Nearly two thousand years ago, Juvenal, a Roman satirical poet, asked a simple but unsettling question: Who will guard the guards themselves? For the Gulf states, that question cuts both ways: how do you build forces strong enough to defend the nation without creating a power strong enough to unsettle the throne?
Once again, war is raging in the Middle East, with missiles crossing borders, oil prices spiking, and air defence systems straining under saturation attacks. The Gulf states confront an old paradox with renewed urgency. For years, the monarchies of the Arabian Peninsula have navigated a tightrope: strengthen the military too much, and it may evolve into a political actor that could challenge autocratic rule; neglect it, and the state becomes dependent on external powers for survival.
The Gulf’s geography, situated between Iran, Iraq, and the Arabian Sea, has always made it vulnerable. Today’s threats are faster, cheaper, and more asymmetric than ever before. Drones costing tens of thousands of dollars can damage infrastructure worth billions. Precision-guided missiles can paralyse airports and oil refineries in minutes. Alliances, once considered ironclad, are transactional. For Gulf rulers, this moment exposes a structural weakness: their historical reliance on external security guarantees has left them militarily wealthy but strategically dependent.
Since the British withdrawal “East of Suez” in 1971, Gulf monarchies have outsourced much of their security. The United States became the primary guarantor, establishing major bases in Bahrain (home to the US Fifth Fleet), Qatar (Al Udeid Air Base), Kuwait, and the UAE. After Iraq invaded Kuwait in 1990, the logic of dependency deepened. Operation Desert Storm reaffirmed that Gulf survival rested on Western intervention.
Saudi Arabia spent approximately $78 billion on defence in 2025, ranking among the top five military spenders globally. The UAE and Qatar also rank among the highest per-capita spenders on defence worldwide. Yet these expenditures have largely gone towards purchasing advanced weaponry such as F-16s, F-35s, Patriot missile systems, and THAAD interceptors, rather than developing institutionalised, autonomous, and powerful military and defence institutions.
The result is a force structure often described as “hardware heavy, software light.” There are expensive, technologically advanced arsenals; however, they lack proper operational integration, indigenous doctrine development, and independent strategic planning.
Historically, robust militaries in the Arab world have assumed political roles. Egypt’s Free Officers movement in 1952, Iraq’s repeated coups between 1958 and 1968, Libya in 1969, and Sudan in multiple waves—these examples shaped Gulf political psychology. The lesson was clear: armies overthrow regimes.
Monarchies, therefore, designed systems to fragment security institutions. National guards were separated from regular armies. Intelligence agencies were strengthened. Leadership positions were distributed along tribal and familial lines. The Gulf states did not neglect defence; they carefully structured it to prevent an internal threat.
In an era of drones, cyber warfare, and fragile alliances, sovereignty cannot be subcontracted indefinitely
But in recent years, especially since last week, events have demonstrated the cost of that approach. In September 2019, the attack on Saudi Arabia’s Abqaiq and Khurais oil facilities temporarily knocked out approximately 5% of global oil supply, according to the International Energy Agency.
The strikes were carried out with drones, evading air defence systems. Despite billions spent on US-supplied missile defence, Saudi Arabia could not prevent the attack. Similarly, the Yemeni conflict exposed structural limitations, including dependence on foreign contractors for maintenance, intelligence, and targeting. It also highlighted challenges in adapting to asymmetric tactics and vulnerability to drone and missile retaliation.
Now, as the region edges closer to broader confrontation, the same vulnerabilities are magnified. Energy infrastructure, desalination plants, ports, and financial hubs are within range of relatively low-cost weaponry.
The Gulf economies are not built for prolonged infrastructural disruption. Saudi Arabia’s Vision 2030 depends on stability to attract foreign investment. The UAE’s global logistics and aviation model relies on uninterrupted connectivity. Qatar’s liquefied natural gas exports underpin European energy diversification.
Autocracies survive on centralised control. A professional, empowered military with national legitimacy can become an independent institution. Political scientists call this the “coup-proofing dilemma.” To avoid coups, regimes often rotate commanders frequently, create parallel security forces, rely on foreign mercenaries or advisers, and tie officer promotions to loyalty rather than merit.
Saudi Arabia’s National Guard historically functioned as a counterweight to the regular army. The UAE incorporated foreign personnel into various security roles. Qatar maintains strong internal security institutions relative to its population size. These mechanisms lower the risk of a coup, but they also disrupt command unity and decrease battlefield effectiveness.
As long as external protection was guaranteed, this trade-off seemed rational. The US military umbrella compensated for internal structural weakness. But Washington’s strategic priorities are shifting.
The US National Defence Strategy now frames China as the primary competitor. The American public’s appetite for Middle Eastern entanglements has waned since Iraq and Afghanistan. Even when the US responds, it calibrates carefully. During recent escalations, Gulf states have observed that external support is not automatic, unlimited, or unconditional.
The current war exposes two fundamental failures in the traditional Gulf security model.
First, technological democratisation. Non-state actors and regional rivals now possess precision capabilities once reserved for advanced militaries. Hezbollah’s estimated missile arsenal exceeds 100,000 projectiles. Iranian drone production has scaled significantly, with systems exported as far as Eastern Europe. Cheap loitering munitions saturate air defences designed for high-end threats. Buying more expensive interceptors does not solve a cost asymmetry problem. A Patriot interceptor can cost several million dollars; a drone may cost under $50,000.
Second, strategic unpredictability. Alliances are fluid. Regional normalisation agreements have reshaped diplomatic ties; still, deterrence remains unstable. Gulf states can no longer assume that diplomatic hedging alone guarantees safety.
In this conflict, each development reinforces the same lesson: dependence is risk. Self-reliance does not mean isolation. It means credible deterrence. Gulf states require more than arms purchases. They need command structures that minimise fragmentation among parallel forces. They also need to strengthen indigenous defence manufacturing to decrease dependence on foreign powers. They require integrated air and missile defence systems prepared to counter swarm tactics. Finally, professional military education systems that foster strategic thinking are essential.
Saudi Arabia has already launched initiatives to localise 50% of defence spending by 2030. Qatar has invested in training partnerships with Western militaries. The UAE has aggressively consolidated defence firms. These are steps in the right direction. But scale and urgency must increase.
The old assumption that a stronger military inevitably threatens autocracy may no longer hold in the same way. Modern militaries operate differently. Today, political coups require not just tanks, but control of digital infrastructure, financial systems, and intelligence networks. The greater risk now may lie in failing to adapt. If adversaries perceive Gulf militaries as dependent and reactive, deterrence weakens.
The war unfolding since last week may prove to be a watershed moment. It demonstrates how quickly regional tensions can ignite and how rapidly great powers recalibrate their involvement. For the Gulf states, survival in turbulent times will require rethinking the old bargain between regime security and national defence. Strengthening the military no longer necessarily undermines autocracy; it may be essential to preserving it.
History shows that dependence breeds vulnerability. In an era of drones, cyber warfare, and fragile alliances, sovereignty cannot be subcontracted indefinitely. If Gulf states wish to control their destiny, they must own the instruments of their defence. In the contemporary Middle East, destiny is rarely kind to the dependent.