The Gulf’s third culture identity: Identity beyond borders

A "third culture kid" is a minor raised in another country other than the one their parents are from, typically due to their parents working in a field that requires them to be in a different country, resulting in the child belonging to a "third culture"—not their passport country but not their host country either. Instead, they act as a bridge of sorts, mixing elements. As many benefits as this has, it has many, many downsides, one of the biggest being the feeling of "cultural homelessness," and this effect is shown most prevalently in the Gulf.

The UAE, for example, is possibly the biggest contender.

Due to the Emirati population being a minority in the country, their culture has become more private and sees most non-Emiratis as outsiders, no matter how long they've spent in the country. This affects the government as well; for example, even with the golden/green visa program allowing longer visa lengths, actual permanent residence and citizenship are still out of reach.

Children who've spent their whole life in the UAE, who consider it their home, their life, will always be considered an outsider, and if they go back to their "home country," they'll be seen as an outsider in most cases there as well, resulting in said cultural homelessness.

This is also apparent in psychological research. In a study conducted by Ninar Itani (2022) of Walden University focused on adult third culture kids who grew up in the UAE. She confirmed the link between the expat lifestyle and heavy "cultural homelessness" among young adults, showing that constantly being considered an outsider directly impacts one's self-esteem and overall mental health.

Now, here's where the gulf splits itself from the traditional meaning.

When millions of adolescents are in a place where the culture openly rejects them, and their origin is something foreign to them, they can't bridge two sides that are closed off to them; instead, they naturally develop their own culture, their own circles, and communities in a sort of "international culture."

That bridge is gone! Instead, many fractured subcultures emerge; the most obvious example of this is the "chammak," a term (usually derogatory) to refer to teenagers who take a mix of Arabic, South Asian, and other cultures in their speech and behavior. Although they are known to cause trouble, they show a great example of a culture built off the scraps of the influences around them. They mix these cultures because of the unique demographic of the country around them, resulting in this strange phenomenon.

Chammak or not, the nature of these countries is inherently temporary. Most leave to another country when they turn 18 because of university or because maintaining a visa as an adult becomes too difficult.

The only world they know sees them as a temporary resident—someone who doesn't belong in the place they were born in. BUT, in a bubble of temporary existence, a certain mainstream identity holds among regular adolescents.

Instead of roaming a public town square or ancestral homes, we instead use commercial places to claim a sense of belonging, from stopping by a cafeteria to get some karak to getting Omani chips from the baqala (translation: corner store) to the malls we know like the back of our hand—in a generation without a home, without the ability to form roots, this identity is something we can hold onto.

This internal identity is what is classified as "rooted cosmopolitanism." Because a traditional homeland in the Gulf isn't allowed, modern expat generations transfer their sense of culture away from a nation and instead anchor it to these habits, experiences, and slang. 

When that visa eventually expires and we scatter across the globe for university and adulthood, we become a diaspora of a diaspora. We land in foreign places that we claimed were ours but suddenly realize that we don't fit in our passport countries either. Even when some of us despised the gulf, we still felt a sense of belonging to the expat identity.

We left behind the countries we spent our childhoods in, but we kept those experiences within us. That third culture, no matter where it goes, will endure—whether it be defaulting to the international accent, slipping in Arabic slang, or simply missing the taste of paratha. We might be culturally homeless, but we've built a subculture out of shared memory, and it'll stick, like it always has.

Written by Cassie P :)