The Sultanate that Didn’t Get the Memo

After attending the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix at Yas Marina Circuit, I spent a bizarre weekend with a friend wandering around a place with a ruler who criminalised the formation of political parties the same year he purchased a 136-metre yacht (now dwarfed by his newest yacht, named Al Said, which was the world’s second-largest superyacht at the time it was built). He has eight palaces, plus two chateaus in France and houses in Moscow, New York, and Qatar. He overthrew his father to gain power and has since kept large private courts, including a classical entourage consisting of a 128-member orchestra that performs only for his pleasure and at events he hosts. After the coup in 1970, he dissolved the traditional offices by which the Sultanate might interact with Western powers, including his uncle’s post of Prime Minister (his uncle remains the first and only Prime Minister). He used the rest of the 1970’s to grow his collection in all directions: he owns several rare series of Christian sheet music from the German reformation, but also owns a series of Damascus steel swords allegedly used to behead crusaders.

It is, however, still the Arab January in the Sultanate of Oman. When I visited, there were the usual small intrusions – my attempts to read the New York Times blogs were thwarted with a concise error message explaining that what I was trying to read was incompatible with the culture of Oman. The Sultan continues to host events on his yachts (he now owns five), collect musical instruments (he owns several of the rarest pianos and pipe organs in the world), and build his eclectic collection of art (which ranges from Islamic traditional art to modern sculpture).

As I left for Abu Dhabi, not knowing the Arab Spring was to hit the Middle East this year, I thought Oman would be among the first to be forced into governmental reorganisation at the very least. Its tribal system of representation by letter and appointment seems somewhat antiquated, if not wholly anachronistic when compared to other Gulf states. The Sultan’s coterminous control of budget, diplomacy, and military is the kind of concentrated power not seen in Europe since the Long Parliament.

Then, this spring, I received a call whilst at a meeting in the Caribbean – it was AMEX and they were letting people know that the 2012 Bahrain Grand Prix would be delayed due to political turmoil. “Here it is,” I said to myself, as I flipped on the BBC. And watched. And watched. And watched. Nothing. Not a single word about Oman. No people in the streets, not even a tweet.

In fact, the one place seemingly completely out of the news this year has been Oman. The Sultan has managed to hold on to something only inches short of absolute power with no compromise, no discussion, and no fanfare.

So, to aspiring rulers in other corners of the world, take note. Be the quiet one. Go unnoticed. And worry not; no one will be able to hear a word of protest over the sound of your private orchestra, amplified in the icosahedral bandshell below the helipad of your megayacht.