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UAE: A people for the leadership, and a leadership for the people
The true litmus test of any government comes in moments of crises. By that measure, the UAE’s leadership has earned full marks from its people for its swift, accurate response — grounded in regular risk assessments and adherence to the Abrahamic principles of restraint and passive defence
- PUBLISHED: Thu 5 Mar 2026, 10:18 PM
“IT’S WAR”
That thunderous headline lay dormant on a bromide in my office drawer for five uneasy months — waiting. Then, in the early hours of January 17, 1991, the Allied forces finally unleashed their full fury on Baghdad, and the words were no longer prophecy, but fact.
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I am compelled to dust off memories of the first Gulf War, triggered by Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait on August 2, 1990 — the very day wifey boarded a flight to begin a new life in Dubai. At parties, friends would since tease, “As though India were not vast enough — your wife had to carry war to the Gulf.”
The funny start to a new life in this region compelled us to live through a decades-long tragicomedy — a frantic search for weapons of mass destruction that never existed, yet which certain Western leaders declared Saddan Hussein possessed.
As law-abiding residents of the Middle East — a region where tensions are perpetually kept at a simmer by reckless Western adventurism — we found ourselves unwilling participants in this grand theatre, all ostensibly staged to make the world “a safer place.”
While Allied forces honed their war machinery in the deserts of Saudi Arabia and elsewhere, we embarked on our own domestic campaign. Supermarkets in the neighbourhood and beyond were “raided” with military precision as we hoarded food and household supplies to outlast months of anxious vigilance.
The spare bedroom of our Karama apartment was swiftly transformed into something resembling a wholesale grocery stockroom. It bulged with sacks of rice, cereals, flour, spices, cooking oil, toiletries, tissue rolls, nuts and wafers — and, most indispensably, cartons of Tom and Jerry and Bollywood movies cassettes — to sustain morale. If ever there was an exercise that justified the phrase “war-like preparation”, this was it.
In truth, with hundreds of brick-and-mortar groceries operating as usual, there was no real scarcity. But prudence — or perhaps herd instinct — prevailed. “Why take a risk?” became the unspoken mantra.
Yet food ranked surprisingly low on the hierarchy of fears. Periodic advisories from the Allied forces instructed residents on how to seal doors and windows to survive an anticipated chemical attack by Saddam Hussein. Rolls of masking tape — previously purchased only to secure luggage for annual trips home — vanished overnight from store shelves.
Candles and matchboxes were stockpiled. Torches stood ready with fresh batteries. Lights in many homes were deliberately dimmed, lest they attract Iraqi bombers. We all prepared gas proof rooms — something akin to the concrete bomb shelters that you find in old HDB (Housing Development Board) apartments in Singapore. I too had one.
Saddam acquired such a mythical aura of menace that mothers disciplined stubborn children with the warning: “Shall I call Saddam?”
“Why are you behaving like Saddam?” or “Don’t be a Saddam,” became expressions born of Operation Desert Storm — linguistic relics of a conflict that reshaped not just geopolitics, but everyday vocabulary.
As the first salvos were fired on January 17, 1991, I had just returned home after a long night. I opened the door, switched on the television, and there it was — CNN, hitherto unheard of in this part of the world — flashing the epochal headline: “The war has begun.” It was 3.30am in Dubai. Taking a cue from CNN’s Peter Arnett reporting from Baghdad, I picked up the phone and called the office with the instinctive newsroom command: “Stop press.”
The rest, as they say, is history.
I rushed downstairs, hailed a taxi, and sped back to the newsroom with my colleague Joseph Nellary. Together, we produced that milestone edition which still adorns the reception and hallways of Khaleej Times, bearing the blaring, all-caps headline: IT’S WAR. The theatre of conflict soon evolved into a veritable school of journalism for reporters in the Middle East. It was an era of live dispatches, embedded reporting, and rare access — from trips aboard fighter jets and refuelling aircraft to warships cutting across tense waters. Headlines bristled with wartime idioms. Mahir Ali even channelled Stevie Wonder with the romantic headline, “He just called to say…”, when Peter Arnett finally phoned his girlfriend in Australia at the end of hostilities.
Those were days when journalism thrived on shoe-leather reporting. Press releases were treated with suspicion; curation was not yet a craft but a compromise.
There was no social media. Information — whether true or false — was scarce, and therefore precious. CNN was almost sacred, its word rarely questioned. Editorial phones rang around the clock as sonic booms rattled the night skies. Calls poured in from Bur Dubai, Deira, Al Ghusais, Al Quoz and beyond: “Was that a Scud from Iraq?”
People waited for verified news. There was no dog-eat-dog chase for television rating points, that marketing metric of a noisier age.
The Allied forces accomplished their mission; Kuwait was liberated on February 26, 1991. No red lines were crossed. Saddam Hussein remained in power, his wings clipped by sweeping UN sanctions and no-fly zones.
Fast forward to 2025–26 — an era when social media posts travel faster than cruise missiles and, at times, inflict more damage than conventional weapons of criticism or attack. Today’s geographical conflicts unfold alongside digital wars waged across every sphere of life. When new battlefronts open anywhere in the world, stakeholders scan every nook and corner of the social media universe. Some seek updates to reassure loved ones. Some businessmen search for once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. Some nations assess strategic leverage. Others attempt to fish in troubled political waters.
What surprised me most, when missiles and drones rained down from one source — the Islamic Republic of Iran — was the absence of visible panic within the community. It was business as usual. Thousands thronged culinary hotspots, gathering for iftar and weekend dinners.
My wife and I joined them, as we often do, and watched people remain remarkably composed — even as frantic calls and messages from anxious relatives abroad flashed across their screens.
“No, Mama, we are okay. Are you mad? There’s no crisis that calls for taking the next flight.” “Stock up? What do you mean? Sis, please hang up — the kids will panic.”
These were the conversations we overheard in a Dubai restaurant — quiet votes of confidence in the society they belong to, and in a leadership they respect and salute. Those words gave me goosebumps. They know the UAE leadership means what it says — and does what it promises.
From day one of the Iranian onslaught, the government of the United Arab Emirates understood its priority — More lethal than missiles and drones is misinformation, hence the repeated message: Security is a shared responsibility. Obtain information only from official sources. People paused. They listened. They complied.
While minor violations were tolerated, what proved intolerable was the flood of social media posts and reels — from parts of the subcontinent and the West — portraying the cosmopolitan UAE as suddenly unsafe.
Sensationalism has long been a hallmark of sections of the Indian media. While the print still retains a semblance of restraint, much of the visual media — including some mainstream channels and the increasingly toxic vlogging ecosystem — often thrives on exaggeration which smacks off queasiness. In the race for ratings and online traction, provocation frequently replaces prudence, with little regard for the consequences.
Journalism may wear the toe tag of “social responsibility”, but the principle remains vital. Indian visual media would do well to remember that exporting sensational “breaking news” beyond its borders can damage diplomatic sensitivities and unsettle the diaspora and their families back home. Speed may drive modern newsrooms, but responsibility must guide them.
Once the social media scare was managed, the UAE leadership moved swiftly to reassure residents and travellers alike: You are safe with a leadership that cares — and will do everything possible to ensure that safety endures.
The third step was transparency. Authorities detailed the scale of the Iranian offensive — a barrage of 196 ballistic missiles, eight cruise missiles and 1,072 drones — while underscoring the resilience of the UAE’s defence systems. Not a dent was made in the nation’s confidence.
The leadership also reaffirmed its adherence to the Abrahamic principles of restraint and passive defence, while cautioning Tehran against crossing red lines.
As calm gradually returned, ministers and business leaders reassured markets that food stocks were ample and that the UAE economy had once again demonstrated its resilience in absorbing regional and international shocks, maintaining stability and efficiency.
As the nation returns to business, its people will not forget that the Iranian offensive felt like a backstab — especially given the UAE’s assurances that its soil would not be used to launch attacks on Tehran.
Few nations could have weathered such an offensive with comparable efficiency. No force can shake the confidence of the more than 120 nationalities who call the UAE home.
Because here, we are a people for the leadership — and a leadership for the people.
The writer is executive editor of Khaleej Times
