In the last week and a half, as missiles and drones have been launched across the skies of the Gulf and air defense units have operated non-stop, the British media has unearthed a rather peculiar narrative.
This story centers on a controversial figure, eagerly pursued by both sensational tabloids and reputable broadcasters: the Dubai “expat influencer who allegedly abuses animals while evading taxes.”
In the context of conflict in the Gulf, this character has dominated British media coverage. Amidst tales of intercepted missiles and downed drones, what has captivated editorial teams far away is not the life of those living in a war-torn city, nor the implications for energy markets or strategic concerns regarding the Strait of Hormuz.
Instead, it is the alleged panic of Instagrammers fleeing a city that thrives on tax evasion and abandoning their pets.
While journalism often relies on archetypes, the astonishing aspect of this particular figure is its surprising universality. From tabloids to broadsheets, the storylines mirror each other: influencers racing to secure flights, families taking unexpected routes to safety, and overwrought narratives depicting expats confronting the harsh realities of geopolitics.
What accounts for the convergence of various news outlets on this exact stereotype?
Upon reflection, I believe the answer lies with one of the most influential yet underappreciated roles in British journalism: the news editor.
Every newsroom employs one. Typically male, he is the understated yet powerful figure who determines which stories are told and their presentation.
The news editor’s role is not to cover the stories himself but to assign others to do so. This position merges bureaucratic power with a certain melancholic perspective.
Therefore, when a story like “Dubai at war” surfaces—a place associated with sunshine, low taxes, and unapologetic commercial success—the news editor approaches it with a preset bias: disdain.
He resents its entrepreneurial spirit. He disapproves of the idea that individuals can achieve success without paying a significant portion of their earnings in taxes. And while he may despise the taxman, he holds even stronger contempt for those who evade him.
A journalist from the UK validated this perspective when he mentioned being sent to cover “expat panic.”
Thus, he sends a reporter to the Gulf with a set of unspoken guidelines. “Enjoy the winter sun, Kevin,” he instructs, “but make sure you give those Dubai folks a hard time.”
During a recent conversation, a reporter from a British tabloid shared his experience of being tasked to write about “expat panic.” He admitted that the reality on the ground did not reflect much actual panic.
While Dubai was indeed quieter than usual and some tourists had left earlier than planned, life continued as usual: restaurants remained open and most residents were going about their daily routines.
The response from the news desk was unimpressed.
“You must find panic,” they insisted.
The resulting articles at times became difficult to believe. One report gravely detailed a fatality caused by falling debris in “upmarket Barsha.” For those familiar with Dubai, the affectionate view of this lively area next to the Mall of the Emirates makes “upmarket” an odd descriptor.
On being questioned about that characterization, the reporter shrugged.
“It is upmarket,” he defended, “compared to Middlesbrough.”
Even the typically reliable Financial Times couldn’t entirely resist the lure of the narrative, briefly suggesting in a headline that “half of Dubai” might be attempting to leave. Come on FT—this is not the evacuation from Saigon in 1975.
Some coverage has ventured into the realm of the absurd. One British newspaper published an exaggerated tale of a family who “escaped” the troubles of Dubai, making their way through Oman, South Africa, Angola, Lisbon, and finally reaching Luton—not really a refugee journey but more like an adventurous travel itinerary.
Meanwhile, the BBC shared a first-person account of tourists stuck in Oman awaiting a repatriation flight without any provisions, only to be served a lavish 10-course iftar meal. Ramadan, of course, was in play.
This pattern is unlikely to change anytime soon.
British newspapers will happily enjoy Dubai’s hospitality when it benefits their travel sections. Influencers will frequently populate lifestyle columns. Yet when significant news emerges, the old stereotypes will resurface.
While this tendency may irritate the Dubai Media Office, the key is not to take it personally. The perspective of the British press reveals more about the internal dynamics of newsrooms than about the emirate itself.
Somewhere in London, a morose news editor with a longstanding grudge against winter assignments and skepticism towards tax-free success is still doling out story assignments.
If those stories necessitate the creation of a fictional character—the expat influencer-evader-animal abuser—then that’s how it will be.
Frank Kane is an Editor-at-Large with considerable experience in business journalism and serves as a consultant to the Ministry of Energy of Saudi Arabia.
