Cultural Identity and Resistance

In contexts of statelessness and foreign occupation, identity has functioned as a mode of resistance. Palestinian national identity, for example, has been sustained not merely through political institutions but through cultural artifacts—folklore, embroidery, poetry, and symbolism. These forms of cultural nationalism offer continuity in the absence of sovereignty and underscore Benedict Anderson’s claim that nations are “imagined communities.” Unlike juridical statehood, identity in such cases is performative and collective.

This suggests that where liberal democracies see culture as ancillary to citizenship, in conflict zones culture often becomes the principal vector of belonging. The lesson here is that shared symbols and collective memory can strengthen social cohesion, even in fragmented environments. However, identity anchored solely in resistance risks becoming oppositional rather than integrative.

State-Built Nationalism: The Saudi and Emirati Cases

Saudi Arabia’s recent shift toward explicit state nationalism—promoting pre-Islamic heritage and encouraging patriotic imagery—represents a top-down recalibration of national identity. Historically reliant on religious legitimacy, the Saudi state now seeks cultural legitimacy through heritage tourism and symbolic nation-building. Similarly, the United Arab Emirates has invested heavily in reviving Bedouin traditions as a counterbalance to rapid modernization.

These examples demonstrate how state apparatuses can manufacture or amplify identity for political ends. They align with Eric Hobsbawm’s concept of the “invention of tradition,” where states retroactively construct a usable past to foster allegiance. In liberal democracies, which often rely on institutional trust and civic nationalism, this raises questions about the legitimacy and limits of cultural engineering. Nonetheless, the strategic deployment of heritage can foster a sense of rootedness in rapidly changing societies.

Competing Identity Narratives

Middle Eastern nations often navigate competing identity frameworks—religious, ethnic, and civil. Egypt’s oscillation between Pharaonic and Islamic national narratives illustrates this complexity. National identity in such contexts is not fixed but negotiated across historical layers. The co-existence of contradictory symbols on Egyptian banknotes—ancient monuments on one side, Islamic calligraphy on the other—epitomizes this pluralism.

For countries like the Netherlands, where debates over identity increasingly invoke either secular liberalism or Judeo-Christian heritage, this layered approach may offer a more inclusive alternative. Identity need not be singular; it can encompass multiple affiliations provided there is a shared civic framework. This approach echoes Charles Taylor’s notion of “deep diversity,” where multiple identities are acknowledged within a common political community.

Globalization and Identity Retrenchment

While globalization is often assumed to dilute traditional identities, Middle Eastern societies demonstrate that it can also provoke their intensification. Faced with cultural homogenization, states and communities in the region have sought to preserve linguistic, culinary, and sartorial heritage. In some cases, this has involved state intervention; in others, grassroots revivalism.

This retrenchment parallels identity anxieties in European democracies, where global economic and cultural flows are seen to threaten local norms. The key distinction lies in response: where some Middle Eastern actors have channeled identity politics toward cohesion and preservation, parts of Europe have seen exclusionary nationalism gain ground. The Dutch shift from multiculturalism to integration policies based on shared values reflects this tension.

Lessons for the Netherlands

Several insights emerge for the Netherlands from these Middle Eastern dynamics:

1. Identity as a Plural Construct: National belonging need not be homogenizing. Like Egypt or the UAE, societies can accommodate multiple identity strands—religious, ethnic, historical—without undermining unity.
2. Cultural Anchoring in Policy: State-led efforts to define and preserve cultural heritage, as seen in the Gulf, can provide social cohesion without necessitating ethnonationalism. The Dutch “national canon” of history may be expanded to reflect not just native but also immigrant contributions to national life.
3. Avoidance of Exclusivism: Middle Eastern examples also warn against the perils of identity as exclusion. Sectarianism, ethnocentrism, and religious chauvinism have fueled conflict where pluralism has failed. Dutch debates around immigration and integration must guard against such trajectories.
4. Belonging as Policy Outcome: The psychological need for rootedness, emphasized by theorists like Simone Weil, can be met through inclusive national narratives that validate diverse backgrounds. This fosters not just integration but loyalty.

Conclusion

The Middle East does not offer a model to be copied wholesale, but rather a mirror that reflects the stakes of identity politics under duress. Its experience shows that national identity can be both resilient and volatile, constructive and divisive. For liberal democracies navigating their own crises of belonging, the region underscores the importance of crafting identity narratives that are inclusive, historically aware, and emotionally resonant. Rather than dismiss identity as a regressive force, the task is to harness it—carefully, ethically, and pluralistically—to reinforce democratic cohesion in an era of fragmentation.