Guardian: Since the Bahraini regime launched its crackdown on protesters in March, the government and its apologists have tried to justify state brutality by pointing to violence inflicted upon expatriate labourers – supposedly at the hands of protesters.
"Poor, innocent, Asian expats" is how they are now described. But just a few months ago there was little concern at a national level about the abuse of migrant workers. They represent 54% of Bahrain's resident population, and as in the neighbouring Gulf monarchies, they constitute the bulk of the workforce. Most are from south Asia, and they are arguably the most marginalised community in the country.
Now their welfare has suddenly become a matter of concern for the regime and its apologists. After the start of the crackdown, the foreign minister scurried between the different expatriate community clubs and embassies, hailing the "strong relations bonding" them to the kingdom of Bahrain. Local state-run television suddenly started broadcasting news bulletins in Hindi, Urdu and Tagalog.
It all seems rather disingenuous. As a long-time "expat" myself, my initial reaction is to ask why there has never been this level of outrage from those same quarters when Asian workers have been brutally abused by their Bahraini employers or have been killed in the workplace due to criminal negligence. And why is it that when I tried to air my political views about Bahrain several years ago, I was put on a blacklist and banned from entering the country again?
In 2004, I started blogging about the increasingly active opposition political scene in Bahrain, taking photos and reporting on street protests and demonstrations that would otherwise get little coverage in the local English-language press. I am a Pakistani national, but aside from the few years I spent abroad for my university education, Bahrain was the only home I had known.
In July 2006, a policeman rang my doorbell and gave me a letter instructing me to present myself to Bahrain's notorious National Security Agency the next morning.
I was interrogated by two officers who took on exaggerated and almost comical versions of good cop/bad cop. They did not seem to be aware of my blog but they had certainly been keeping tabs of who I had been meeting and who I was speaking to on the phone. They wanted to know why I had been meeting foreign journalists and academic researchers who were visiting Bahrain.
"This envelope has everything about your past, your present, and your future, so you had better tell me everything you know!" barked the "bad cop" pointing towards a brown envelope on the desk.
After a few hours I was told I could leave "for now" but that I would be called back again in a few weeks when I would have to "really reveal everything".
I left Bahrain two weeks later on an already scheduled trip. When I returned, I was told by the immigration officer at the Bahrain airport that I was no longer allowed to enter the country, on orders from the interior ministry. I have been living in Pakistan since then.
As an expatriate in Bahrain you can earn some money and have a decent life, as long as you are willing to abdicate your right to comment on what is happening around you. You exist as an alien no matter how long you have lived there.
Bahrain shares this rule with the rest of the monarchies in the Gulf, where labour rights for migrant workers are dismal, although Bahrain is marginally better than the rest in terms of labour legislation. And attempts by migrant labour to organise for their rights could well land them in jail or on a plane back home with huge debts to pay off.
Expatriate workers in Bahrain are also used by the regime as a means to suppress the local population. The most obvious is the mass recruitment of expatriates in large numbers into the police and military who are used to suppress any political opposition to the regime with brute force. (Indeed, it was under a Briton, security chief Colonel Ian Henderson, that torture in Bahrain is reported to have really flourished).
But the more subtle way that expatriates are used to suppress is by dividing the workforce. Bahrain has a long history of radical labour activism going back to the discovery of oil in the 1930s. There was a large overlap between the political opposition and the workers movement at the time, and strike actions were a favourite tool to pressure the government. But this ended in the 1970s when large numbers of migrant workers from south Asia were recruited.
The presence of so many foreigners in the workplace who were largely unaware of local politics and fearful of getting involved made it difficult for all workers to organise with efficacy. Combined with a brutal crackdown (including the start of systematic torture), the popular opposition was all but crushed by the 1980s and has never been able to fully recover from.
Even today, despite recent labour laws allowing migrant workers to join unions, few of them do so for fear of landing in trouble with their employers and being deported.
In the aftermath of the government crackdown on protesters, there were several incidents of disturbing violence against migrant labourers (leaving at least two dead and 34 injured). While there is little evidence to conclusively prove it was carried out by pro-democracy protesters, there is no doubt that the crackdown did heighten anger towards foreign workers (especially Pakistanis who are employed in the riot police and military in large numbers).
On the other hand, some opportunistic leaders of the expatriate communities jumped at the chance to express loyalty to their Al Khalifa masters and enjoyed being momentarily held in importance.
But the two groups – expatriate workers and working-class Bahrainis – must stop falling for government propaganda pitting them against each other, and recognise their common exploiter. Until that happens, neither group can expect their conditions to significantly improve.
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