Blood and Oil, page 15
But Mohammed bin Zayed, known as MBZ, suddenly felt deeply at ease as Bannon got to talking.
“I’m only here to talk about the Persians,” Bannon said.
Mohammed bin Zayed broke into an astonished smile. “Did you say Persians? I’ve been looking for an American like you for twenty years.”
Bannon was speaking in a way the Emirati leader understood. “Iran” was a nation whose government President Barack Obama had trusted enough to negotiate a nuclear deal with. “The Persians,” on the other hand, were an ethnic group and longtime enemy of the Arabs. And as far as MBZ and Bannon were concerned, they were a threat to the United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia—and their allies in the West—if they decided to rebuild the Safavid empire that had dominated much of the region three centuries earlier.
In a discussion with Admiral Kevin Cosgriff in June 2007, Mohammed bin Zayed summarized his cultural viewpoint succinctly. “Any culture that is patient and focused enough to spend years working on a single carpet is capable of waiting years and even decades to achieve even greater goals,” he told Cosgriff, according to a leaked State Department cable. Iran’s goal was “a new Greater Persian Empire wielding the influence of a nuclear weapon.”
Mohammed and Bannon went on for another hour, talking about history, security, and frustration with what they saw as Obama’s dangerously naive Iran deal. Then the Emirati made a suggestion: The Trump camp should meet Mohammed bin Salman. “He’s the key to your plans in the region,” he said.
The suggestion was just one way that the Emiratis were bolstering the credentials of an upstart prince in the massively larger Saudi Arabia. Since its founding in 1971, the UAE has had complicated relations with the Saudis and their association with the Wahhabi strain of Islam. While the princes along the Persian Gulf (or, as they call it, the Arabian Gulf) quickly built international cities of renown like Dubai, Abu Dhabi, and Doha, the aging kings of Saudi Arabia and their Wahhabist supporters appeared to be obsessed with a status quo dating back to the early twentieth century. Modern Saudi Arabia’s history—and the Al Saud’s claim to legitimacy—was intertwined with the conservative religious establishment and the custodianship of the holy cities of Mecca and Medina.
Yet Saudi Arabia was the Gulf country with a real population and serious size. It was the only country in the region that really mattered on the world stage. But it had long refused to lead, preferring instead to rely on the United States to maintain regional security while it spent billions of dollars spreading Wahhabism, a worldview holding that going to the movies or listening to music was evil, through the far reaches of the Muslim world.
Many of the same ingredients are present across the Arabian Peninsula: huge petrochemical deposits and the requisite wealth, conservative social norms, tribal customs, and desert topography. Still, the differences between each Gulf city can be profound. The Al Maktoum family of Dubai are the consummate mercantilists, focusing their efforts over the years on creating a futuristic trading hub that is home to millions of expatriates who live much as they would in Sydney, London, or New York. The Al Sabah of Kuwait allowed democratic-style institutions to rise in their country before any of their neighbors, even permitting rowdy newspapers that criticize government officials, something unseen elsewhere in the region. The Al Qaboos of Oman have developed a reputation as low-profile diplomats, operating as important go-betweens in discussions between Western countries and Iran, for example. And the Al Thanis of the tiny peninsula of Qatar have propped up Islamists, including the Muslim Brotherhood, and other similar groups across the Arab world even when their fellow Gulf states see them as the biggest threats to their absolute monarchies. Though one of the smallest countries, Qatar has one of the most aggressive foreign policies in the whole region.
Mohammed bin Zayed, the crown prince of Abu Dhabi, was one of more than a dozen living sons of the founder of the country, Zayed Al Nahyan. After his father died, he quickly became one of the most powerful sheikhs. When his elder brother, Khalifa, who was the president, became ill in 2014, MBZ took over as the day-to-day ruler of the country. Other brothers held top positions across the government, including foreign minister, national security advisor, and minister of interior.
A former helicopter pilot, MBZ is a man of contradictions. He presided over some of Abu Dhabi’s most ambitious efforts, including setting up a peaceful nuclear energy program, building a New York University outpost that accepts mainly students from abroad, often on full scholarships, and the creation of a Louvre museum on an island near the city’s main island. But he also surrounds himself with people of dubious character, including former US and UK spies and men like Erik Prince, founder of the infamous private security contractor Blackwater. MBZ’s aspirations to make the UAE a legitimate player in military conflicts, including sending special operations soldiers to help the United States in Afghanistan, earned Abu Dhabi the moniker “Little Sparta” from retired US Marine Corps general James Mattis, who ran US Central Command from 2010 to 2013.
In the same morning, MBZ could be convening in his office with Will Tricks, a former MI-6 officer who advises him on intelligence matters, and taking a stroll through a giant aviary filled with exotic birds within his palace compound, talking about history with Zaki Nuseibeh, his father’s erudite former translator whose homes are lined with thousands of books. To Western friends, he’s a philosopher king—unpretentious, worldly, unafraid of criticism, and bold in confronting enemies. To those caught up in Abu Dhabi’s security dragnet, he is a brutal autocrat who some even claim is willing to get his hands dirty, allegations he denies.
Mohammed Zawahiri, brother of top al-Qaeda leader Ayman Zawahiri, alleged in an interview that when he was arrested in the Emirates in 1999, he was bundled off to Abu Dhabi where Mohammed bin Zayed handled the interrogation himself, beating him in the process. The Egyptian claimed he was then packed into a wooden box with holes and sent to Egyptian security, which threw him in prison without acknowledging his existence for seven years. Sources close to MBZ have denied these claims.
Despite a personal wealth of billions of dollars, MBZ is known as remarkably low-key, often wearing a baseball cap in his office, driving himself around the city or eating at his favorite café in Abu Dhabi, an Australian import called Jones the Grocer, for lunch with a visiting diplomat.
Having written off the geriatric leaders of Saudi Arabia for years, MBZ focused much of his effort on dealing with the United States, relying on an athletic, completely bald Emirati called Yousef al-Otaiba, who quickly became the most connected Arab in Washington, DC, when he arrived as ambassador in 2008.
Otaiba’s skill rested in large part on his ability to connect with Americans on a cultural level, including cheering on sports teams over beers and barbecue at his lavish ambassador’s residence outside the capital or treating more refined guests to special dinners prepared by Wolfgang Puck and other renowned chefs.
The UAE had a long history of relations with the Saudi royal family and was technically a close ally. When Abdullah was on his deathbed, Mohammed bin Zayed bet that his son, Miteb bin Abdullah, was on his way to the throne. It was only when Mohammed bin Salman forced himself onto the scene and emerged as a new force that Abu Dhabi started paying attention.
Much about MBS turned out to be attractive to the Emiratis. He was a young technology enthusiast who wanted his country to undergo a similar transformation as the UAE. Abu Dhabi had a 2030 plan built by management consultants long before Riyadh, and Abu Dhabi’s development convinced the world to start treating the city as a sort of Middle Eastern Washington, DC, with diplomats, businessmen, spies, and powerful people regularly descending on it for conferences and strategy meetings.
In Mohammed bin Salman, MBZ saw a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to forge a deeper alliance with his much bigger, more powerful neighbor. Not only could Mohammed put an end to Saudi Arabia’s regressive ways, but together they could be a major force in global foreign policy and perhaps begin to build a better future for the region.
The problem, as MBZ saw it, was that MBS had not yet solidified his power and influence in the face of Al Saud rivals—some of whom, like Crown Prince Mohammed bin Nayef, had bad blood with the Emiratis. (MBZ once effectively called the crown prince’s father, Nayef, an ape to US diplomats.) So MBZ set his extensive lobbying and influence operations into motion with the goal of getting the word out to the West: Someone exciting was on the rise in Saudi Arabia, and they needed to meet him. This was especially important in the United States, where officials had a long-standing relationship with Mohammed bin Nayef. Now, with a new US president and an ascendant prince in Mohammed, there was an opportunity for MBZ to gain more influence.
Otaiba was a key component in this campaign, as was MBZ’s brother Tahnoon bin Zayed, the national security advisor (arguably the country’s de facto spy chief) and jiujitsu champion who often wore sunglasses indoors because of light sensitivity and relaxed by floating in an isolation chamber. Tahnoon would be a frequent intermediary between the men, meeting Mohammed in Tangier; Washington, DC; and, frequently, Riyadh. Tahnoon would go on to have a big impact on Mohammed, convincing him to try the ketogenic diet preferred by a doctor called Peter Attia and to pare back his love of McDonald’s fast food. When John Kerry met Mohammed on his yacht in the Red Sea in 2016, Tahnoon was lounging around on his own boat anchored nearby.
Khaldoon Al Mubarak, the man in charge of Abu Dhabi’s sovereign wealth fund Mubadala Development, also worked with his Saudi counterparts on economic diversification plans.
Back in Washington, DC, Otaiba started spreading the word to his network of former US government officials, who in turn started talking about MBS to their old colleagues in the State Department, Pentagon, and White House. David Petraeus, the retired general, first went to see Mohammed bin Salman at Otaiba’s urging.
“Incredible, frankly. Breathtaking vision. And some of it already in execution. If just half materializes, will be extraordinary,” Petraeus wrote afterward, according to an email from a cache hacked by a group calling itself Global Leaks.
“MBZ shares that exact assessment,” Otaiba wrote back. “Now you need to convey that to an extremely anxious and wary administration of MBS I’ve been urging them to invest in him the way we have.”
The Mohammed bin Zayed meeting in Trump Tower set off alarms in the Obama White House, which would be in place for another two months. Off-the-books meetings between foreign leaders and an incoming administration don’t normally happen.
America had been Saudi Arabia’s most steadfast backer since US geologists discovered crude in the desert almost a century ago. American companies built the foundations of the Saudi oil industry and provided the kingdom with weaponry and military training. In exchange, Saudi Arabia became the United States’ most reliable ally in the region. Even after the 1973 oil embargo, the 9/11 terror attacks, and the innovation of fracking that ended America’s reliance on Saudi oil, the relationship remained strong through the early 2000s, thanks to old hands in the US State Department, the CIA, and Saudi Arabia’s intelligence and security services.
But the friendship soured under the presidency of Barack Obama. Leaders from the UAE and Saudi Arabia chafed at his decision to negotiate a nuclear deal with Iran, their biggest enemy, without consulting them. To make matters worse, the negotiations were held next door in Oman, one of the six Gulf Cooperation Council countries. When Obama paid a 2015 condolence call to Riyadh after Abdullah’s death, a still obscure MBS stood up in a meeting of ministers and cabinet members and chided Obama for turning his back on the kingdom. Some in the American delegation had no idea who the assertive young prince was.
Later on, Mohammed would complain to a group of Americans, “Obama stopped supporting us.” It was a gross oversimplification—the United States had sold billions of dollars’ worth of weapons to Saudi Arabia during Obama’s presidency—but it reflected the view throughout the Saudi Royal Court and the region. In Mohammed’s eyes, Obama’s nuanced approach to negotiating with Iran while maintaining the Saudi alliance amounted to a betrayal.
Even with Obama out and Trump coming in, primed for a favorable introduction to Mohammed, he had another big problem: His rival, Mohammed bin Nayef, had much stronger relationships with US officials, friendships that sank much deeper than the political level into America’s intelligence, military, and diplomatic institutions. That remained true even after Mohammed cast MBN’s former deputy Saad al-Jabri into exile.
After two decades as Saudi Arabia’s antiterrorism chief, MBN knew all sorts of people inside the State Department and CIA. Many considered him a friend. Information from his army of agents and informants had revealed threats to Saudi and American interests alike.
Donald Trump’s election offered a chance for Mohammed to reset the US relationship with himself as the focal point. On the surface, Trump’s surprise victory seemed like a defeat for the Muslim world. His campaign’s Islamophobia shocked even Americans as he spoke of banning Muslims from entering the United States.
MBS saw that as bluster. It had nothing to do with how Trump actually felt about Islam, he’d assert later. Rather, the prince figured, it was what Trump needed to say to get elected. Beneath the bombast, MBS calculated, was a man who could be won over with a bit of flattery and some nine-figure deals for US companies. What’s more, Mohammed sympathized with the hatred of Islamic ultraconservatives: they’d given the religion a bad name with their over-the-top displays of religiosity and ignorance of the rest of the world. Skeptical Westerners were still writing with ridicule about Abdulaziz bin Baz, the former Saudi grand mufti who denied that the Earth orbits the sun until a Saudi, King Salman’s older son Sultan, returned from a voyage on a US space shuttle and assured bin Baz that the Earth does indeed rotate on its axis and revolve around the sun.
Mohammed’s two willing partners in the remade US alliance would be the same men MBZ met in Trump Tower, Steve Bannon and Jared Kushner. They realized they needed to erase the Islamophobia charge to get Arab support for their top Middle East priorities. For Bannon that was punishing Iran, while Kushner needed backing for a Palestine peace deal. The young real estate executive loved the idea that he could find a way to bring peace to the Middle East with old-fashioned business sense and horse trading. It would be a hallmark of the Trump presidency. For every problem, there was a transaction that could solve it.
The Saudi courtship of Kushner began early on. Mohammed sent two senior emissaries, security official Musaad al-Aiban and then–energy minister Khalid al-Falih, to Trump Tower. They wanted Trump’s first visit as president to be to Riyadh. It seemed like a good plan all around. For Mohammed, it would show that he was reinvigorating the old US alliance. For Trump, it would help banish the Islamophobia charge. Leaders from both countries understood that such a visit would be seen as an aggressive stance against Iran.
“If you want to have a good relationship with President Trump,” Kushner told Aiban and Falih at the meeting, “it’s very simple: stop terrorism. Modernize. Stop extremism.” Also, he added, it would be good for Saudi Arabia to make progress normalizing relations with Israel.
And Kushner said that if Trump was going to make the visit, the Saudis would have to make some changes to show good faith to the United States. “You have to start letting women drive and give them more rights,” Kushner told the men. They assured him that Mohammed was planning to do those things, since he believed they were good for the kingdom.
It turns out that MBS already had women’s right to drive on the top of his agenda. To most in the West, it seemed like the simplest of decisions, but king after king had taken steps toward rectifying the backward tradition and then stopped at the last minute. A new law had been drafted and redrafted for decades, but geriatric royals felt it was too risky. MBS, with his focus on the sentiment of the burgeoning youth population, felt it was no longer such a risk—indeed that it was a bigger risk to continue alienating young Saudis and Western allies with the restriction. Later in 2017, the king issued a royal decree that women could drive starting June 2018. Kushner and others felt they were having a positive influence, even if MBS already had the change on his agenda before he’d met them.
In the weeks after the inauguration, others in the new Trump administration worried about the visit. Secretary of State Rex Tillerson and some staffers for the National Security Council objected. They had bigger foreign-policy priorities and more reliable allies that they needed to meet. They warned about the risk of appearing to favor MBS at a touchy time for Saudi Arabia. The United States’ most trusted Saudi contact, MBN, was sandwiched between a king with Wahhabist sympathies and his favorite son, who had clear ambitions for the throne. Some staffers worried that a visit could play into Mohammed’s plans to usurp his cousin and position himself as the king-in-waiting.
Tillerson told other officials that he was especially worried about undermining MBN. And he argued that the promises the Saudis were making, to improve the situation of women and fight extremism, were unreliable. “Saudis, they’ll always let you down,” Tillerson told Kushner in one meeting. “They’ll never come through.”
Postpone the plan until May 2018, Tillerson’s staff told Kushner, who delivered the message to Bannon in a White House meeting.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Bannon said. He dismissed the career officials as the “deep state,” a term that originally described unelected actors in Turkey’s government who supposedly ran the country from the shadows. Such staffers’ priority, Bannon argued, was to maintain their own power and prop up their own allies abroad. They couldn’t be trusted to support the kind of new order Trump’s advisors envisioned.
