No Saudi that meets Salman believes he is a Pakistani citizen. Born in Saudi Arabia to migrant parents, Salman speaks an impeccable Najdi Arabic dialect and is acutely cognizant of Saudi culture and norms. Many of his childhood memories are similar to his Saudi counterparts; he is a graduate of his local mosque’s Quran school and knows Riyadh like the back of his hand.
In a Saudi documentary titled Son of the Country - Opens in new tab, which focuses on Salman’s life, he affirms his Saudi identity, stating that he “memorises the Saudi national anthem … but not the Pakistani one” and adding that his parents named him after the current King of Saudi Arabia, King Salman (the then Emir of Riyadh Province).
Salman is met with incredulity when he encounters locals. They always ask him, “how come you are Pakistani?” Good humoured and patient, he provides them with a detailed explanation of his situation and narrates his life story to them. Few believe him. Some call him “a liar,” while many insist he is playing tricks on them.
The locals’ reaction is not surprising. Migrants in the Gulf are almost always perceived as temporary visitors. As Andrew Gardners puts it, “Gulf states and Gulf citizens alike reinforce the temporary nature of [migrant's] tenure in the GCC states, even though many foreigners stay for years, for a lifetime or in the case of some families, for generations - Opens in new tab." As such, for many Saudis, seeing and meeting Salman throws the essentialist image of migrants, especially non-Arab migrants, into question.
Gulf media and entertainment play an important role in solidifying a perceived difference between all migrants and citizens. The latter are usually portrayed as deeply-rooted in their land. The former are temporary. A group of marginal figures or fleeting visitors who stumbled upon the land and will leave soon. Thus, migrants in the Gulf, by the virtue of their perceived transience, are thought of in public discourse as unable or disinclined to develop any sense of belonging to their host countries.
Salman’s everyday interactions with incredulous Saudis epitomise his lived experience and shapes his self-perceived identity. As Salman describes it: “I always felt [an outsider] … I did not know how to identify myself until recently. I used to ponder: Am I Pakistani? Am I Saudi? Am I American since I speak English from a young age? But I just recently discovered I am Salman and that is it. I do not need to overthink it. I am a human. I am who I make of myself.”
Pinning down one’s identity is a difficult enterprise. Identities are multiple, subject to change and situational. Migrants like Salman develop complex and creative strategies to navigate life in the Gulf through adopting new identities, distinguishing themselves from other migrants and reaffirming their sense of belonging to their host countries.
Reflecting on what he hears in the public sphere or private conversations, Salman says “feeling as [an outsider] in a country you were born and raised is sad.” He adds, “when someone says you have no rights, you are just like every other [migrant], it hurts a little bit if you think about it.” Salman, however, states without hesitation that his "wholehearted loyalty” is to Saudi Arabia and “Saudis, the good and the bad, are [his] people.”
There are, of course, signifiers of a Gulf (e.g., Kuwaiti, Bahraini and others) lifestyle, customs, and values that differentiate most locals from migrants. In fact, one can draw general contours of, say, Saudi culture or identity. However, such contours are always evolving and re-negotiated, in part as a reaction to the large presence of migrants in the Gulf. In Saudi Arabia, and to a lesser degree in other Gulf countries, many multi-generational migrants blur the line separating citizens and migrants, and affirm their adherence to local culture and norms. This can be seen through seemingly innocuous behaviour such as wearing Khaleeji clothes and rooting for local or national soccer teams or bold assertions and claims of belonging to the Gulf and/or equating themselves with local citizens.
By highlighting some stories of multi-generational migrants in Saudi Arabia, this article serves as a reminder of the heterogeneity of migrant workers in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf as a whole. It also calls on policymakers, journalists and most importantly academics and activists, to take into account the diverse spectrum of identities of Gulf migrants when discussing, covering or regulating migration and labour in the Gulf.
A Long History of Migration
A common misperception is that migration to the Gulf began only after the discovery of oil. While labour migration grew significantly because of oil wealth, Gulf countries were, long before the discovery of oil, “enmeshed in interregional relations with the peoples and places” in Asia and Africa “through pearl diving … [and] merchant trade networks - Opens in new tab.”
In addition to trade and other economic links, the Islamic holy sites in Arabia have always been a migration destination for Muslims. The rise of colonial aggressions in the 19th and 20th century accelerated the rate of migrants to Makkah and Madina. Many Muslims travelled to Saudi Arabia because they considered it a safe haven -- a holy site to seek a temporary refuge until the situation in their home countries stabilises - Opens in new tab. Those migrants came from different parts of the world, including Rohingya areas in Myanmar - Opens in new tab, Central Asia - Opens in new tab, Southeast Asia - Opens in new tab, Palestine and West Africa - Opens in new tab.
