DUBAI, United Arab Emirates (AP) – In small, oil-rich Sheikdom of Kuwait, the foreigners who power the country’s economy, serve society and make up 70% of the population are struggling to get coronavirus vaccines.
Unlike other Arab Gulf states that have administered doses to multitudes of foreign workers in a race to achieve herd immunity, Kuwait has come under fire for vaccinating its own people first.
That leaves legions of workers from Asia, Africa and elsewhere, cleaning the homes of Kuwaiti nationals, looking after their children, driving their cars and packing their groceries, while still waiting for their first dose, despite the fact that they received the victims of the pandemic.
“The only people I saw at the vaccination center were Kuwait,” said a 27-year-old Kuwaiti doctor, who, like most people interviewed for this story, spoke on condition of anonymity for fear of government retaliation. “Kuwait has a policy that puts the citizen first, even when it comes to public health.”
Kuwaiti authorities did not respond to repeated requests for comment from The Associated Press about their vaccination strategy.
When Kuwait’s vaccination registry went live in December, authorities stated that health workers, the elderly and those with underlying conditions would be the first to act. Over the weeks, however, it became increasingly clear that the lion’s share of the doses were going to Kuwait, regardless of age or health status. Initially, some medical workers said they couldn’t even get an appointment.
Kuwait’s labor system, which links the residence status of migrants to their job and gives employers excessive power, is prevalent in the Arab Gulf states. But hostility towards migrants has long been hotter in Kuwait. The legacy of the 1991 Gulf War, which led to mass deportations of Palestinian, Jordanian and Yemeni workers whose leaders had supported Iraq in the conflict, fueled concerns about the need for self-reliance in Kuwait that continues today – even as Southeast Asian workers hurried Fill the void.
A 30-year-old Indian woman who has spent her entire life in Kuwait saw her Instagram feed filled with festive photos of Kuwaiti teenagers getting the shot. Her father, a 62-year-old diabetic with high blood pressure, couldn’t – just like the rest of her relatives who lived there.
“All Kuwaitis I know have been vaccinated,” she said. “It’s more than just annoying, it’s a realization that no, this isn’t cool, there’s no way to feel like I belong here.”
Kuwait has vaccinated its citizens six times faster than non-citizens, the health ministry revealed earlier this year. At the time, despite about 238,000 foreigners registering online to make an appointment, only 18,000 of them – mostly doctors, nurses, and well-connected workers in state oil companies – were actually called to receive the vaccine. Meanwhile, about 119,000 Kuwaitis have been vaccinated.
Because vaccine information is only available in English or Arabic, proponents say dozens of low-paid workers from Southeast Asia who don’t speak either language will be left out.
The inequality sparked a swirling discussion on social media, with users decrying what they called the latest case of xenophobia in Kuwait. They say the pandemic has increased resentment of migrant workers, increased social divisions and hardened the government’s decision to protect its own people first. Medical professionals warned Kuwait that the vaccination hierarchy is harmful to public health.
Compared to the United Arab Emirates and Bahrain, one of the fastest vaccinators in the world per capita, Kuwait has lagged behind. While foreigners await shots, medical staff say Kuwaiti citizens are reluctant to register due to vaccine conspiracy theories widely shared on social media. Infections have skyrocketed, prompting the government to impose a strict curfew last month.
With increasing pressure on the Health Department, barriers have eased in recent weeks, with a growing number of foreign residents aged 65 and older reporting they could get vaccinated. Still, most expats insist that the inequality in access remains striking.
“We wait and wait for the call,” said a 55-year-old cleaning lady from Sri Lanka. ‘As soon as I get the call, I’ll go. I need the vaccine to be safe. “
The government has not released a demographic breakdown of vaccinated foreigners versus Kuwaiti since outrage over the inequality erupted in mid-February, just general vaccination statistics. According to health authorities, 500,000 people have received at least one dose of Pfizer-BioNTech or Oxford-AstraZeneca as of this week.
Even with the majority of front-line workers in supermarkets and cafes remaining unvaccinated, Kuwait is making plans to reopen society to the vaccinated. Those who can prove they got the shot can go to schools in the fall, go to movie theaters in the spring, and skip quarantine after they fly into the country, the government announced.
Foreign workers in Kuwait have felt this frustration before. When the pandemic first struck, lawmakers, talk show hosts and prominent actresses blamed migrants for spreading the virus.
As the coronavirus swept through busy neighborhoods and dormitories where many foreigners live, authorities imposed targeted lockdowns and published rising virus counts with a breakdown of nationalities. As infections increased among Kuwaitis, the government stopped releasing demographics.
“It’s easy for migrants to be seen as the cause of all the problems in Kuwait,” said Rohan Advani, a sociology researcher at the University of California, Los Angeles. “Citizens have no political or economic power, so if they don’t like what happens to their country, it becomes blaming foreigners.”
Despite having an outspoken parliament, ultimate power in Kuwait rests with the reigning Emir. Kuwaiti citizens, guaranteed a place on the public payroll and reaping the benefits of a welfare state from the cradle to the grave, have increasingly advocated policies that limit the flow of migrants.
Earlier this year, the government banned the renewal of visas for expats over 60 without a university degree, displacing an estimated 70,000 people, including many who have lived in Kuwait for decades.
“This discrimination is not new to us. The pandemic has just revealed the worst, ”said a 30-year-old Lebanese woman who grew up in Kuwait and whose elderly relatives are still awaiting vaccines.
“But this is life and death,” she said. “I never really thought it would get to this point.”