Why the Gulf Co-operation Council can’t co-operate

EVERYONE knew this year’s summit of the Gulf Co-operation Council (GCC) would be contentious. But the envoys barely had time for a cup of tea. Since June, three out of six GCC members (Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates and Bahrain) have blockaded a fourth (Qatar), cutting ties and trade until it stops backing Islamist groups. Kuwait, the host, hoped to use the summit on December 5th to broker a solution. “We believe that wisdom will prevail,” said the emir, Sheikh Sabah al-Ahmad al-Sabah, at the opening.

His optimism lasted about 15 minutes before he emerged from a closed-door meeting and abruptly ended the conference, which was meant to last two days. The Kuwaitis felt snubbed: though Qatar sent its emir, other members dispatched mere cabinet ministers. Hours before the summit even began, the UAE announced a new economic and military alliance with Saudi Arabia. It was a clear sign that the GCC’s two most important members think the bloc has outlived its usefulness.

As an economic union the GCC has had some successes, including a free-trade area with standardised tariffs and laws. But more ambitious plans, like a common currency meant to be adopted by 2010, have stalled. And as a political grouping it is dysfunctional. Saudi Arabia and the UAE are hostile to their regional rival, Iran, and to Islamist groups like the Muslim Brotherhood. Bahrain has been under the Saudi thumb since 2011, when the kingdom sent troops across the King Fahd Causeway to quell an uprising led by the island’s disenfranchised Shia majority. Oman, meanwhile, keeps close ties with both the Arab Gulf states and Iran. Kuwait tries to sit out (or at the summit, help resolve) regional disputes. And Qatar, always the black sheep, broke decisively with its neighbours during the Arab spring when it supported Islamists across the region.

The embargo has not yet forced it to stop. With huge gas reserves and a population of just 2.7m, it is the world’s richest country in purchasing-power terms. The central bank has poured over $40bn into the economy since the financial crisis. Visitors and residents barely notice the blockade. Locals complain about the potato crisps, now imported from Oman and less flavourful than the old Saudi ones, and goods like cardamom and Diet Pepsi can run short. But in Villagio, a gaudy Venetian-themed mall, shelves are stocked. Though tourism has taken a hit, the restaurants and bars at Doha’s five-star hotels are still busy serving lavish buffets and imported wine. “We’ve adjusted to the blockade, to living on an island,” says one member of the ruling family.

The blockading states, meanwhile, have moved on to bigger concerns. In November the Saudis tried to remove Lebanon’s prime minister. They felt Saad Hariri had made too many concessions to Hizbullah, the Iranian-backed militia that sits in his government. Mr Hariri was summoned to Riyadh, forced to resign, and held under house arrest for two weeks. But the stunt backfired when France brokered his release, and on December 5th he formally rescinded his resignation. Saudi efforts failed, too, to flip Ali Abdullah Saleh, the former Yemeni president, who since 2014 had been aligned with the Houthi rebels fighting a Saudi-led coalition. In early December Mr Saleh turned on his allies and called for dialogue with the Saudis. Within days, he was dead (see article).

Even Saudi Arabia and the UAE have their differences. The Saudis consider Iran an existential threat. Less so the Emiratis: one-sixth of Iranian exports go across the Strait of Hormuz, with non-oil trade valued at more than $5bn per year. Dubai is an entrepot between Iran and the world. Saudi Arabia and the UAE have backed different factions in Yemen, and have different goals in Syria. At present, though, more unites than divides them. Their new alliance does not replace the GCC, but it pushes the 36-year-old bloc further into obsolescence. “It’s just a talking shop,” says an Emirati businessman in Dubai.