Kuwaiti Exceptionalism Under Siege

Sean Yom is Associate Professor of Political Science at Temple University, Pennsylvania and Non-Resident Fellow at Democracy in the Arab World Now (DAWN).

Far from the fires of Gaza and the battlefields of Syria, a titanic struggle for Middle Eastern democracy is playing out in an unassuming Arabian kingdom.

At the head of the Arabian Gulf lies the State of Kuwait. It resembles the other Gulf kingdoms of Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Oman, Qatar, and the United Arab Emirates in many ways. It is ruled by a dynastic monarchy, the House of Sabah, whose Emir wields supreme executive powers to appoint governments and steer foreign relations. Kuwait also has vast oil wealth. It exemplifies what political economists call “rentierism” – it is financially reliant upon hydrocarbon exports, imposes little domestic taxation, and furnishes society with generous welfare benefits through public employment and social services. Its five million residents are divided between a small citizenry of 1.5 million and a large expatriate workforce, some of whom suffer egregious abuse.

For Western observers, the combination of autocratic monarchy, oil rentierism, and small privileged citizenries has long generated a stereotypical view about domestic politics in the Gulf: there are no domestic politics. Authoritarianism reigns, while toxic networks of patronage, clientelism, and corruption make political authority beholden to hierarchies and tribalism. Financed by bountiful oil, near-absolutist dynasties have little need to permit democratic opposition. Outsiders have hence often portrayed Gulf societies not as sites of meaningful political struggle, but rather objects to be controlled and regulated. Even now, as some Gulf states experiment with bold economic and cultural initiatives – such as Saudi Arabia’s social liberalisation and the UAE’s glamorous nation-branding projects – citizens are seen as policy takers rather than policymakers.

In this regard, Kuwait is a radical outlier. It is the most liberal Gulf kingdom, and indeed the closest thing to a constitutional monarchy in the entire Arab world. Kuwaiti “exceptionalism,” as specialists term it, manifests in two attributes. First, it features a hybrid political system that, in ordinary times, balances the executive powers of the royally-appointed government with a popularly elected unicameral legislature. This parliament, or majlis, predates Kuwait’s 1961 independence, and has since allowed informal blocs of opposition (parties remain prohibited) to grill ministers, halt the government’s agenda, investigate major problems, and stymie the Emir’s will. As laws require parliamentary approval, Kuwaiti policymaking thus revolves around a tactical equipoise between the monarchy and parliament. Unlike the purely advisory councils of Qatar and the UAE, and the limited assemblies of Bahrain and Oman, the Kuwaiti legislature has teeth. Fiery MPs can become national political heroes through their legislative stances and public oratory. Every parliament also harbours at least a few elected legislators who dream of the ultimate goal of constitutional monarchy, where the Sabah dynasty reigns but no longer rules because it has surrendered the executive powers of governance under steady pressure from parliament.

Second, pluralism and contentiousness abound within Kuwaiti society. Various social groups have historically driven civic activism. Among them are merchants and business families, urban professionals, Islamist movements, tribal communities, and the fairly well-tolerated Shi‘a minority. At various points, each of these actors has served as the voice of political opposition, rallying support through parliamentary elections and grassroots networks to pressure the government to address their interests and grievances. Long before independence, for instance, merchant elites forced the ruling Sabah family to grant them a political voice. In recent times, ever-shifting coalitions of urban progressives, Shi‘a activists, and tribal critics have given voice to the Kuwaiti “street” in decrying rampant corruption, state mismanagement, and electoral manipulations. Buttressing this autonomous mobilisation are cultural practices of tolerance enshrined in everyday life, in particular the diwaniyyah – the weekly tradition of large family gatherings that often feature spirited, uncensored debates about pressing political and economic matters.

These liberal norms anchor Kuwait’s national identity. For generations, they have produced epic showdowns in which civic forces and parliamentary blocs have sought to curtail royal authority through popular protests and public campaigns. The Sabah monarchy has always resisted, and periodically lashed out through targeted repression. During 1976-1981 and 1986-1991, then-Emir Jabir suspended parliament and press freedoms after tenacious opposition exhausted his patience and thwarted the government. After raucous anti-corruption protests erupted during the 2011-12 Arab Spring, authorities enacted harrowing crackdowns against outspoken dissidents. Yet the pendulum has always swung back. Every past effort to make Kuwait look more like its Gulf neighbours by tightening monarchical power has failed, because bottom-up pressures have forced royal powerholders to cede ground. During the 1990-91 Gulf War, for instance, exiled Kuwaitis famously refused to support their equally exiled royal family in a show of national unity until the Emir agreed to restore parliament upon liberation. During 2021-22, likewise, a cantankerous parliament compelled the late Emir Nawaf to grant amnesty to many of the critics and activists arbitrarily punished during the preceding decade.

However, Kuwait is now oscillating back towards hardline authoritarianism. In December 2023, the reign of Emir Mish‘al commenced – an enigmatic prince who had spent much of his career not in the corridors of politics, but in the intelligence and security forces. Immediately, the octogenarian ruler set out a conservative agenda: he publicly scolded parliament, criticised past Emirs, and portrayed the Kuwaiti nation as immobilised by misguided values and ideals. He promised a sleeker, more modern system of government, the sort often espoused by Saudi and Emirati technocrats. Some Kuwaitis notably greeted his ascent with hope. For years, royal governments and prickly parliaments had been at odds, resulting in a start-and-stop cycle of cabinet shuffles, legislative dissolutions, and snap elections that all but paralysed law-making. In May 2024, however, Emir Mish‘al pressed the equivalent of the nuclear button by suspending parliament altogether as well as parts of the constitution, effectively allowing the government to rule by decree. A wave of repression followed, as authorities swiftly ensnared numerous MPs and civic activists in politicised cases intended to chill dissent.

In the past, autocratic clampdowns prompted ferocious pushback from society. This time, the pace of change has dazed many onlookers. For instance, in recent months, the Emir’s government has swiftly promulgated one of his prized issues – depriving Kuwaitis of their citizenship on vacuous charges that they obtained their citizenship on fraudulent grounds. By March 2025, over 42,000 Kuwaitis had lost their citizenship, including the wives of Kuwaiti men and several prominent celebrities. This has stark implications given that over 800,000 Kuwaitis were eligible to vote in the April 2024 elections. At this rate, it is plausible that the future electorate (assuming the Emir restores parliament and allows for competitive elections) will be dramatically smaller. The Interior Minister has even warned Kuwaitis living abroad that should they publicly disparage their government, they too could suddenly become stateless. Threats of losing one’s citizenship have become a political weapon -something common in the other Gulf kingdoms, but alien to the Kuwaiti experience.

At the same time, the current royal leadership has also sought to centralise its executive power in ways that overshoot conventional boundaries. For example, the Emir has openly reprimanded the judiciary for disrespecting royal authority, and warned that certain issues like the revocation of Kuwaiti nationality are to be treated as prerogatives of the ruler alone. The judiciary has certainly suffered institutional problems in the past, among them feckless corruption given the ease with which some judges have been bribed and cajoled. Yet brazen confrontations between the royal executive and judicial system have seldom occurred before, and suggest a new royal mentality that prizes bullying over compromise. Perhaps most surprisingly of all, Emir Mish‘al has appointed just three entrusted Sabah princes to the government, where they hold the positions of Prime Minister, Interior Minister, and Defence Minister. Amidst rumours of his increasing dislike for the internal politicking of the royal family, where hundreds of princes curry favour to secure political offices and business contracts, the Emir – unlike his predecessors – feels comfortable with a far narrower base of support, even at the cost of alienating parts of his own sprawling dynasty.

Though initially astonished, Kuwaiti opposition has begun to fight back. For now, they remain active on social media, the one venue of public life which state authorities still struggle to completely monitor. The diwaniyyah circuit also continues to host provocative discussions about the wisdom of this Emir and his government. Should popular demands to restore parliament and reverse royal overreach peak, Kuwait could spawn a repeat of past struggles in which opposition movements mobilise to demand greater freedom. A political confrontation is inevitable. At that point, the Sabah leadership has two options. It can crush such resistance. This would decisively end the dream of Kuwaiti democracy and make the country look more like its Gulf neighbours, being far more closed and repressive. Or, it can yield ground as many past Emirs have done, on the basis that the pluralism, tolerance, and contestation that has always defined Kuwaiti political culture are too precious to surrender on the altar of absolutist dreams. Either way, this inconspicuous Arab state will host one of the most intriguing – and far-reaching – political battles in the Middle East.

The opinions expressed are those of the contributor, not necessarily of the RSAA.