourse about what oral histories could produce for both general and academic audiences. One of the first to address the topic was historian Michael Frisch in his 1990 book of collected essays Shared Authority.19 Frisch concluded that both the interviewee and interviewer were equal participants in creating the historical memory recorded in an interview.

This greatly impacted the way oral historians practiced their craft and the field began shifting from simply gathering first person observations of events and personal life stories to become more inclusive of research questions designed to illicit motivations and objectives that were key to the individual’s story.

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The information for these new types of interviews proved to be advantageous for contextualizing larger synthesis stories. As a result, practitioners followed established guidelines and interview techniques and engaged in extensive pre-interview research that influenced the creation of cause-effect topical questions. In an attempt to be more inclusive newly designed projects vigorously attempted to locate a broader range of interviewees to bring all sides of the story to the forefront. In an effort to make new projects more scholarly many universities began to train interviewers in best-practice methodologies. Oral historian Donald Ritchie saw this as the beginning of an era whereby practitioners began, “to look beyond their own immediate needs to consider the corpus of work,” to the needs of future historians and see memory as a central core, “from which meaning can be extracted and preserved.”20

In the short period of one-half of a century Western academics designed a historic methodology. They key question for international scholars is can these exact policies and procedures work outside the confines of Western cultural intellectual and social traditions? In the case of Middle Eastern projects it becomes a question of how to adapt and devise their own processes to extract the meaning of a past oral tradition and cultural heritage in a manner both responsive to their own needs and pertinent to a growing global body of oral testimonies.

The UAE, like the Gulf community as a whole, has a rich oral tradition with limited transference of the folklore to the written page and in many cases has overlooked the life narrative of the common citizen. The challenge for present and future regional scholars will be one of finding the textual meaning of past traditions in the body of interviews completed. This in turn will require project interviewers to interview a large cross-section of their society and thereby provide scholars a sizeable sample of evidence to glean for their assessment of their reliability and meaning of the stories that will be used to help fill gaps in the written record.

MemoryThe role of memory in the quality of interviews is presently being studied by medical doctors, scientists, and historians. Yet, at this time the workings of the brain and the understanding of the biological process of storing and recalling memories is in a rudimentary stage. Thus leaving historians, with an absence of pure scientific theory, to grapple with issues on how to interpret the interrelationships between long and short term memory, the life review process

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in latter years, nostalgia, and the role of societal or collective community memories? One historian who has addressed the validity of individual interviews and their impact on historical analysis and writing is Alessandro Portelli. In his 1981 interview with Valtero Peppoloni, Italian activist, Portelli demonstrated how the stages of personal development of one man could reveal the stories of many people during that time period.21

While Portelli notes that all interviewers must understand crucial historical factors, like the role of key players and the chronology of the time, he reminds oral historians that they cannot forget that there is, “a shared labor between the narrators and the researcher who seeks them out, listens, and interrogates.”22 Portelli further reminds us that the story teller is an individual person who takes on the task of remembering and that oral sources are not anonymous but very personal. These ideas are important to remember given that the interviewee may not have specific knowledge but has the personal context of an event or time and that their story is bound in the geographic place that defined their life. Over time their narrative then ripples out in concentric circles as they relate their memories to family, friends, neighbors, and travelers. It is through this process that a practiced narrative ripples out to the world. Therefore Portelli is confident that collective family, community, regional, and national stories are appropriate sources for the greater historical narrative.

The acceptance of oral sources by traditional historians has increased as social history and public history flourished. In reality one must not forget that written and oral sources are not exclusive but subject to the same levels and methods of scrutiny. One might even consider that written sources are nothing more than oral stories submitted to paper. Despite this current trend toward full inclusion for oral sources in writing history Portelli believes; “There seems to be a fear that once the floodgates of orality are opened, writing (and rationality along with it) may be swept out as if by spontaneous uncontrollable mass of fluid, irrational material.”23 Beyond these fears, scholars must remember that oral histories are subjective and most times reflect less about the facts surrounding an event than they do about the meaning of the event to the participants.24

A recent urgent question in the field has been the discussion over whether the edited transcript is a secondary source and that the actual video or audio recording is the primary source. Regretfully, most researchers still use the edited transcripts that are published or on-line as their source of first choice. Yet, in order to comprehend the fine nuances of the story the researcher must listen to or view the recorded interview to catch tonal range, volume range,

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and rhythms of speech that can deliver the intended meaning of the story. Of equal importance is the fact that the psychological costs of events on the interviewee become evident by the way in which the interviewee organizes the order of the story.

Just as problematic for interpretation of interviews is the fact that transcripts are laden with the whims of transcribers who arbitrarily insert punctuation marks, lightly edit the story, and sometimes interpret confusing verbal delivery. Anyone who has thought about their own conversations realizes that the velocity of speech in an interview can disclose much about what is being said and that oral sources are narrative sources subject to the flow of standard factual and artistic language patterns and dialect differences.

The bottom line for scholars approaching a large scale project is the fact that oral histories are subjective in that time both clouds and reorganizes the memory of interviewees. Therefore, in order to overcome this subjectivity a project manager must insure the completion of a sufficient number of interviews representing a cross section of opinions and observations. By doing this the pertinent information about an event will surface. It must be remembered that the credibility of oral sources does not lie in the facts given but in the imagination, symbolism, and passion of the narrators.

In order to elicit this type of testimony a project requires a cadre of well trained interviewers who understand that the relationship formed between the interviewee and interviewer is shared and dependent upon sound pre-research, well designed questions, and a varied selection of interview subjects. Like a stage director the “control of the historical discourse remains firmly in the hands of the historian.”25 Outside of these considerations lies the underlying premise that oral histories can supply the written record with information about the daily life and material culture of illiterate peoples or social groups when the written record is either absent or distorted.

Adapting Western Methodology to Middle Eastern TraditionsNew oral history projects in the Gulf Region seem to loosely fit into the format of what American oral historians refer to as community history. Within that model the geographically bound memories of interviewees concentrate upon social identity and in turn the resulting interviews inform scholars on their own research or document past folkways for a community remembrance. This use of oral history fits into what historian Linda Shopes describes as, “doing serious history for and with non-specialists outside of the academic setting.”26

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Included in this broader approach are issues of archiving and access. In today’s world an increasing numbers of scholars, students and the general public receive their historical information from the World Wide Web and presentations at cultural resource centers and museums. No matter the delivery method chosen, interviewers must leave a provenance trail so that researchers can determine interviewer and project goals in order to be better able to analyze and evaluate the collected memories. Care must also be taken to not oversimplify or glamorize the past by manufacturing a tourist type delivery of cultural heritage to citizens.27

Oral History in the Middle East has been slow to evolve do to pre-oil era poverty and if done at all was completed by foreigners whose language, national origin, race, ethnic identity, religion, and economic status differed widely from locals.28 Historian Fred A. Lawson believes that an oral history project of the UAE needs to be inclusive on questions dealing with popular consciousness, the hidden dimensions of societal transformation, dynamics associated with the legitimacy of rulers, trade patterns inside the Trucial Coast, and histories of local institutions.29 Inherent in this observation would be considerations for the interaction between locals, news from the outside world, the role of popular culture as a form of political expression, the mechanisms of social order, and the concept of political space. Lawson believes that within these thematic approaches would surface key problematics such as the transformation of occupations and the use of foreign labor, increased wealth brought by oil, and the expansion of educational opportunities for both men and women.

Western historians have found that oral history can preserve or re-present the past for groups wishing to address issues of national identity. As we have seen, the growth of oral history programs, cultural centers, and museums in the UAE speaks volumes to the needs of citizens to explore and retain their roots to their past.30 In listings of similar projects the International Oral History Association has shown that by retrieving memories centering on everyday life occurrences like food, clothing, religion, home, gender roles, recreation, jobs, shelter, transportation, and community life that special interest groups, regions and nations can retain reasonable amounts of disappearing or forgotten folkways.31

On the down side of utilizing oral history to support national identity is the fact that projects can sometimes become divisive political tools. In Western countries projects designed to pay homage to past ways and ancestors have become the battle ground for culture wars whereby divergent groups struggle to make their history the “true” story. In America this can be best shown by the

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representation of the Enola Gay at the Smithsonian Institution that resulted in heated battles between WWII veteran groups, Japanese Americans, progressive public historians, and ultra-conservative groups who all claimed to own the true story of the plane that dropped the first Atomic Bomb on Japan.32

Reasons to use Family and Gender as Oral History themesOne means to unravel past cultural history is through studies of women and the family. Historian Bashara Doumani conceives of the concept of family to be “a key referential grid for the social imagery” of society because it exists everywhere and serves as “a powerful idea that carries within it the matrix of expectations, rules, obligations, and rights implied in religious, political, legal, ethical, and moral discourses.”33 Doumani further describes this phenomenon as the praxis of interdisciplinary archival research and field work based upon times, places, and social groups. This is the very fodder that oral history can elicit through narrative stories that illuminate the processes of life writ-large.

Most importantly for Middle Eastern studies is the need to unravel and construct a meaning for their image of regional family that thus far has only been defined by Western modernity and value systems. As a scholar Doumani poses crucial questions that could frame an identity oral history project in the Gulf region. Questions such as; what is traditional or modern and is the Middle Eastern family transitioning toward the Western idea of individual? How has modernization by European influences changed the family and gender roles in the region? Of equal importance is how will Middle Eastern scholars internalize, analyze, and define family in the region through a non-western lens that is wrought with centuries of Western Arab stereotypes.34

Part of the problem in studying the traditional role of family in the Middle East is a dearth of scholarly study on the topic due to the disadvantage of sources. In this region of the world little exists in way of memoirs and private correspondences and researchers since the 1970s have turned to Islamic court records for documents in the form of marriage contracts, divorce records, probate inventories, civil and criminal lawsuits, and commercial dealings. These sources are problematic in that they are fragmented, in terms of structure and time periods covered, and seem to best fit wealthier urban communities. There also exists a concern amongst scholars that these legal records are summary records and may not be capable of documenting the full narrative story of everyday life. These issues present a rich opportunity for oral history to reopen the study with new sources and thus fill the gap in written records.35

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Women’s issues in the Middle East are complex and very misunderstood by most Westerners. Little has been done to document the UAE experience of women since the 1980 work of Linda Usra Soffan, The Women of the United Arab Emirates.36 In the work Soffan had women complete a questionnaire and interviewed both Hadar (settled people) and Bedu (nomadic people) citizens including local officials, members of the royal family, and people from various professions. In the work she argues that Islamic law “granted women’s rights and privileges in the spheres of family life, marriage, education and economic pursuits.”37 She reminds readers that it is not until the twentieth century that women worldwide battled to throw off a status of second-class citizenship. In her words;”women in the Middle East may have worn a physical veil, but their sisters in the Western world also wore a kind of veil which, though invisible, still kept them in a separate sphere from their menfolk.”38 Her explanation for the slowness, when viewed in Western value structures, of change of women’s rights in the Middle East lies in a set of very different circumstances dictated by religious reform, national liberation, and the need for human resources within the region. In the end she believes that economic development of the region and education for women has and will speed the process much like it did in Western societies. Although, she reminds her readers that in all cultures “social customs and traditions are always the slowest to change.”39 But her thirty-year-old study could substantially benefit by updating and reanalysis based upon current literature and a large national oral history project inclusive of women from all sectors of the society.

Combating MisconceptionsMany, if not most, Westerners have very strong negative stereotypical images of Arabs and the Middle East that a well crafted oral history project could improve by the sharing of personal stories that illicit the shared human experience. Strong oral history projects, in many ways, reflect the common human need for peace, economic security, family and personal well being, and the daily routine of everyday human events. As a species we have these things in common and that differences emanate from practices that are influenced by regional geography, economics, religion, and politics.

Western democracies cherish the concept of human rights and in a messianic quest attempt to insure that the entire world follows their precepts. In the new millennium the dictatorial and extremist reactionary beliefs and actions of Saddam Hussein, Al-Qaeda, and Osama Bin Laden have been attributed to all Arab Muslims. What Westerners have failed to comprehend is that human

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rights are also a centerpiece for many Muslim and Arab nations, albeit it is practiced through a different cultural lens. In reality many in the Gulf region have accepted the modern historic tradition of individual rights as set forth in the United Nations General Assembly 10 December 1948 adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights whose 30 articles elucidate civil, political, economic, social and cultural rights for all human beings. In the case of the UAE the newly formed government adopted the declaration and built it into their 1971 constitution as public freedoms or the liberties guaranteed by the government and law. Like many Western nations the reasons to restrict human rights range from national security, public safety, public health, public morals, and protection of the rights of others.40

Regretfully, Western misconceptions on rights for women in Arab societies have been lumped together with extremist actions of the Taliban and radical Islamic leaderships. But as a general rule women’s economic, personal, and social rights have improved over the past 5 decades in much of the Gulf Region.41 The champion of women’s progress in the UAE, Shaikha Fatima bint Mubarak, wife of the late President of the UAE, Shaikh Zayed Bin Sultan Al Nahyan, and President of the Arab Woman Organization (AWO), believes that UAE women have made remarkable advances in all aspects of life with the support of the country’s leadership.42 It was Shaikh Zayed’s firm conviction that “women constitute half of society and that it would not be possible for any society to realize its legitimate aspirations for progress and development when half of it is disabled and does not contribute to the process of building the country.”43 An oral history project that addresses the story of the growth of status and rights for women and human rights could greatly improve negative Western understandings and build a better sense of national identity for women and marginalized groups.

In ConclusionThe past four decades have brought new changes to the UAE as the region’s wealth and Western influence increased and the numbers of expatriate workers made citizens a minority in their own country. As a result, in recent years individuals and institutions in the region have aggressively sought a means to rekindle a seemingly lost national identity. One means to address the identity crisis has been through the design and execution of oral history projects to archive and present the identity of the last generation and to allow future citizens to fully experience the bygone era of pre-oil wealth. By embracing oral history the UAE’s cultural centers, museums, universities, citizen groups, and individuals

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can salvage and preserve at least part of their past. In Western developed nations there has been a rapid growth of collecting oral memories for this purpose that now has grown to include communities and nations worldwide.

Western style oral history projects can help Middle Eastern historians collect valuable data on the past generations through the memories of those who directly experienced traditional past daily lifestyles that included areas such as crafts and trades practiced, marriage and childrearing customs, gender roles, clothing styles, means of entertainment, agricultural skills, animal husbandry techniques, monarchal based political system, shelter construction, transportation, and trade. The question is can these projects resurrect and build national identity? Given the lack of primary source documents this process may be one of the few remaining means to gather their needed information to preserve their past.

In order to meet international oral history standards Gulf oral history projects must also include an academic vigor that both evaluates the authenticity and cultivates the meaning of the collected memories. Like projects from around the world this requires the training of a cadre of interviewers knowledgeable in shared authority and dedicated to interviewing a large cross-section of people from all levels of society that represent the varied regions of the UAE. These same interviewers must be knowledgeable in the significant historical factors, the roles of key players, and the chronology of events in their interviewees’ lives. Considering that the country has many cultural traditions this involves developing project guiding themes that can illicit data from divergent groups and communities. One means to capture memories that both document a past cultural heritage and empower twenty-first century Emirati to negotiate personal and national identity would be to focus on community and family topics enriched with pre-interview research that influences the creation of cause-effect topical questions. Project leaders also need to push the project beyond immediate needs to consider the requirements of future historians who will extract meaning from what they preserve.

Care must also be taken to not oversimplify or glamorize the past by manufacturing a propagandistic delivery of cultural heritage to citizens. As historians we become a biased participant in the process and we need to let the participants own their story even when it counters the pre-established thesis used to drive research projects. As historians project leaders must carefully craft a methodology based on established Western Oral history techniques while at the same time adapting their work to the cultural needs of the people whose stories they document.

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For the project to have future success, as measured by scholarly and public use, the project directors must insure that the rights of interviewees are maintained, the interviews are transcribed, that both audio/video and transcripts are archived, and most importantly insure accessibility for all researchers.

NotesHabib Toumi, “Gulf identity faces double threat,” 1. Gulf News, 17 April 2009.“Debate on National Identity,” 2. Gulf News, 21 April 2009; Wafa Issa, “Expert sees threat to nation’s existence,” Gulf News, 21 April 2009.Daniel Bardsley, “Erosion of identity an urgent issue, Emiratis told,” 3. The National, 20 April 2009.Eman Mohammad, “Arabic language mirrors changes in Society,” 4. Gulf News, 18 April 2009.Mahmoud Habboush, “Teaching plans fuel Arabic identity fears,” 5. The National, 14 April 2009; Yasin Kakande, “Identity concerns over marriage rate,” The National, 5 April 2009.Gordon Robison, “Understanding the Middle East,” 6. Gulf News, 21 April 2009; Hissa al Dhaheri, “Whatever their judgments, we define who we are,” The National, 9 April 2009.Rym Ghazai, “Getting to the roots of family trees,” 7. The National, April 2009.Alexander Melamid,“The United Arab Emirates, 8. Geographical Review 87:4 (October 1997):542-545. S.N. Asad Rizvi,“From Tents to High Rise: Economic Development of the United Arab 9. Emirates,” Middle Eastern Studies 29:4 (October 1993): 664-678.Sulayman Khalaf, “Poetics and Politics of Newly Invented Traditions in the Gulf: Camel 10. Racing in the United Arab Emirates,” Ethnology 39:3 (Summer 2000): 243-261.Donald A. Ritchie, 11. Doing Oral History: A Practical Guide. 2nd edition. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 20-21.David K. Dunaway and Willa K. Baum, 12. Oral History: An Interdisciplinary Anthology. 2nd edition. (Walnut Creek: Altamira Press, 1996), 3.Allan Nevins, 13. The Gateway to History (New York: D. Appleton-Century, 1938).Gerald L. Fetner, 14. Immersed in Great Affairs: Allan Nevins and the Heroic Age of American History (Albany, New York: State University of New York, 2004).Nevins. 15. The Gateway to History, iii.Michael Frisch, 16. A Shared Authority: Essays on the Craft and Meaning of Oral and Public History (Albany, New York: State University of New York Press, 1990), xviii.Ibid. xx.17. Sherna Berger Gluck, “The Voices of Palestinian Women: Oral History testimony, and 18. Biographical Narrative,” Oral History Review 18:2 (1990): 115-123.Frisch. 19. Shared Authority.Ritchie. 20. Doing Oral, 14-19.Alessandro Portelli, “The Best Trash-can Wiper in Town: The Life and Tomes of Valtero 21. Peppoloni, Worker,” Oral History Review 16:1 (1988): 69-89.Alessandro Portelli. 22. The Order Has Been Carried Out: History, Memory, and Meaning of a Nazi Massacre (New York; Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), 15.Alessandro Portelli, “The Peculiarities of Oral History,” 23. History Workshop No. 12 (Autumn 1981): 96-107, 97.

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Ibid. 99.24. Ibid. 104.25. Linda Shopes, “Oral History and the Study of Communities: Problems, Paradoxes, and 26. Possibilities,” The Journal of American History 89:2 (September 2002): 597.Carol E. Henderson and Maxine Weisgrau, eds. 27. Raj Rhapsodies: Tourism Heritage and the Seduction of History. (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007).William Ochesnwald, “Comparing The Use of Oral History: In the United States, Europe, 28. and The Middle East,” In Adnan K. Abdulla and Hassan M. Al Naboodah editors, On the Folklore and Oral History of the United Arab Emirates and Arab Gulf Countries (Al Ain, United Arab Emirates: Zayed Center for Heritage and History, 2001): 230-231.Fred H. Lawson, “Significant Lacunae in the English-Language Literature on the United Arab 29. Emirates: The Need for Oral History,” In Adnan K. Abdulla and Hassan M. Al Naboodah editors, On the Folklore and Oral History of the United Arab Emirates and Arab Gulf Countries (Al Ain, United Arab Emirates: Zayed Center for Heritage and History, 2001): 213-224.Dale F. Eickelman, “Representing and Re-thinking the Past: Oral and Written Tradition in 30. the UAE and the Arab Gulf,” In Adnan K. Abdulla and Hassan M. Al Naboodah editors. On the Folklore and Oral History of the United Arab Emirates and Arab Gulf Countries, (Al Ain, United Arab Emirates: Zayed Center for Heritage and History, 2001): 201-211.International Oral History Association website http://iohanet.org/. 31. David Thelen, “History After the Enola Gay Controversy: An Introduction.” 32. The Journal of American History 82:3 (December 1995); 1029-1035; Richard H. Kohm, “History and the Culture Wars: The Case of the Smithsonian Institution’s Enola Gay Exhibition,” The Journal of American History 82:3 (December 1995); 1036-1063; and William S. Pretzer, “Reviewing Public History in Light of the Enola Gay,” Technology and Culture 39:3 (July 1998); 457-461.Beshara Doumani, editor, 33. Family History in the Middle East: Household, Property, and Gender (New York: State University of New York Press, 2003): introduction 1-19.Ussama Makdisi, 34. Artillery of Heavens: American Missionaries and the Failed Conversion of the Middle East (Ithaca: Cornel University Press, 2008).Doumani, 35. Family History, 12.Linda Usra Soffan, 36. The Women of the United Arab Emirates (New York: Barnes and Noble Books, 1980).Ibid, 9.37. Ibid, 9.38. Soffan, 39. The Woman of the United Arab Emirates, 11.Mohamed A. Al Roken, “Human Rights under the Constitution of the United Arab Emirates: 40. Guarantees and Restrictions,” Arab Law Quarterly 12:1 (1997): 91-107.Soffan, 41. The Women of the United Arab Emirates.“UAE women make resounding success in all walks of life,” 42. Gulf News, 26 March 2009.Ibid.43.

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