In the early hours of February 28, when Iranian missiles began to fall on Abu Dhabi in response to the first American and Israeli attacks, many migrant workers from South Asia were completing their night shifts or resting in camps near critical infrastructure. Rajesh Kumar, a 34-year-old electrician from the Indian region of Uttar Pradesh, was at a power station on the outskirts of the United Arab Emirates capital when he heard the first explosion.
"At first, we thought it was a transformer. Then we saw the sky light up," he says. Rajesh and six other colleagues - all Indians and Bangladeshis - took cover behind some metal containers. Seconds later, an intercepted missile, aimed at a U.S. military base, fell just a few meters away. "I felt the heat on my face. I thought I had gone blind," he says. "When I opened my eyes, one of my friends was bleeding from the head. If we had been 10 meters closer, we wouldn't be here to tell the tale."
Rajesh would like to return to India. But his passport is in the hands of his employer, a reflection of a system that restricts the mobility of migrant workers and prevents them from leaving the country without permission. Additionally, in his village in Uttar Pradesh, his family depends on the $400 he sends monthly. "My mother called me crying when she saw the news," he says. "She told me to come back. But why go back? There is no work there. Here, there is war, but at least we are still earning a salary."
For decades, the Persian Gulf was an employment opportunity for millions of Asian workers to send money home. They were the ones who made possible the accelerated development of the Arab Petro-Monarchies: roads, skyscrapers, refineries, ports, airports. Many work in essential jobs that keep cities running, building structures, cleaning offices, delivering food, and monitoring airports. An economic model sustained by cheap and, in many cases, exploited labor. Now, the war has not only put the global energy supply on hold but also the lives of these migrants.
In the region, there are between 20 and 24 million workers from South Asia (according to estimates from the International Labour Organization), a third of the total population. In the six countries that make up the Gulf Cooperation Council - Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Kuwait, Oman, and Bahrain - foreigners are the majority: 35 million out of a total population of 62 million. The backbone of this labor force mainly comes from India (nine million), Pakistan (five million), and Bangladesh (five million), followed by Nepal and Sri Lanka.
In the UAE, of the eight deaths from Iranian attacks, five are South Asian workers. In Oman, the three reported deaths are Indians. In Saudi Arabia, the only recorded fatalities so far have been an Indian citizen and a Bangladeshi. Many Asian analysts are clear that these are not collateral damage: they were the most exposed as they were working in energy and logistics infrastructures (refineries, oil depots, or port terminals) that have become strategic targets.
"A drone hit a storage unit right in front of us. We couldn't sleep for days. I thought we would be next," said a Pakistani named Hamza in an interview with Al Jazeera this week. For him, like for the rest, leaving is not an option. Most of these migrants carry significant debts after arriving in the region, paying intermediaries or employment agencies, some of which operate as human trafficking networks. Additionally, their salaries support entire families in countries where opportunities are scarce. "It's dangerous to stay here, but if we stop working, our families back home won't eat," summarized Hamza.
Dibas, a 29-year-old Nepali migrant, worked the night shift as a security guard at Abu Dhabi's Zayed International Airport. He died from the impact of an intercepted Iranian missile. "I saw the news that three people had died: a Nepali, a Pakistani, and a Bangladeshi. A photo of the Nepali victim was shown in the media, but it wasn't my son. Shortly after, the authorities confirmed that it was indeed him," says Cham Bahadur Shrestha, Dibas's father, in an interview with the Australian ABC.
The young Nepali came from a village in the rugged hills of the Gandaki province, in a country where, due to limited job opportunities and low wages, working abroad has become an outlet for millions of families. Remittances account for more than a quarter of Nepal's economy. Thousands of young people like Dibas leave their villages to work on construction sites in Qatar, drive taxis in Dubai, or guard offices in Abu Dhabi.
Human Rights Watch these days highlights the special vulnerability of these workers due to the Middle East's kafala system - a sponsorship system that gives employers almost absolute control over the migration and work situation of migrant workers - which also facilitates abuse and exploitation. "It restricts labor mobility, allows employers to systematically confiscate passports, and punishes those who leave their bosses, even to escape abuse, with the risk of deportation and detention," the group said in a recent statement.
In recent years, this system has been at the center of international complaints about serious labor violations and human rights abuses. During the construction of the stadiums for the 2022 FIFA World Cup in Qatar, organizations like Amnesty International documented extreme conditions: up to 14-hour workdays under the sun, delayed payments, unsanitary accommodations, and, in several cases, deaths from exhaustion or heatstroke that went unnoticed by local authorities. The investigations also highlighted how passport retention and precarious contracts prevented workers from claiming their rights.
Although Qatar introduced reforms in 2020 to limit passport confiscation and allow workers to resign without the employer's permission, international activists warn that abuses persist in practice, especially among migrants with less education or in sectors like construction, cleaning, and logistics.
While these workers are now trapped in the conflict's epicenter, their home countries also suffer another direct consequence of the war: the energy crisis resulting from the blockade of the Strait of Hormuz. In Pakistan, for example, power outages have intensified, and the cost of electricity is suffocating families. Bangladesh has had to ration fuel, while Sri Lanka, still recovering from its economic collapse and the destruction left by a devastating cyclone late last year, is seeing queues at gas stations again. Even in India, the most populous country in the world, there is a shortage of gas cylinders.
Workers from these countries residing in the Gulf, who form the backbone of cities and industries, represent a constant flow of remittances that sustain entire economies in the aforementioned South Asian nations. According to World Bank estimates: $103 billion annually from the Gulf to the five Asian countries with the most workers in the region. India alone receives about $50 billion; Pakistan, over $38 billion, nearly 10% of its GDP. Several economists warn that if the war causes a recession in the Gulf or massive layoffs, the impact will be immediate and devastating in these Asian countries.
Another aspect of the conflict is that it is also jeopardizing the image of the Gulf nations as favorable hubs for international business. A model that also relied on delicate diplomatic strategies: maintaining economic relations with Iran while strengthening military and political alliances with the West, which turned a blind eye to human rights issues. Iranian attacks on energy infrastructure and the blockade of Hormuz have exposed the limits of that balance and raise doubts about whether the region can continue projecting itself as a global center of stability and prosperity.
Migration experts in Asia have been warning for years about all this structural vulnerability. The dependence on foreign labor in the Gulf and the reliance on remittances in South Asia are two sides of the same coin. In times of prosperity, the balance is maintained. In times of war, it crumbles.