Not long ago, knife attacks spread like an epidemic across Britain, while vehicle rammings at public gatherings — including Christmas markets — became horrors that many Europeans still shudder to recall.

Yet, few newspapers, magazines, or social media influencers beyond these regions resorted to the kind of shrill, clickbait headlines that now dominate sections of the US and European media, as Iranian missiles and drones targeted vital infrastructure and residential areas across the Gulf and the Middle East, particularly the United Arab Emirates.

The impact of such clickbait headlines — recklessly peddling the false notion that an apocalypse is bearing down on the UAE — has been deeply unsettling and dispiriting for residents who chose to stay. Barring some tourists ignorant of the nation’s core ethos, people did not flee. They stayed — anchored by a firm belief in the Emirati defence readiness, and by an unshaken solidarity with a government that has never wavered in times of crises — be it the Covid-19 pandemic, the 2008 global recession, or the 1991 Gulf War.

While Iran did not single out any particular emirate in its relentless barrage of missiles and drones, much of the predominantly Western criticism — across digital, print, and social media — fixated on Dubai, often branding it, rather crudely and unjustifiably, as “Orwellian”.

Having worked across countries as a senior journalist, and having lived through the crises my host nations endured, I write with honesty and feel with conviction. Even now, fifteen years after relinquishing my permanent residency, which many in my circle as well as my blue-chip employer dismissed as a foolish decision, to return to the UAE — the birthplace of my daughter — I continue to hold a deep affection for Singapore.

My children still slip effortlessly into Singlish, and I find myself longing for the familiar comforts of that island life: the simple pleasure of chicken rice at Hougang Green, coconut prawn curry in Serangoon Central, barbecued fish at Newton Circus, and the unforgettable crab feasts once served at the old Fisherman’s Village in Pasir Ris.

I still catch myself humming Phua Chu Kang’s irreverent “SAR-vivor Rap” — “SARS is a virus…” — with a smile. Singapore had, in every practical sense, given me reasons enough to stay: a permanent residency granted in record time, chosen home in my own name, the freedom of long drives into Malaysia’s interior in my own SUV, and a deepening affinity for all things Singaporean. It could well have anchored me there for life.

And yet, my heart lay elsewhere.

“Welcome back to the UAE, sir.” The one-liner that the Emirati immigration officer at T3 delivered along with a comforting smile and my stamped passport was juxtaposed in my mind spontaneously against the unfriendly demeanour I had come across at many other airports. I have never since looked back despite an open invite to return to Singapore. Because the Emirates is a passion.

Over the years, those living in the UAE — particularly in Dubai — have been burdened with a steady stream of disparaging labels, often propagated by critics of the Middle East. In earlier decades, the caricature was crude: gold smugglers, warlords, drug mafias, fugitives, and killers on the run.

Later came a new wave of stereotypes — East European “prostitutes”, Russian mafia operatives, and shadowy hoarders of black money. These reductive portrayals, repeated often enough, began to take on the veneer of accepted truth in certain circles.

In time, the labels evolved further. Residents of Dubai were recast as political refugees or fugitive economic offenders — terms that, while sounding more sophisticated, carried the same undertone of suspicion. And as global narratives shifted, so too did the accusations: we were now branded as crypto scammers or clandestine deal makers.

I do not — like millions of others who call this country home, whether living, working, or building businesses — fit into any of these caricatures. When I returned to the UAE, I did so with little more than resolve, having invested my CPF savings, repaid by the Singapore government, into my children’s medical education. I arrived, in many ways, empty-handed — and rebuilt my life, brick by brick.

That, perhaps, is the quiet beauty of pursuing one’s dreams on what some dismissively call desert sands: you are not weighed down by the baggage that often shadows life back home. Here, there is a rare sense of inner ease — a feeling of being at peace with oneself, unburdened by constant concerns for personal safety.

I speak of a nation that goes to extraordinary lengths to return a lost wallet across continents — to someone in London or New York; of a city that reunites a visitor in Europe with a priceless wedding ring lost in the pristine waters of the Gulf. I speak of a place where women and children can move about freely, without fear of harassment or burglary — and where no one taunts you on a train, no one stares you down in a metro station, and no one follows you into shadowed alleys.

Ask my daughter, once a Singapore permanent resident. She had every opportunity to move to Germany to study and live alongside her brother and his family — but she chose otherwise. She declined, preferring instead to build a life in the country where she was born, seeking not just livelihood but a sense of peace and belonging. I have little doubt she would make the same choice even if invited to join her sister-in-law in New Zealand.

My son, now a German citizen, and his wife — until recently pursuing her PhD at the University of Bonn — have spent years in Germany. Yet, they find themselves returning, time and again, to Dubai, the city that shaped his childhood. They spend more on trips here than anywhere else. Though they are not Golden Visa holders like my daughter and me, each visit carries a ritual of its own: a nostalgic pilgrimage to Karama Shopping Centre, where his earliest memories were formed. You do not have to be born in a place to call it home, to feel rooted, or to belong.

Like any New Yorker or Londoner, I carry a deep sense of belonging to this so-called desert land. So do my children, as do countless second-generation expatriates who have grown up here. It is perhaps why, even in their thirties, my children travel thousands of miles to savour what they insist is the finest Indian cuisine. “Habibi, come to Dubai if you want authentic Indian food,” they say. India, curiously, is no longer their first reference point. The UAE is — despite being Indian. I call them global citizens.

Of course, comparisons are most meaningful when made between like for like. The pride with which an American from New York proclaims himself or herself a New Yorker can perhaps only be matched by what an Emirati feels for his or her nation. But something uniquely remarkable about this country is the depth of attachment it inspires even among those who were not born here.

That sense of belonging does not waver in moments of crisis — it only deepens. It is felt not only in times of prosperity, but also in adversity. The UAE has weathered it all — be it the trials of the Covid-19 pandemic, the strains of global economic downturns, or the current tensions arising from Iranian aggression — each time reinforcing the quiet, enduring bond between the nation and those who call it home.

During my years in the UAE from 1989 to 2000, most second-generation expatriates I knew did not eventually settle elsewhere. Instead, many chose to build their own families in the very country where they were born and where their parents had found opportunity and stability. A significant number have even invested in property here, deepening their roots.

Interestingly, some who once moved on to so-called greener pastures — Canada, the United Kingdom, or the United States — are now part of a quiet reverse migration, returning to the UAE. This is a reality that challenges the long-held notion, often echoed by Western columnists, that the UAE is merely a transient platform or a springboard to other parts of the world. That perception no longer holds.

And there are reasons for that. It comes down, quite simply, to safety and security — both economic and personal.

The UAE today ranks as the world’s safest country in Numbeo’s 2025 mid-year safety index, with a score of 85.2, retaining its position for the second consecutive year. It is a distinction built on consistently low crime rates and a strong sense of personal safety — even for those walking alone at night.

For the sake of argument, one need not look elsewhere. Consider the capital city of the United States, where even its own president, Donald Trump, once described crime as being out of control. And that’s the capital city of a nation where the odds of getting shot are 100 times higher compared to some countries where it’s one in a million.

Against this backdrop, the anxieties triggered by regional tensions warrant perspective. For those who chose to leave at the first signs of Iranian aggression, the numbers tell a different story. The statistical risk of dying from such projectiles is estimated at roughly one in 3.8 million, while the likelihood of dying in a car accident stands at about one in 29,000 — figures cited by Emirati writer and commentator Yasser Hareb.

It is, perhaps, a futile exercise to compare the UAE’s safety with that of a country where firearms outnumber citizens—121 guns per 100 residents. And yet, despite these contrasts, we continue to encourage our children to pursue opportunities abroad, including the so-called American dream, should they choose to.

We do so without resentment, without raising banners of contempt. Even when political rhetoric turns harsh — as it did during Donald Trump’s criticism of certain American universities — we respond with restraint. We remind ourselves that leaders come and go, but institutions, and civilizations, endure.

There are, of course, many who continue to speak up for the UAE — voices that challenge the noise of distortion with lived experience.

“I am a Canadian who was born in the UAE. I have worked there as an adult as well. The ignorance outside the UAE is unbelievable. All they have are carefully selected propaganda, memes, and a vague notion of exploitation,” writes one Reddit user.

He says they don’t see the progress the UAE has made nor the efforts the leadership has made to help labourers and foreign workers with no job prospects in their impoverished countries.

Another observes, “People tend to see UAE residents as crypto scammers, course sellers, or dropshippers — the kind of labels you constantly encounter online. The reality is far simpler: most are ordinary people with families, working regular jobs. The level of hate and dehumanisation is exhausting.”

A third voice was blunter: “The West has always harboured a certain hostility towards the Middle East. Seeing a nation like the UAE succeed unsettles that narrative.”

And then came perhaps the most succinct response of all: “Neidgesellschaft — a German word meaning a ”society of envy.“

Yes, envy may well be at the heart of it.

For the UAE’s journey — still humbly described by its own leadership as a “work in progress” — has been remarkably swift. In just a few decades, it has evolved from a cluster of modest trading ports into a global hub of commerce, tourism, and innovation — an achievement that took many older nations centuries to realise.

At the centre of this transformation, particularly in Dubai, lies an unrelenting sense of scale and ambition. It is a city shaped by a governing philosophy that the Dubai Ruler once proclaimed: Build it, and they will come.

And they did. They came, they saw, they stayed — and they invested.

What followed is a story of resilience: of defying scepticism, weathering crises — and emerging stronger each time.

The economic transformation has been just as striking. “In the early 2000s, oil accounted for more than 70 per cent of the UAE’s total economic activity. By 2024, roughly three-quarters of GDP was generated by non-oil sectors,” notes Dr Mohammed Ibrahim Al Dhaheri, Deputy Director-General of the Anwar Gargash Diplomatic Academy.

Today, sectors such as trade, logistics, financial services, manufacturing, real estate, and tourism drive the economy — supported by long-term national visions like We the UAE 2031 and UAE Centennial 2071, which aim to raise GDP to Dh3 trillion by 2031.

The UAE’s story, in many ways, is one of never missing the bus. It has moved with agility — embracing aviation, the knowledge economy, cryptocurrencies, medical tourism, artificial intelligence, the metaverse, integrated resorts, gaming, sports tourism, and world-class cultural institutions such as the Louvre and the Guggenheim. Add to that art auctions, education hubs, and even plans for global entertainment destinations like Disneyland. And the list seems almost inexhaustible.

This is not merely development — it is reinvention, pursued with urgency, clarity, and intent.