TY - JOUR
AU - Boswinkel, Lotje
AB - Abstract All Arab states, including the Gulf states, are regularly considered an anomaly in International Relations: allegedly artificially created, lacking clear identity, borders and sovereignty. We challenge this assertion by looking at one dimension of sovereignty often overlooked: the air space. We measure this assertion along the classical lines of sovereignty: do the states have the institutions, regulations and capacity to manage their air space, do they use it for economic and diplomatic purposes, do they have the means to conduct war in it, and does it feature in their national identity? We find that particularly since 1990, the Gulf States have affirmed their sovereignty markedly in all these areas. These findings show two things: that sovereignty can be a feature of a state regardless of the nature of its creation, and that it can be affirmed in a space previously overlooked, the air. Since the beginning of modern aviation history in the mid-nineteenth century, the Arab airspace has often been an area of either contested or porous sovereignty. All states in the region have experienced one type of injury or another to their air sovereignty: Egypt lost almost its entire air force (and consequently the war) in 1967; Libya was bombed by the United States in 1986; Syria and Lebanon experienced regular Israeli incursions (and still do); Kuwait was invaded with helicopters in 1991, until Iraqi forces were expelled from its territory largely thanks to air power. Baghdad's own airspace became, in large part, a no-fly zone for the rest of the 1990s, enforced (against continuous Iraqi resistance) by the United States, the United Kingdom and France.1 In the following years, foreign airbases proliferated in the Gulf, with operations launched from King Fahad Air Base in Saudi Arabia, Al-Udeid Air Base in Qatar, Isa Air Base in Bahrain and Thumrait Air Base in Oman.2 Whether intentionally or unintentionally, the regional airspace was very much at the disposal of non-Arab powers, a situation often seen as an expression of incomplete state-building and therefore incomplete sovereignty.3 This continues to be the case for a number of Arab states: the protection of civilians in Libya was conducted mainly from the air in 2011 under a NATO umbrella; Syria's airspace is busy with aircraft from Turkey, Russia, Iran and even Israel; Iraq's air force needed international support to fight the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria (ISIS); and Palestine has as little control over its airspace as it does over its territory. There is an exception to this norm, however: in the Gulf states, assertion in the air has taken on so many different dimensions that a pattern is emerging. What began as timid expansion of air forces and air defence systems has propelled the Gulf, in military terms, to the forefront of air power in the region, to the point where these states have dethroned Egypt and Syria as owners of the most potent air forces. In commercial terms, Gulf airlines are not just expanding in an existing market but redefining it. In political terms, the states use the airspace to police their citizens, to express diplomatic discontent—and even to enforce their views by violent means outside their own airspace. It is no coincidence that, in the light of these developments, air forces and commercial airlines alike have become powerful symbols of national identity. Taken together, these developments point to a larger process that started in the 1990s. Although the Gulf states had, of course, elements of air sovereignty before that date—including capabilities such as air forces, institutions to provide oversight and planning, and regulations to manage their airspace—it is our hypothesis that 1990 proved to be a turning-point in this respect, as it is from this year onwards that we observe a concerted, directed and determined process of assertion in several areas at the same time. The war between Iran and Iraq in the 1980s, which itself was shaped significantly by both states' air forces, laid the strategic ground for this development in terms of perceptions of power and threat among those two countries' Gulf neighbours. But it was in 1990 and the years that followed that several elements materialized to give air sovereignty as a distinct and deliberate process a decisive push. While perhaps the most important event in this regard was the invasion of Kuwait and a rise in perceptions of strategic vulnerability, that coincided with other developments such as the international deregulation of air travel and the consolidation of state institutions in the Gulf states. Together, these enabled the assertion of air sovereignty: the multilayered expression of statehood which makes a state a state—in the air. Of course, this process occurred alongside assertions of sovereignty in other areas, and has to be understood as an integral part of this process rather than an isolated development. (It is also worth pointing out that air sovereignty is not to be confused with air nationalization: states can assert their air sovereignty in a myriad ways without nationalizing posts and production entirely.) If our hypothesis is valid, this would prove not only that the Gulf states adopted a similar pattern to other states in asserting their sovereignty—thereby contradicting prevalent notions of exceptionalism in respect of the formation, nature and consolidation of states in the Middle East—but also that they are innovating when it comes to the assertion of sovereignty in newly accessible areas such as the airspace.4 The Gulf states would thereby shed their status of ‘latecomers’ to the international system in contributing to the definition of new norms.5 This article is structured as follows. In the following section we reflect on sovereignty as a key component of statehood, assess how theories on sovereignty, state formation and identity are commonly applied to the Middle East, and observe how this gave rise to a notion of exceptionalism that we challenge. In the following sections, we assess the different steps Gulf states have taken to assert their sovereignty in the air, concluding that we find them asserting sovereignty not just in the air, but indeed in a novel way altogether. Sovereignty, state formation and identity The concept of sovereignty takes a central position in discussions of statehood.6 While its use and definitions vary, International Relations scholarship by and large understands sovereignty as the primary organizing principle of the international order that emerged in Europe with the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648. The concept refers to the mutual recognition by states of one another's existence and unique authority over their respective territories, and therewith prescribes the exclusion of external actors—indeed, the principle of non-interference.7 Intimately linked with sovereignty is the concept of legitimacy: as the former prescribes but also assumes states' exclusive rights and obligations both de jure and de facto over the people, land and sky within and above their respective territories, asserting such authority is—to a greater or lesser extent—contingent on the degree to which states are accepted and recognized internationally, but no less so domestically. A sense of national identity can encourage the emergence or consolidation of a political community, thereby bolstering state legitimacy.8 Moreover, constructivist security discourses have highlighted the centrality to a state system organized around the principle of sovereignty of the distinction or separation between states, promoting a demarcation between the inside and the outside, between the self and the other.9 Identity thus takes a central position in state-formation and the sovereign state system at large. It is worth pointing out that sovereignty is not so much a static fact as a reiterative process of assertion: not just something states possess, but rather something they repeatedly claim, and that is repeatedly recognized by other states. This is an important point to note in the present context, given our claim that the Gulf states have increasingly asserted their air sovereignty from 1990 onwards. Scholarship on the Middle East has often referred to the various challenges to sovereignty in the region, such as the penetrability of territorial boundaries and weak national identities, to demonstrate and explain state weakness and regional insecurity. Indeed, claims of the ‘artificiality’ and imposition of borders have prompted many to question the applicability of the abovementioned frames and concepts in the region,10 with some going so far as to suggest that Middle Eastern states are incapable of sovereignty and therefore statehood altogether.11 Such claims have often spurred or reinforced notions of Arab ‘exceptionalism’: the idea that conventional norms on statehood, identity or sovereignty do not apply to the states of this region. The main ingredients of this argument follow two lines: first, that states are defined by territory, and that this territory is somehow weakened in sovereignty and legitimacy because of the presumed artificiality of borders in the region; and second, that the region's substate and suprastate identities—notably Arabism and Islam—undercut the formation and consolidation of national identity and therewith sovereignty, resulting in a ‘unique’ process of state-formation.12 Arab leaders have supposedly set Middle Eastern state-building apart from other modern state-formation projects in their attempt ‘to shrink the national imagery from its transnational status to the confines of the state, whereas other Third World leaders have attempted to fill up the state with a national identity derived from subnational particles’.13 These arguments have been subjected to significant criticism over the past few years. To begin with, the assumed universality of western-designed concepts delineating only one—i.e., the European—path towards state-formation can be challenged in a number of ways.14 Numerous constructivist studies show that neither borders nor identities, and certainly not states, are born ex nihilo, but rather that they are constructed over time. Even European states that experienced supposedly conventional state-formation processes went through phases of fragmented national identity, incomplete territorial control and questionable legitimacy of leadership, and the formation of borders was certainly not ‘natural’. To make matters worse, the very notion of exceptionalism has led to reductionist and distorted perceptions of the region rather than enriching the body of knowledge about it.15 The argument presented in this article seeks to contribute to this body of work challenging notions of Arab exceptionalism, and invites a different understanding of state-formation in the twentieth century. Air sovereignty: a definition To understand how air sovereignty is asserted, we need first to take a look at its features and components. At first sight, it would appear to be a simple vertical extension of sovereignty: that is to say, a sovereign state would by default also be sovereign of the air above its territory.16 This is only partially correct, for the simple reason that the airspace is a newcomer in sovereignty terms, and its extent highly dependent on constantly evolving new technologies. Until the beginning of the twentieth century, the airspace was not accessible to most humans, and was therefore literally off limits. But the advent of aviation led to its becoming the third spatial embodiment of sovereignty—400 years after its territorial counterpart and around 100 years after the maritime component. Because the accessibility of airspace depends directly on technology, it also means that it is somewhat elastic: innovation not only changes the extent of the airspace, it also increases the traffic within it and therefore raises new challenges. As a result, air sovereignty is a constantly evolving concept, in marked contrast to territorial or maritime sovereignty, which have remained for the most part static. That said, air sovereignty is still a concept very much derived from the original Westphalian idea, and as such bears similar features to the other two components. Perhaps the most important one is recognition by other states—which was unsurprisingly first put into writing after the First World War, following the use of air power on the battlefield. The first international document confirming the airspace to be a sovereign area of nation-states rather than a free space to be used by all like the high seas was the 1919 Convention Relating to the Regulation of Aerial Navigation, which stated in article 1 that ‘the High contracting Parties recognize that every Power has complete and exclusive sovereignty over the air space above its territory’.17 The last words of this sentence cemented not only recognition of airspace as an important component of sovereignty, but also its localization: the sovereign airspace of a given state was above the national territory and territorial waters. Just like maritime sovereignty, it is still very much derived from the concept of territorial sovereignty, but with one key difference: it appears to be vertically infinite. As a result, even today there is no international agreement on the vertical extent of sovereign airspace, and as a result there are national differences when it comes to the classification of different parts of the controlled airspace (as opposed to the uncontrolled airspace, i.e. outer space). These two elements of air sovereignty were repeated in the second key document relating to the airspace, the 1944 Convention on International Civil Aviation (also called the Chicago Convention). The dates of these two documents are no coincidence: written respectively after and towards the end of a destructive war, they were set in a heightened state of sovereignty assertion. But, just like territorial sovereignty, air sovereignty has more features than recognition and a spatial location; it is equally defined by the authority to take decisions pertaining to the air space—and implement them. States exercise their air sovereignty through the enforcement of their aviation laws, the regulation of civilian air traffic, the granting or denial to aircraft of permission to land or take off, and the restriction of air space.18 Of course, legal authority alone is not enough: without the capabilities to enforce it, sovereignty would not be complete. The capacity to conduct war in the air—whether in defensive fashion, such as aerial denial in the form of missile defence systems, or offensive fashion, such as using fighter aircraft or attack helicopters to establish air supremacy—is the most established form of air sovereignty assertion, but it is not the only one. Taking matters one step further, expeditionary warfare takes air wars outside the sovereign airspace and into those of other states; this requires either aircraft capable of flying these distances, the use of airbases elsewhere, or indeed aircraft carriers (which, at the moment, no state in the Middle East possesses). Coercion from and in the air does not necessarily have to be violent: aerial denial can also be enforced legally. Most recently, the airspace has also increasingly been used for domestic security purposes, whether with drones or, more traditionally, helicopters. Finally, sovereignty also has an economic component. This pertains not so much to state control of a national economy as to the freedom to take economic decisions without being influenced by other states. Here, civil aviation has become the symbol of national independence with the emergence of the ‘flag carriers’: airlines that represent a state and are often at least partly owned by it. This area in particular has been contested with the deregulation of the market. In addition, the increase in international trade means that the transport of air cargo has become an important component of national economies, and therefore of air sovereignty. Drawing all these elements together, then, air sovereignty is a combination of recognition by others, a defined space, authority, the capability to use the space for political purposes (both violent and non-violent) and a freely operating economy. But sovereignty is not just the result of these processes; it also is the result of, and has consequences for, identity and notions of security. Perhaps not inevitably, but frequently, asserted sovereignty will interplay strongly with notions of political community and identity.19 As we will see below, the Gulf states have asserted themselves in all of these areas increasingly since the 1990s. The beginnings: formalizing Gulf air sovereignty The Gulf airspace had of course become accessible long before 1990: air traffic had been increasing in the region since the 1920s, with airports opening in Bahrain in 1927, in Kuwait in 1928, in Oman in 1929 and in Sharjah in 1932.20 In addition, airlines had begun to proliferate after the Second World War, with Saudi Arabian Airlines (later renamed Saudia) being launched in 1945, the Gulf Aviation Company in 1950 in Bahrain, and Kuwait National Airways in 1953. That said, this increase in air traffic was largely the result of outside forces: several of these airports had been built in close cooperation with, or at the request of, the United Kingdom, which needed a stopover on its route to India. Gulf Aviation (the predecessor of Gulf Air) was launched by Freddie Bosworth, a former pilot in the Royal Air Force.21 The RAF also played a role in the creation of the Saudi Air Force, and helped suppress the Ikhwan rebellion in 1927 from the air. Saudi Arabia's civilian airline was born after US President Franklin D. Roosevelt gifted a Douglas DC-3 to King Abdul Aziz Ibn Saud in 1945. In sum, the early penetration of the Gulf airspace preceded state-building and independence, and was not yet driven by internal forces—and as such is not to be understood as a component of air sovereignty assertion. (Even though one can argue that the acquisition of air force capabilities from the 1950s onwards suggests an understanding of the airspace's importance in national security, this in itself is not yet an assertion of air sovereignty as it did not come with the actual domination of the airspace.) The early beginnings of air sovereignty assertion can be dated back to the 1970s, when all states in the region had formally recognized the sovereignty of the airspaces of other states, and received recognition in return for their own airspaces. In part, this was the result of British withdrawal from the region, but it was also the outcome of progressive state-building. Although the air dimension of sovereignty seems to be implicit in the recognition of a state's territorial independence, the relatively recent accessibility of the airspace means that it has become standard practice to recognize it formally as a sovereign space. Mutual recognition of air sovereignty in the region was completed in the 1970s when Saudi Arabia, Oman, Kuwait, Qatar, Bahrain and the United Arab Emirates (UAE) signed the abovementioned Chicago Convention of 1944 which represents the cornerstone of mutual air sovereignty recognition.22 (Although Saudi Arabia and Oman were independent much earlier than their smaller neighbours, they only signed when the latter also did.) The notable exceptions to this trend were Iran and Iraq—both of which, somewhat ironically, had signed the Chicago Convention decades before the Gulf states: ironically, because it is precisely these two early recognizers of air sovereignty that blatantly violated the airspaces of other states. Iran not only still occupies three islands claimed by the UAE, it even explicitly declared in 1996 that Abu Musa's airspace was part of Iran's, and built an airfield on it.23 Similarly, the 1990 invasion of Kuwait by Iraq was legitimized by Baghdad's denial of Kuwaiti sovereignty—including air sovereignty. Iraq not only established air supremacy but also seized ten Kuwait Airways aircraft worth US$800 million.24 It is worth noting that the Gulf states deviated from international convention in respect of the spatial definition of their respective airspaces above territorial waters. Rather than following the norm of 12 nautical miles from the shore, the airspace of the smaller Gulf states was defined by the reach of the military radars installed by the United Kingdom in the 1950s and 1960s. Upon independence, these flight information regions (FIR) determined the shape of the national airspaces, giving Bahrain a much larger share than, for instance, Qatar (see figure 1). This was accepted at the time mainly for reasons of convenience and perhaps a lack of understanding of the potential implications. The political consequences of this unusual demarcation of the airspace would be seen only decades later during the Qatar crisis (on which more below).25 Figure 1 Open in new tabDownload slide Delineation of the Gulf airspace Source: Alex Macheras, ‘Here for the long haul: how Qatar is overcoming the aviation blockade’, New Arab, 8 Jan. 2018, https://english.alaraby.co.uk/english/comment/2018/1/8/how-qatar-is-overcoming-the-aviation-blockade, reprinted with permission. Figure 1 Open in new tabDownload slide Delineation of the Gulf airspace Source: Alex Macheras, ‘Here for the long haul: how Qatar is overcoming the aviation blockade’, New Arab, 8 Jan. 2018, https://english.alaraby.co.uk/english/comment/2018/1/8/how-qatar-is-overcoming-the-aviation-blockade, reprinted with permission. The who and the how: operationalizing air sovereignty Sovereignty, of course, goes beyond legal or factual recognition: it is linked intimately to the authority to make and implement decisions about the sovereign space. While the Gulf states made some advances in this respect in the 1950s, most of the existing decision-making bodies and recognitions date from the 1990s onwards—supporting our hypothesis that air sovereignty started in earnest only at that time. For instance, Saudi Arabia originally adopted the US aviation regulations as a temporary measure in 1953; it was only 50 years later that it formulated its own civil aviation law ‘to establish the Sovereignty and Powers of the Kingdom in regard to all aviation matters including licensing, certification and air navigation’.26 Several other developments of these years pointed to state consolidation in the area of air management: in 1996, the Arab League created the Arab Civil Aviation Commission with the aim of tightening cooperation and coordination in civil aviation among Arab countries (including, of course, the Gulf states); in the same year, the UAE founded the General Civil Aviation Authority; Qatar established its civil aviation authority in 2001; Bahrain followed suit shortly thereafter when a Gulf Air flight crashed during landing, at least in part because its safety oversights were managed not by Bahrain itself, but by Oman's Directorate General of Civil Aviation and Meteorology, itself created in 1973 (and renamed the Public Authority for Civil Aviation in 2014). Further developments have followed: the UAE expanded its authority considerably in 2009 when it opened a new air navigation centre, the Sheikh Zayed Center, considered to be the largest and busiest air traffic management facility in the Middle East. In addition to civil authority, the Gulf states have at the same time bolstered their air sovereignty with relevant capabilities designed to protect the airspace if necessary by force. The capacity to defend a given territory is, of course, one of the key ingredients of statehood, and as such has to be understood as perhaps the strongest example of air sovereignty assertion. The geopolitical context cannot be overemphasized here. While the invasion of Kuwait in 1990 served as an important wake-up call in terms of sovereign vulnerability, the question came into sharper focus with a change in—especially—Saudi Arabia's relationship with the United States. Following the terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001 on American soil, relations with Riyadh came under significant public pressure, as more than half of the hijackers came from Saudi Arabia. In addition, the Saudi regime proved unsupportive of the invasion of Iraq—and if it was reluctant diplomatically, it was decidedly opposed to providing any operational support.27 The same year, as remaining American troops withdrew from Saudi Arabia, inspectors of the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) reported that Iran had not declared sensitive enrichment and reprocessing activities. It was in this context that the Gulf states embarked on the expansion and modernization of their air forces. Table 1 Combat-capable aircraft, attack helicopters and air force personnel in the Gulf, 2000 and 2020 . Combat-capable aircraft . Attack helicopters . Personnel . . 2000 . 2020 . 2000 . 2020 . 2000 . 2020 . Saudi Arabia 417 429 0 35 20,000 20,000 UAE 101 156 49 – 4,000 4,500 Bahrain 34 38 40 28 1,500 1,500 Kuwait 82 66 20 16 2,500 2,500 Qatar 18 33 19 – 2,100 2,000 Yemen 49 (plus 40 in store) – 8 – 3,500 – Oman 40 63 – – 4,100 5,000 Iran 291 336 – – 45,000 18,000 . Combat-capable aircraft . Attack helicopters . Personnel . . 2000 . 2020 . 2000 . 2020 . 2000 . 2020 . Saudi Arabia 417 429 0 35 20,000 20,000 UAE 101 156 49 – 4,000 4,500 Bahrain 34 38 40 28 1,500 1,500 Kuwait 82 66 20 16 2,500 2,500 Qatar 18 33 19 – 2,100 2,000 Yemen 49 (plus 40 in store) – 8 – 3,500 – Oman 40 63 – – 4,100 5,000 Iran 291 336 – – 45,000 18,000 Sources: Combat-capable aircraft, 2000: International Institute for Strategic Studies, The Military Balance 1999–2000, Middle East and North Africa (Abingdon: Routledge, 2000). Combat-capable aircraft, 2020: International Institute for Strategic Studies, The Military Balance 2020 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2020); Anthony H. Cordesman, Iran and the changing military balance in the Gulf (Washington DC: Center for Strategic and International Studies, 26 March 2020), https://www.csis.org/analysis/iran-and-changing-military-balance-gulf-net-assessment-indicators. Open in new tab Table 1 Combat-capable aircraft, attack helicopters and air force personnel in the Gulf, 2000 and 2020 . Combat-capable aircraft . Attack helicopters . Personnel . . 2000 . 2020 . 2000 . 2020 . 2000 . 2020 . Saudi Arabia 417 429 0 35 20,000 20,000 UAE 101 156 49 – 4,000 4,500 Bahrain 34 38 40 28 1,500 1,500 Kuwait 82 66 20 16 2,500 2,500 Qatar 18 33 19 – 2,100 2,000 Yemen 49 (plus 40 in store) – 8 – 3,500 – Oman 40 63 – – 4,100 5,000 Iran 291 336 – – 45,000 18,000 . Combat-capable aircraft . Attack helicopters . Personnel . . 2000 . 2020 . 2000 . 2020 . 2000 . 2020 . Saudi Arabia 417 429 0 35 20,000 20,000 UAE 101 156 49 – 4,000 4,500 Bahrain 34 38 40 28 1,500 1,500 Kuwait 82 66 20 16 2,500 2,500 Qatar 18 33 19 – 2,100 2,000 Yemen 49 (plus 40 in store) – 8 – 3,500 – Oman 40 63 – – 4,100 5,000 Iran 291 336 – – 45,000 18,000 Sources: Combat-capable aircraft, 2000: International Institute for Strategic Studies, The Military Balance 1999–2000, Middle East and North Africa (Abingdon: Routledge, 2000). Combat-capable aircraft, 2020: International Institute for Strategic Studies, The Military Balance 2020 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2020); Anthony H. Cordesman, Iran and the changing military balance in the Gulf (Washington DC: Center for Strategic and International Studies, 26 March 2020), https://www.csis.org/analysis/iran-and-changing-military-balance-gulf-net-assessment-indicators. Open in new tab Capabilities have also evolved significantly in the domain of air defence, with systems now existing in nearly every Gulf country. Saudi Arabia began to develop one in the 1980s which became operational only in the mid-1990s. Since then, it has been linked up with the air force, the army and the navy through an integrated system named Peace Shield.28 In addition, Saudi Arabia has unveiled the first elements of a ballistic missile system and is in the process of developing it further, thereby expanding its offensive capabilities.29 Saudi Arabia also has a de facto regional monopoly on Airborne Warning and Control Systems (AWACS), which provide an important advantage in aerial combat. That said, this system would be much more effective if it were linked up with the smaller defence systems of Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar and the UAE. Not only are the smaller Gulf states (with the exception of the UAE) lacking in air combat training and exercise experience, but there is also a need for standardization of operational procedures. The diplomatic crisis that broke out between Qatar and its neighbours in 2017 put such plans on ice. Even so, taken together, both civil and military capabilities designed to assert Gulf sovereignty in the air grew exponentially in the years after 1990. This was also visible in the domain of defence procurement, but with more limited results. Saudi Arabia launched Saudi Arabian Military Industries in 2017, signing 25 agreements over two years to acquire technologies otherwise denied under Yemen-related arms embargoes. The General Authority for Military Industries was initiated in the same year, aimed at boosting domestic defence industries. In 2014, meanwhile, the UAE inaugurated the Emirates Defense Industries Company, which was later absorbed by the government-owned defence and technology conglomerate EDGE. The ambitions set by the two Gulf states are high: Saudi Arabia aims to increase the proportion of local defence expenditure from 2 per cent to 50 per cent by 2030; and the UAE seeks to expand domestic defence manufacturing from 10 per cent in 2015 to 30 per cent of the total by 2030. That said, Saudi Arabia's ambitions are deemed highly unrealistic, while the UAE, with an already more highly developed defence industry and a more diversified economy, is thought to have a slightly better chance of achieving its goal.30 The Gulf states thus remain, by and large, dependent on external—predominantly western—suppliers for their arms technologies. Even though various of them have made attempts to diversify their sources of arms imports, results have been fairly limited.31 In the period 2015–2019, Saudi Arabia relied predominantly on the United States (73 per cent), the United Kingdom (13 per cent) and France (4 per cent); the UAE on the United States (68 per cent), France (11 per cent) and the Netherlands (3 per cent); Qatar on the United States (50 per cent), France (34 per cent) and Germany (9 per cent); Oman on the United Kingdom (45 per cent), the United States (13 per cent) and Norway (12 per cent); and Kuwait on the United States (70 per cent), France (10 per cent) and Switzerland (7 per cent).32 Making war in the air: the new Gulf wars Air capabilities and authorities are not enough to assert air sovereignty: when occasion arises, states also have to have the political will to assert themselves in the face of adversity. The most visible form of such self-assertion is, of course, air war—which is, indeed, the domain in which air sovereignty first became apparent historically. In the Gulf, however, air wars were originally not fought by the states themselves, but by others. Most famously, the war for the liberation of Kuwait was fought by an international coalition. Even though the Gulf states participated, only one non-American pilot, Captain Iyad Al-Shamrani of the Royal Saudi Air Force, scored a ‘kill’, shooting down two Iraqi Mirages attempting an aerial bombing of the Ras Tanura oil production facility.33 Despite their impressive military capabilities, Gulf states had not yet acquired the capacity to wage war in the air, certainly not without western assistance. After the Kuwait war, most Gulf states developed their air capabilities dramatically, without yet displaying the political will to use them. This changed radically in 2011. Not only was the Gulf Cooperation Council the first international body to militarize the crisis in Libya by calling for a no-fly zone (even before the League of Arab States), but two of its members offered military support to the operation following UN Security Council Resolution 1973. Qatar and the UAE both sent jets; Doha's air force, now with 18 combat aircraft, sent a third of its capabilities; the UAE sent twelve fighters. Their contribution (which together constituted just 5 per cent of the total campaign air power) was interpreted, at the time, as of critical significance politically rather than militarily—but it led to two important results. The first was the participation of Gulf air forces in some strike operations—in the Emirati case, reportedly about 100 against pre-planned or fixed targets, by way of dynamic targeting: a first for a Gulf state. The second was that despite increasing air power and even expeditionary ambition, both Gulf states involved in the operation faced significant logistical challenges.34 The insights from the Libyan operation were translated into important reforms, paving the way for more expeditionary warfare and therefore assertion of air sovereignty: in 2014, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Bahrain and the UAE joined the international coalition against ISIS. Despite this highly publicized involvement—including the first female fighter pilot and a member of the Saudi royal family—their contribution remained comparatively small, however, and in the case of the UAE was suspended following the capture and execution of a Jordanian pilot.35 At the same time, the UAE was suspected of having bombed ISIS positions in Libya out of Egypt—a claim that was repeated several times over the coming years.36 In addition, the Emirates were also accused repeatedly of using drones in the Libyan conflict.37 Despite the comparatively small scale of these measures, the political message was clear: the Gulf states were now not just able, but also willing to make use of their air capabilities to advance political goals. This in itself can perhaps be seen as the first visible moment of air sovereignty in its most expansive form. That assertion of air sovereignty became fully obvious with the Yemen war that began in 2015, when a coalition of nine states, including Saudi Arabia, the UAE, Kuwait, Bahrain and Qatar, launched Operation Decisive Storm (later renamed Restoring Hope) to reinstate the ousted President Hadi. Saudi Arabia allegedly fielded 100 aircraft, the UAE 30, Kuwait and Bahrain 15 each, and Qatar 10 (which it withdrew in 2017 as a result of the diplomatic crisis that erupted that year). The war itself was launched in the air, with the coalition declaring Yemen's airspace a restricted zone.38 King Salman of Saudi Arabia then claimed that the Royal Saudi Air Force was in full control of the zone, and started air strikes on targets including weapons, aircraft on the ground and air defences.39 Although the war has affirmed the Gulf states' will and capability to conduct war from the air, it has also displayed their military shortcomings, particularly the difficulty in fighting an air war against an asymmetric opponent. Now in its seventh year and more than 24,000 air strikes later, the war has resulted in more than 9,000 civilian deaths but has failed to deliver a fatal blow to the Houthi forces. It is worth noting, too, that although the coalition has overwhelming air supremacy, its opponent is still managing to inflict damage in this space. Houthi forces have reportedly fired more than 150 Scud-based ballistic missiles at Saudi Arabia; while the majority of those are believed to have been intercepted by Patriot surface-to-air missiles (part of Peace Shield), some have got through. In the first 18 months of the operation, Saudi Arabian air defences allegedly intercepted 24 out of 33 missiles targeting Saudi territory. Missiles have repeatedly hit Saudi civilian targets, including an airport. Missiles have also proved useful to the Houthis on the battlefield, one killing 45 UAE troops at a base in Yemen and destroying an Apache attack helicopter.40 In addition to the missiles, the Houthis have also used weaponized drones. Assessments of the coalition's military performance have been very critical. A leaked French intelligence report described Saudi air operations as ineffective and in particular as lacking targeting capabilities, and claimed large-scale American support to be critical. (The report was more positive in respect of Emirati performance, citing a ‘proven’ ability to use guided munitions, and NATO standard performance during bombing missions.41) A UN report stated that reliable information indicates the Saudi military is trained for conventional state-on-state conflict, and in particular, to attack military columns in austere environments, and has little if no training relevant to combatting insurgents in urban environments. The type of conventional warfare that the Saudi military is trained to fight would require a different approach to proportionality assessments and precautionary measures from that required when planning military operations in populated areas.42 In the light of these observations, both Saudi Arabia and the UAE have been accused of war crimes. Perhaps as a result, Saudi Arabia dismissed its most senior military commanders in 2018, and announced in early 2019 the creation of an air warfare centre designed to ‘qualify the military leaders to work in a complex joint operations environment’.43 The royal pilot who had gained fame in 2014 flying sorties against ISIS, Prince Khaled bin Salman (brother to the crown prince), was later appointed deputy defence minister. It is worth noting that western air forces, too, struggle in an operational environment like that in Yemen, requiring advanced levels of targeting capabilities and intelligence. Although politically yielding an ultimately negative result, the Yemen war has nevertheless advanced the Gulf states' operational capabilities, and as such should be considered as marking another stage in the assertion of air sovereignty. Air politics: of diplomacy and security Although wars might be the most obvious form of coercion in the air, diplomacy too can unfold in this realm. One example is the UAE's original withholding of support for NATO's Libya operation because it disagreed with western attitudes towards the Bahrain riots.44 Another is Kuwait's repeated seizure of Iraqi Airways assets abroad as the dispute over war damages of US$1.2 billion continued—until 2012, when it was finally settled, and direct flights between the two countries resumed.45 When Saudi Arabia and Iran formally severed ties in January 2016, around 150 direct flights per month between the two countries were suspended.46 Two months later, Saudi Arabia banned Iranian airline Mahan Air from even using its airspace for overflight—a move that echoed an American decision of 2011 to impose sanctions on Mahan Air because of its alleged support for the Iranian Revolutionary Guard.47 Saudi Arabia stressed that Iranian pilgrims would still be welcomed to the hajj (around 90,000 Iranians perform it every year) using connecting flights through the UAE or Qatar. When Tehran tried, and failed, to negotiate exceptional charter flights, it imposed a ban on its own citizens travelling to Saudi Arabia. A historical precedent was set, of course, during the diplomatic falling out between Qatar and its neighbours that began in 2017. Saudi Arabia, the UAE and Bahrain refused permission for airlines registered in Qatar to use not only their airports, but even their airspace—a violation of the Chicago Convention which all the Gulf states have signed. The convention clearly states that passenger aircraft have permission to fly through the airspace of another country en route to a third destination. While the convention does allow temporary restriction or prohibition of flying over the whole or any part of a national territory, this hinges on the condition that ‘such restriction or prohibition shall be applicable without distinction of nationality to aircraft of all other states’48—which was clearly not the case in this context, as the ban applied only to Qatar. As a result, the airline lost access to 18 destinations and 50 daily flights, and had to use longer flight routes via Iran and Africa. The dispute featured in national media: in a report on the Saudi news channel Al Arabiya, a Qatar Airways aircraft was seen to be shot down in an animation, and its crew taken to trial for breaching national security, claimed as the ‘national right’ of Saudi Arabia. In response, Qatar filed a complaint with the International Civil Aviation Organization (ICAO, a UN body).49 In the first year, the ban cost Qatar Airways US$69 million, and it announced further losses for the second year, in large part resulting from the embargo.50 The dispute over airspace even veered into military territory: Qatar accused the UAE of violating its airspace with military aircraft, to which the UAE responded by claiming that Qatari jets repeatedly ‘harassed’ its military as well as civilian aircraft on their way to Bahrain.51 Both states complained to the ICAO, Qatar's ambassador stating that ‘Qatar will take, in order to preserve its legitimate sovereign right, all necessary measures to defend its borders and airspace and national security, in accordance with international laws and regulations’.52 In June 2018, the ICAO council rejected the claims of the UAE and accepted two complaints by Qatar.53 Indeed, in the absence of other measures, the political antagonism between Doha and its neighbours was being expressed almost exclusively in the airspace. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the end of the Qatar crisis was signalled with the almost immediate reopening of airspace and the resumption of flights by all Gulf air carriers in the area: within 48 hours of the accord being announced, the first Qatar Airways flight to Saudi Arabia had departed from Doha International airport. In a different area of coercion, the Gulf states are all beginning to use their airspace increasingly for matters of domestic security. Saudi Arabia is once more in the lead in this respect, with a separate body in charge of domestic security possessing an aerial capacity. General Security Aviation was established in 2012 and aims ‘to maintain the country's national security, in co-operation with other security sectors, and to provide the citizens with humanitarian services such as rescue, search, fire-fighting, etc.’. The command is in charge of, among other things, securing the yearly pilgrimage to Mecca by providing information on crowd management. This provision has been introduced because of the recurrent stampedes that have happened in recent years, themselves in part the consequence of improved air connectivity to the holy sites, leading to a near-doubling in numbers of pilgrims since the 1980s. Since 1990, more than nine stampedes have resulted in the deaths of nearly 5,000 people, with that of 2015 being the deadliest with more than 2,000 victims.54 Although Saudi Arabia is the only Gulf state to have a dedicated internal security air force, other states are also increasingly using their airspace for policing. The UAE has for some time been using drones in traffic control, monitoring major sports events and rescue operations; more recently, it has started the use of manned ‘flying motorbikes’.55 During the COVID-19 pandemic, the UAE used helicopters and also loudspeaker drones to encourage citizens to stay at home.56 While domestic assertion of air sovereignty might only be in its early stages, here the Gulf states are certainly innovating compared to their European counterparts. One can therefore deduce that they are not only following an established route of sovereignty assertion, but evolving and adapting the concept for their own purposes. Air economics: of passengers and cargo Perhaps the dimension of sovereignty most often overlooked is its economic side: the freedom of a state to supervise, monopolize or shape its national economy in accordance with its own wishes. When it comes to airspace, these options are more limited than in respect of economic activity on the ground, but they are lucrative nonetheless. Civilian airlines provide the first example of this. Until the 1990s, they had a very limited economic role in the Gulf, but this changed with the progressive liberalization of international air travel, leading to the creation of not just the heavyweights, Qatar Airways (1993) and Etihad (2003), but also a whole range of low-cost operators such as Air Arabia (2003), Jazeera Airways (2004), Sama (2005), Nasr Air (2007), Bahrain Air and FlyDubai (both 2008). The latest addition to this list is Salam Air, which was founded in 2016. Since then, Emirates (founded in 1985), Qatar Airways and Etihad have become known as the ME3, the super-connectors, and even as the ‘great aviation disrupters of the 21st century’.57 Emirates is now the fourth-largest airline in the world; the number of passengers transported by the big three airlines has quadrupled over the last decade.58 Air passenger volume in the region is currently 211 million passengers per year; it is predicted that by 2037 this will more than double to 501 million.59 The commercial value of this traffic lies not just in passenger numbers, however, but also in the importance of airports as connecting nodes. Dubai International Airport, handling 86.4 million passengers in 2019, has been the world's busiest airport for international passenger traffic for six consecutive years. Meanwhile Qatar's Hamad International Airport ranked third, with 38.8 million passengers in 2019. Dubai is also regional number one when it comes to cargo, handling 2.6 million tonnes per year—but followed closely by Qatar with 2.1 million tonnes per year. Until COVID-19 hit, both were set to expand in the coming years, with Doha aiming at 53 million passengers and 3 million tonnes of cargo annually by 2022, and Dubai planning to build a new airport designed to accommodate 320 million passengers per year in 2050. Abu Dhabi International Airport, which handled approximately 20 million passengers in 2018, made plans to open a new terminal capable of accommodating 45 million passengers a year.60 The pandemic could affect these plans, at least in the short to medium term. Gulf-based airlines used a strategic approach very different from those of other small states: rather than being restricted by their small size and populations (which would naturally limit the number of passengers), they turned their attention to a passenger market lying outside their home countries.61 The region's geostrategic location helps: 80 per cent of the world's population lies within an eight-hour flight of the Gulf hubs, and according to the sixth ‘freedom of the air’,62 it is permitted to land passengers in one's home country on the way to another destination. (In addition, Gulf airlines offer lower prices and better services than many of their international competitors.) This means that the ME3 operate as transporters around the globe rather than as carriers transporting passengers to and from their home base. This approach has revolutionized international air travel, and inevitably has set the ME3 at odds with other airlines. This international strategy was pioneered by UAE, which was the first country in the region to lift restrictions on airlines operating according to the ‘open skies’ principle. Because they are government-owned, Gulf carriers are accused by other airlines of benefiting from unfair advantages, including not having to worry about short-term profitability. In addition, they benefit from cheap labour imported from south-east Asia. Should Gulf carriers continue to expand along the route offered by the fifth ‘freedom of the air’ (in which neither point of departure nor destination is in one's home country), this could seriously eat into the markets of other airlines. The first route of this kind is already operated by Emirates, from Milan to New York.63 Of course, the economic dimension of air sovereignty is far from immune to its political counterpart. Gulf airlines had to adjust to the US ‘Muslim ban’ by changing air crews and reimbursing passengers, and were subject to a six-month ban on passenger electronics on flights to the United States—allegedly to prevent terrorist attacks, but the move was widely interpreted as an attempt to put foreign airlines at a competitive disadvantage against American ones.64 In addition, war is a constant factor in the airlines' routing decisions: the airspaces of Syria and Iraq have been largely off limits for years, and there are contingency plans for a potential military escalation between the United States and Iran. (In 1988, the United States shot down an Iran Air flight which it had mistaken for an attacking Iranian jet).65 Finally, airlines are not just the victims of international tensions; they allegedly play a role in them, too: Qatar Airways' growth rate of 20 per cent a year is said to have been interpreted as aggressive by Etihad and Emirates.66 To a much lesser extent, Emirati defence industries have ventured out into the aerial market, particularly in maintenance and repair of aircraft, which is itself a highly lucrative field. (Technology pertaining to air defence is, in general, the most expensive element of defence, taking up 90 per cent of the arms market in volume.) Holdings and companies such as Emirati Mubadala Development Company, Tawazun Holding, Emirates Advanced Investments Group aircraft maintenance and Baynunah Aviation Technology are all involved, one way or another, in aerial defence commerce.67 In sum, the economic dimension of air sovereignty is fully exploited by the Gulf states in its civilian aspects; the commercial aspects of the defence industry, on the other hand, are still in their early stages. Air sovereignty and air identity Sovereignty and identity are two concepts perpetually in interaction rather than linearly linked. In other words, identity might precede and give rise to sovereignty, or vice versa. In the Gulf states, it is fair to say that national identity has been the consequence of increased sovereignty, but has also fed back into it. In either case, identity-formation and affirmation occurs, among other things, via symbols. These can be flags, anthems or other elements from nature or religion. In most cases, symbols have a positive connotation, as they are used to generate a feeling of attachment and attraction. Airlines—not by coincidence called ‘flag carriers’—have become symbols of national identity elsewhere, and are equally prominent in this region, particularly in the UAE and Qatar. This is because they ‘represent their nations and, in this sense, evoke a non-tangible sentiment of national awareness and unity’,68 especially when they are owned by the state. Carriers play a symbolic role in national identity both in terms of how people see themselves and how they want others to see them through their airlines, enforcing a collective sentiment of nationalism behind the airline which proudly displays the name and flag of the nation.69 The prominent use of national colours in the branding of the airlines further enhances the links between state, nation and airline. With their global networks, modern aircraft and unparalleled service, the stars of the Gulf airways, Emirates, Qatar Airways and Etihad, have built global brands representing luxury, wealth, technological progress and global reach—all the while maintaining a proud Khaleeji identity.70 But it is not just civilian aviation that has played a role in national identity affirmation; military aviation, too, has been prominent. This is a phenomenon observed in other states as well, where the military, as the ultimate symbol of national unity and common effort, comes to represent the nation. Air forces have a distinct role here as they, more than the army or navy, represent technological progress and know-how. There are several examples of this process at play in the Gulf.71 For instance, individual pilots regularly receive positive media attention: examples include the Emirati fighter pilot Mariam Al-Mansouri, Saudi Prince Khaled bin Salman, and even civilian airline pilots flying for Etihad or Emirates, such as Aisha Al Mansouri. Pilots have become the face of the war in Yemen and regularly feature in national media reports.72 In 2010, the Emirates created Al Fursan, an air force unit specializing in aerobatics, used especially to mark days of national importance. On the 47th anniversary of independence, Al Fursan flew formations jointly with Emirati airlines Emirates, Etihad, FlyDubai and Air Arabia under the slogan ‘together we soar’.73 As both civilian airlines and air forces have become symbols of national identity, recruitment of Gulf nationals to both has increased. Emirates advertises job vacancies couched in explicitly nationalistic terms, such as: ‘Join our team of UAE Nationals and bring pride to the nation.’ Etihad, too, uses such terminology: ‘We are looking for patriots who are as passionate about Abu Dhabi as we are, who understand our nation's unique place on the global stage—and most importantly, know how to keep us there.’ One newspaper article, titled ‘Portrait of a nation: young Emirati pilot says flying is window to the world’, expressed succinctly the intertwined nature of air sovereignty and identity.74 Qatar Airways has a special pilot cadet programme for Qatari nationals aimed at university students, including payment of tuition fees and other benefits.75 Of course, this development echoes developments on the ground: the militarization not just of nationalism, but indeed of sovereignty, is not an exclusively airborne process and includes the introduction of conscription—and its highly publicized visualization.76 Conclusion Sovereignty, national identity and statehood are not unchallenged concepts in the Middle East. The regularly resurfacing discussion on the nature of national borders in the region is only one symptom of this. The Gulf states, in more ways than one, have managed to become an exception to this challenge, and have used airspace in particular to achieve this. The analysis presented above shows all the Gulf states—with the exception of Yemen—have increasingly asserted their sovereignty in the air through gaining recognition, the development of authority and capabilities, and the pursuit of economic nationalism and coercion. The common point of departure was the 1990s, with the invasion of Kuwait serving as an important trigger. ‘This helped reformulate the image Gulf societies had of themselves as Arab nation states, which led to the formation of a new “self”, separate from the “Arab Nation” self.’77 Of course, other changes, such as the deregulation of air travel and the consolidation of state institutions, also contributed to the process. But while a desire for defence was perhaps the original impetus, new motivations emerged over time, displaying once more the dynamic nature of sovereignty. For the smaller Gulf states—especially the UAE—airspace became an antidote to their limited territorial space; for the UAE, but also for Saudi Arabia, it eventually turned into an important space for regional power projection. This process is likely to evolve further, given the elastic nature of airspace hinging on technology: the UAE is further expanding its aerial adventures, having sent its first astronaut to the International Space Station in September 2019 with two more to follow in 2021, including the first Arab woman in space. For its part, the UAE launched the Emirates Mars Mission (also known as Hope) in July 2020.78 Taken together, these developments confirm that Gulf states proceed in the same way as most other states when it comes to sovereignty and its assertion. 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Lustick, ‘The absence of Middle Eastern Great Powers: political “backwardness” in historical perspective’, International Organization 51: 4, 1997, pp. 653–83. 6 F. H. Hinsley, Sovereignty, 2nd edn (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986). 7 J. Samuel Barkin and Bruce Cronin, ‘The state and the nation: changing norms and the rules of sovereignty in international relations’, International Organization 48: 1, 1994, pp. 107–30; F. Gregory Gause III, ‘Sovereignty, statecraft and stability in the Middle East’, Journal of International Affairs 45: 2, 1992, pp. 441–69. 8 Benedict Anderson, Imagined communities: reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism, rev. edn (London: Verso, 2006). 9 Roxanne Lynn Doty, ‘Sovereignty and the nation: constructing the boundaries of national identity’, in Thomas J. Biersteker and Cynthia Weber, eds, State sovereignty as social construct (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 121–47; R. B. J. 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This article is published and distributed under the terms of the Oxford University Press, Standard Journals Publication Model (https://academic.oup.com/journals/pages/open_access/funder_policies/chorus/standard_publication_model)
TI - How the Gulf States are using their air space to assert their sovereignty
JF - International Affairs
DO - 10.1093/ia/iiab075
DA - 2021-07-05
UR - https://www.deepdyve.com/lp/oxford-university-press/how-the-gulf-states-are-using-their-air-space-to-assert-their-5OF3Y6oIrb
SP - 985
EP - 1006
VL - 97
IS - 4
DP - DeepDyve
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