The UAE’s Shadowy Influence: Unraveling Its Role in Shaping the Middle East

As I delved into the complex web of Middle Eastern geopolitics, one nation repeatedly caught my attention: the United Arab Emirates (UAE). Despite its small size—a country of just 10 million people, with only a million citizens—the UAE has emerged as a formidable player in the region since the Arab Spring of 2011. Its influence stretches far beyond its borders, shaping conflicts, economies, and ideologies across the Middle East and East Africa. What fascinates me is how this tiny federation, led by Abu Dhabi, has crafted a sophisticated strategy that blends hard power, soft power, and economic might to assert its interests. Yet, as I explored further, I found its actions often carry a darker undertone, raising questions about the cost of its ambitions. Below, I share my observations on the UAE’s statecraft, its motivations, and its impact on the region, culminating in a question that lingers in my mind.

I view the UAE’s ascent as a remarkable case of a small state punching above its weight. With a GDP of around $500 billion and a population dwarfed by its neighbors, the UAE might seem an unlikely candidate for regional dominance. Yet, since the Arab Spring, it has transformed into a middle power, leveraging its wealth and strategic foresight. I think the pivotal moment came in 2011, when the fall of Egypt’s Mubarak regime and the broader regional upheaval exposed the limitations of traditional powers like the United States. As Western influence waned, I believe the UAE saw an opportunity to fill the vacuum, stepping out from its historical role as a Western client state.

What strikes me is the UAE’s innovative approach to statecraft. Unlike traditional powers that rely on military might or direct governance, I observe that the UAE orchestrates a multi-layered network of non-state actors—mercenaries, financiers, traders, and influencers—to advance its interests. This “network-centric statecraft” allows the UAE to operate with plausible deniability. By outsourcing its influence to private entities, I think the UAE can distance itself from illicit activities like arms smuggling or money laundering while still reaping strategic benefits. This approach, which I find both ingenious and troubling, mirrors historical empire-building tactics, like Britain’s use of private companies to expand its reach.

I believe the Arab Spring was the crucible that forged the UAE’s assertive foreign policy. The uprisings, starting in Tunisia in 2010 and spreading to Egypt, Libya, and beyond, toppled authoritarian regimes and empowered civil society, particularly Islamist groups like the Muslim Brotherhood. From my perspective, this was a direct threat to the UAE’s tribal monarchy, which thrives on absolute control. The election of Mohamed Morsi, a Muslim Brotherhood leader, as Egypt’s president in 2012 was a shock to the UAE’s leadership. I think they feared that inclusive governance or democratic movements could inspire similar demands at home, undermining their authoritarian model.

In response, I observe that the UAE embarked on a counterrevolutionary campaign. By 2013, it played a pivotal role in ousting Morsi. I find it striking how the UAE amplified a small liberal opposition group in Alexandria, the Tamarud movement, into a mass protest movement. Through funding, media manipulation, and coordination with Egypt’s military, the UAE orchestrated a coup that restored authoritarian rule under Abdel Fattah el-Sisi. This success, I believe, emboldened the UAE to replicate this model elsewhere, cementing its strategy of backing anti-revolutionary forces to maintain regional stability on its terms.

As I reflect on the UAE’s actions, I see a clear philosophical underpinning: a deep-seated fear of civil society, particularly Islamic civil society. The mosque, as a traditional hub of mobilization in the Arab world, is a focal point of this anxiety. I think the UAE views Islam’s potential to inspire political activism—whether through the Muslim Brotherhood or grassroots movements—as a direct threat to its regime. To counter this, I observe that the UAE has adopted a Jeffersonian approach, enforcing a strict separation of religion and state. In the UAE, Friday sermons are scripted by a secular authority, stripping Islam of its mobilizing power.

What intrigues me is how the UAE exports this ideology. By promoting a quietist, apolitical form of Sufi Islam, I believe the UAE seeks to neutralize political Islam across the region. This contrasts sharply with the Muslim Brotherhood’s vision of inclusive governance. I find it paradoxical that many Muslims, especially from the West, feel comfortable in the UAE, drawn by its Islamic aesthetics and economic opportunities. Yet, beneath this veneer, I see a state that systematically suppresses Islamic civil society, arresting or fining those who express political views, even on social media.

One of the most striking aspects of the UAE’s foreign policy, in my view, is its deep alliance with Israel, formalized through the Abraham Accords. I think this relationship is both pragmatic and ideological. Pragmatically, aligning with Israel grants the UAE access to influential Western circles, particularly in the U.S., where support for Israel often shields allies from scrutiny. Ideologically, I observe a shared mindset: both nations fear Arab civil society and political Islam, preferring authoritarian stability over democratic uncertainty. The UAE’s unwavering support for Israel, even amid the Gaza conflict, underscores this alignment.

I find it telling that the UAE frames the Arab Spring as a destabilizing force, much like Israel’s  “Arab winter” narrative. This shared fear of the “Arab street” drives their joint efforts to suppress civil society. In Gaza, I believe the UAE sees Hamas as the ultimate threat, echoing Israel’s rhetoric. This ideological convergence, I think, makes the UAE a critical partner in Israel’s regional strategy, amplifying its influence while shielding it from Western criticism.

My exploration of the UAE’s activities reveals a consistent pattern: the creation of secessionist, non-state actors to control strategic enclaves. In Libya, I observe that since 2014, the UAE has backed General Khalifa Haftar’s Libyan National Army (LNA) against the UN-recognized government in Tripoli. By supplying arms—dozens of planeloads during the 2020 COVID pandemic—and facilitating Russian mercenaries like the Wagner Group, the UAE has sustained Haftar’s control over eastern Libya. I think this creates a quasi-state that serves as an arsenal for other UAE-backed proxies.

In Yemen, I see a similar strategy. Since 2015, the UAE has supported the Southern Transitional Council (STC), carving out coastal enclaves rich in port potential. By focusing on these “juicy bits,” as I’d call them, the UAE secures economic and strategic dominance without competing for the entire country. In Sudan, the UAE’s long-standing relationship with General Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo (Hemedti) and his Rapid Support Forces (RSF) has fueled a devastating civil war since 2023. I find it chilling that the UAE’s infrastructure—banks, gold trade, private jets—enables Hemedti’s operations, with little international accountability.

Somalia follows suit. I note that the UAE backs federal states like Puntland and Somaliland, fostering secessionist movements to gain influence over key ports. This model—arming militias, providing diplomatic clout, and legitimizing quasi-states—demonstrates the UAE’s preference for controlling strategic fragments over entire nations. I think this approach maximizes influence while minimizing exposure, a hallmark of its Machiavellian statecraft.

Beyond hard power, I’m impressed by the UAE’s soft power. Dubai’s glitz—its skyscrapers, beaches, and cultural events—projects an image of modernity and tolerance. I believe this curated narrative attracts tourists, investors, and even Muslims who see the UAE as a safe Islamic haven. Yet, I find this image masks a suffocating authoritarianism, where dissent is silenced, and surveillance, often using Israeli technology like Pegasus, is pervasive.

Economically, the UAE’s wealth is a weapon. I observe that it invests heavily in Western economies—potentially billions in the U.S. and UK—making it indispensable. This financial clout, I think, buys silence from Western governments, who overlook the UAE’s role in conflicts like Sudan’s, despite overwhelming evidence from UN experts and journalists. The UAE’s PR machine, including paid experts and media outlets, further obscures its actions, creating a veneer of legitimacy.

I find the UAE’s embrace of the counterterrorism narrative particularly strategic. Since 2006, when its state-owned DP World faced U.S. resistance over port operations, the UAE has positioned itself as a champion of countering violent extremism (CVE). By adopting Western anti-terror rhetoric—focusing on “Islamic terrorism”—the UAE has ingratiated itself with the U.S. and UK. I think this narrative, amplified through think tanks and CVE conferences, aligns with its domestic crackdown on Islamists and its regional anti-Islamist agenda, making it a valuable Western ally.

As I consider resistance to the UAE’s influence, I see challenges emerging. The UAE’s 2017 blockade of Qatar, I believe, was a misstep. It galvanized Qatar and other Gulf states to counter the UAE’s narrative, exposing its actions in Libya, Yemen, and Sudan. Saudi Arabia, once an ally, now competes with the UAE for investment and influence, particularly in Yemen and Sudan. I think Gaza’s crisis has further eroded the UAE’s credibility, as its pro-Israel stance alienates the Arab street, undermining the Abraham Accords.

Internally, I sense rifts. Anecdotal evidence suggests discontent in the northern emirates, where citizens feel marginalized compared to wealthy Abu Dhabi and Dubai. Soldiers from these regions, disproportionately sent to Yemen, may question the UAE’s project. However, I find it hard to gauge public opinion in a state where dissent is crushed, and surveillance is omnipresent. This opacity, I believe, is both a strength and a potential vulnerability.

The recent rise of Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) in Syria, led by Ahmed Shara, strikes me as a blow to the UAE’s vision of authoritarian stability. The UAE, which backed Assad for years, now faces an Islamist-led government—a nightmare scenario. Yet, I observe its pragmatism: hosting Shara and mediating with Israel shows adaptability. While Syria is a strategic setback, I think the UAE’s limited investment there, compared to Libya or Sudan, mitigates the damage. Its broader network remains resilient.

Reflecting on the UAE’s actions, I’m struck by their moral cost. In Libya, Yemen, and Sudan, the UAE’s proxies have fueled bloodshed, famine, and massacres. I find it chilling that the UAE views this as a necessary means to an end, hiring mercenaries to hunt opposition figures or arming warlords like Hemedti. The human toll—displaced families, shattered societies—seems irrelevant to a state obsessed with control. I wonder if this ruthless pragmatism will eventually backfire, alienating allies and emboldening rivals.

I’m left pondering: how can the UAE’s malign statecraft be resisted? Its diplomatic clout, economic leverage, and narrative control make it a formidable foe. Yet, I believe competition from Qatar and Saudi Arabia, coupled with grassroots resistance in the Arab world, could challenge its dominance. Western scrutiny, if intensified, might force accountability, though economic ties complicate this. The UAE’s failure to win hearts and minds, exposed by Gaza, suggests limits to its coercive approach. I think the key lies in amplifying counter-narratives and supporting civil society—the very forces the UAE fears most.

But as I sit with these thoughts, a question lingers: Can the Arab world, fractured and weary, muster the unity to counter the UAE’s divisive tactics, or will its network of proxies and wealth continue to shape the region’s future unchallenged?