Shaken by missile alerts amid Ramzan, Abu Dhabi wakes up to a war not its own
This past Saturday morning was like any other weekend in Abu Dhabi, lazy and quiet. From the 16th floor of my apartment, the view, as usual, was calming. Blue waters glistened under a clear, unblemished sky. Suddenly, the colours of the city changed. As windows rattled, a loud bang, a missile interception was heard and felt around the city. Outside, the war had begun, and this time it was closer than ever.
Soon, the UAE airspace was shut, and the streets fell silent, reminding many of the days of Covid-19 when families were forced to stay indoors. Quietness descended on the city, broken periodically by some more interceptions. The contrast is particularly stark as this is the holy month of Ramzan, a time when the city comes together. Four days and hundreds of interceptions later, it is fighting to keep its soul, the silence alternating with a restrained buzz at Iftar.
It is not their conflict, and what has unfolded in Abu Dhabi has been unprecedented. Missiles intercepted, debris from drones and three deaths. The war came home to a city that is not just the capital of the UAE but also remains an oasis of calm amidst the churnings in the West Asia. America has one prominent military base in the UAE, located near Abu Dhabi. Despite that, we have been taken aback by how Iran’s retaliation to the US-Israel attacks was swift, provocative and hard.
At 3 am on Tuesday, while it was still pitch dark outside our windows, we were woken not for the first time by a shrill, urgent alert on our phones. It read, “The Emirates Air Defences are currently dealing with a supply of ballistic missiles coming in from Iran”, and asked the residents in full transparency to take shelter. The missiles were likely overhead as their successful interceptions cut loudly through the stillness outside. It was not a quiet night, and we are not yet accustomed to turning over and going back to sleep. Many interceptions and bangs have been heard – the UAE government says close to 200 missiles and more than 500 drones have been intercepted. We have all become sensitive to it; sometimes, there is a false alarm. At other times, the falling debris on the horizon leaves plumes of smoke.
Apart from the collectiveness of a four-million-strong Indian diaspora in the UAE, what does a war entail on a personal note? For one, mundane thoughts don’t always sync with the enormity of the moment. When time stops, you begin to notice things. For instance, you realise birds, once rare in the desert of UAE, have migrated to this land in flocks. Their flight is a signal; when they fly helter-skelter, there is invariably an accompanying bang. You also casually observe that the shelves stocking water bottles and meat are empty. We, on the other hand, have not stocked much; perhaps we don’t want to admit this could go on. Hope can also be an irrational emotion.
Barriers come up suddenly, both physical and in the mind. “My friends are packing for an emergency evacuation, should we also?” asks my younger daughter, constantly. Our children could be staring at a new normal. They are back to distance learning, and this is an involuntary introduction to a conflict-ridden world. Much has changed since my childhood during the years of terrorism in Punjab. Warfare is also a 24/7 social media reel. They are consuming their own information and internalising it. The morning after, conversations are no longer about studies, but schools have stepped in by offering counselling sessions. However, a memory will be etched of staring out the windows, waiting and watching from a few feet away, as instructed in the official alerts. For now, there seems to be no endgame in sight.
Fortunately, misinformation has been nipped in the bud. WhatsApp forwards are verified, and official channels are followed. There has been a responsible flow of information and consumption. There is uncertainty, but no overwhelming panic. Mind you, it is not a sign of surrender or inevitability. Perhaps the lack of hyperventilating news anchors focused only on spreading alarm has something to do with it. In fact, in some Indian studios, I have noticed scaremongering in far higher decibels than conversations in Abu Dhabi among fellow expats as another missile was intercepted.
People in Abu Dhabi and Dubai have been circumspect; alerts, even those that have woken us and others in the middle of the night, are clear in their directions. Every attempt is being made to keep the people calm, and here in Abu Dhabi, tough times have brought out the best in people. Tourist visas have been extended unilaterally and without a fuss. There are first-world nations, but there is a simple mantra here. Lives matter. People matter. There is a reminder for all: give empathy, and you will receive respect.
It is too early to assess the impact on the tourist-friendly nation, but when the dust settles, this land will be remembered as more than a tax haven. Consider this. Despite the volume of flights that were cancelled in Abu Dhabi and the tsunami of unpredictability it unleashed, the airports did not degenerate into uncontrolled pandemonium. Authorities took those stranded immediately under their wings. Abu Dhabi is a city that proudly displays its cultural credentials and is currently a fashionable destination for Indian weddings. In the city, stranded hotel guests are on an extended all-expenses-paid stay taken care of by the government. This is in stark contrast to what unfolds in India during a calamity. Flight prices go through the roof, and if you remember the pandemic, as people lay dying, the prices of oxygen cylinders were many times their usual price.
As the region braces for further escalation, I am reminded of just a few months back, when, during Operation Sindoor, sitting in Abu Dhabi, I worried for my parents' safety in Jalandhar as Pakistani drones seemed to be getting closer. Today, the roles are reversed. Ironically, while the world grows more connected, frequent disruptions are making the distances longer. As I write, a few repatriation flights from Abu Dhabi have taken off. Is this what defines the global future, where the only certainty is conflict and uncertainty? In the words of Aristotle, “It is not enough to win a war; it is more important to organise the peace.” Is peace underestimated in the modern era?
