Kuwait’s Klatch of the Titans

Shamlan Essa was in a hurry.

The Kuwait University political scientist had already spent an hour at an evening gathering of relatives. Now he was off to another meeting, this one with a group of lawyers as hosts.

For Kuwaiti men, especially those such as Essa from prominent families, life after work is often defined by the rhythm of these loosely structured diwaniyas -- informal clubs where they sit in groups, ranging from five or six to more than 100, and sip tea.

Some meetings are little more than that -- a chance to relax, exchange gossip, play cards or watch TV. Others are more weighty affairs, where businessmen network and politicians press the flesh or float national policy ideas.

Occasionally, diwaniyas have been the midwives of great political change. The clubs helped give birth to Kuwait’s limited democracy nearly a century ago and were the font of political pressure that caused the country’s rulers to restore parliament in 1992 after a six-year hiatus.

But with some men attending as many as 25 such gatherings a week and new diwaniyas springing up all the time, social scientists here worry it may all be getting out of hand. They say diwaniyas take up so much of the evening that many men have become absentee husbands and fathers, opting out of their children’s upbringing.

With war looming in neighboring Iraq and diwaniyas livelier -- and longer -- than ever, even the country’s traditionally silent homemakers have started to speak out.

When Kuwait University sociologist Yagoub Kandari offered to field questions on the subject during a recent television call-in program, he was inundated. The reaction, he said, was a collective cry of frustration and rage from wives and mothers who felt abandoned.

“The calls kept coming in long after the program ended,” he said. “One woman started to cry, saying the only time she saw her husband happy was when he was headed out the door to his diwaniya.”

Essa, who says he normally attends two or three diwaniyas a week, explained that he goes to see friends and relatives and to keep up on the latest gossip.

“Sometimes, you just feel like talking,” he said.

But Kandari and other observers of Kuwaiti society say the increased absence of fathers from the home is one reason for the rising use of hard drugs among youths.

“We’ve got a drug problem here, and part of it is that diwaniyas take too much of the fathers’ time,” said Ali Tarrah, dean of Kuwait University’s College of Social Sciences. “If a man is out until midnight most nights, he’s just not seeing his children, and that is when things can go wrong.”

Others are convinced that this absence of paternal attention has helped give fundamentalist Islam a toehold among younger Kuwaitis in a culture traditionally shaped by values considered relatively liberal in the Arab world.

Last month, locals were stunned by a third armed attack against Americans in less than four months. The shooting north of Kuwait City left one civilian employee of the U.S. armed forces dead and another seriously wounded. The two were ambushed as they drove to work, apparently by a lone assailant. Two days later, Saudi authorities detained a young Kuwaiti they said admitted to carrying out the attack.

Two young men who shot to death a U.S. Marine and wounded another in October were well-educated, middle-class Kuwaitis who investigators discovered were part of a cell of militant young people. The youths were killed by other Marines.

Though Kuwaiti authorities insisted that the attacks were isolated incidents, an informal debate has already started in which the fundamental values of society are likely to face new scrutiny. Ironically, much of this discussion will unfold in the diwaniyas, a fact that could add further to their draw.

“People feel they have to go to drink tea and talk,” Tarrah noted. “We now have diwaniya addicts.”

Alcohol is outlawed in Kuwait, and female company is rare at these clubs. The men find it easy to pass the time together, however, sometimes with endless card games.

Some diwaniyas are centered around family or friends, some around careers or special interests, while politics drives others. Most groups have a single host who will offer a visitor regular entry with a simple “Let’s see you again soon” at the end of the night.

Although diwaniyas usually convene during the evening in a room set aside for such gatherings at the host’s home, they can also occur in the morning or afternoon and at other places. Some, for example, meet in large reception halls built by rich hosts.

For wealthy trader Fauad Abul, whose cherished possessions include two pet tigers, a monkey and a majestic-looking falcon, the gathering consists of a nightly meal and easy conversation in a charcoal-fire-heated tent. He invites an eclectic group of friends that includes a lawyer, a judge, a police officer, a retired banker, the owner of a taxi company and a Palestinian businessman. A sprawling new home Abul is building in one of the city’s wealthier neighborhoods sports an annex where he will be the host of future diwaniyas.

On a recent evening, the group stayed till well after midnight, held by an energetic discussion on the subject du jour in this tiny sheikdom: Will the Americans get Iraqi President Saddam Hussein this time or let him get away again?

“What is more important than discussing such issues among friends?” Abul asked rhetorically.

In Arabic, diwaniya means “little guest house.” The gatherings were first held in special rooms adjacent to the hosts’ residences. While some groups are highly political, diwaniyas take on many forms, ranging from gatherings of power-brokers held by Kuwait’s emir, Sheik Jabbar al Ahmed al Sabah, to meetings of professional colleagues, extended families, neighbors, friends, cronies or former school chums who want to stay in touch.

Some of the country’s wealthiest individuals and families subsidize diwaniyas in Kuwait City for retirees who come from predawn prayers for warm milk, coffee and conversation, lingering until about 8 a.m. before heading home. Parents pass on the tradition by pitching a tent in the backyard so their children can entertain friends.

As an institution, the diwaniya is closely intertwined with both Kuwait’s rich history and its lively, albeit limited, democracy. In the 1750s, the gatherings provided a place where the Al Sabah family’s first Kuwaiti rulers met with merchants to hear grievances and adjudicate disputes. In 1921, delegates to councils that eventually produced the country’s first parliament were selected by diwaniyas, as were the lists of voters deemed eligible to participate in the parliamentary elections.

In the years since, the gatherings have become bastions of free speech as well as vehicles for political pressure and reform. When Sheik Jabbar dissolved parliament in 1986, pressure from the diwaniyas helped convince him to restore the National Assembly six years later. More recently, the government has used the diwaniyas as focus groups, floating ideas for economic reform and watching the reaction.

Today, each of Kuwait’s government ministers and its 50 members of parliament acts as host to his own diwaniya -- usually for a few hours once a week -- to stay in contact with friends, cronies and constituents. If unable to attend, hosts often place a notice in local newspapers explaining their absence in advance -- though the diwaniyas usually go on without them. And among the first moves for any prospective candidate for parliament is forming a diwaniya and visiting as many others in his constituency as possible.

Because diwaniyas are not registered, no one knows exactly how many exist among the country’s 800,000 Kuwaiti nationals, but they certainly number in the thousands. Kandari recalled that when his brother ran for parliament from the Kuwait City suburb of Rumaithya, he was presented with a list of 400 diwaniyas that convened regularly in his district.

While activities vary widely, all diwaniyas are for gossip.

“Once in a while, it gets serious, if we are talking about [Islamic] fundamentalism or relations with the Americans, but it’s usually very loose,” said business executive Essa Essa, Shamlan’s cousin and one of about 40 members attending the family gathering.

Outsiders are usually welcomed, even if they initiate a request to “drop by.” Savvy diplomats have started to do just that, tapping into the diwaniya network to better sense the public mood and catch the latest developments.

One recent evening, Czech Ambassador Jana Hybaskova was one of two foreigners at the Essas’ diwaniya. As a rare female visitor, she was greeted politely -- although two conservative family members quickly stepped aside and circled behind her to avoid shaking hands. All business, Hybaskova settled quickly onto a couch between two family elders and began talking.

Kuwaiti women also have cracked the traditionally male preserve, but only barely. Kandari estimates that as many as five mixed diwaniyas exist -- and that’s more than a decade after a female member of the ruling family, now Undersecretary of Higher Education Rasha al Sabah, took the first bold step by holding such a gathering. Former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher was among her guests.

Though access to just five among thousands is little consolation to those Kuwaiti women who, in effect, have become single parents, those monitoring social trends here say women’s situation is not hopeless.

Although parliament defeated a 1999 royal decree allowing female suffrage by a narrow 32-30 vote, these observers say the issue is far from dead. When women do get the vote, politicians will need to reach out to them, they say. What better way to lobby this new constituency than through diwaniyas?

“It’s never been part of the tradition, but I’m sure it will come in the near future,” Kandari predicted. “I’d say the future of the mixed diwaniya is very bright.”