Representation Abroad Isn’t a Privilege – or a Monopoly
It’s not uncommon to come across statements from organisations that describe themselves as the “sole” or “official” representatives of a particular group in the diaspora. But in my view, such claims demand serious scrutiny.
The right to represent any Arab country in Britain—or anywhere else in the world—is not the exclusive domain of any one group. It’s neither a licensed privilege nor a political entitlement handed down by ministries or embassies. It’s a natural and legitimate right: any cohesive group of people from a particular country has every right to form an organisation, association or initiative that speaks for them, supports their needs, and reflects their values, identity, and aspirations.
Of course, many of these entities are built on common ground—language, heritage, religion, or even political orientation. That’s normal, legitimate, and often necessary. Exile, as I understand it, doesn’t push people toward fragmentation, but rather toward shared values and spaces of belonging and safety. It makes sense, then, that people seek out others with similar experiences and concerns.
What’s harder to accept is when these shared spaces are monopolised under the banner of “official recognition” or “historical representation”—as if the dynamics of our communities have frozen in time, and new generations have no right to self-organise. Real legitimacy, in my view, doesn’t come from official seals or diplomatic channels; it comes from the people themselves—from their trust and from their willingness to rally behind those who listen and serve.
That’s why I believe it’s ethically sound to respect precedence when it comes to names and terminology. If you’re in Britain and want to bring your community together under a representative umbrella—and another group already does something similar—then I’d suggest choosing a name that distinguishes you without duplicating someone else’s work.
If one group calls itself the “Qatari Community,” another could be the “Qatari Association.” If there’s already a “National Forum,” perhaps “Forum of Country Nationals” would suffice. The Arabic language is rich, generous, and full of possibilities. There’s no need for us to crowd into the same linguistic corners.
And if disputes over names or legacy do arise, the bare minimum would be to differentiate visually—by logo colours, branding, or typography. The space, after all, is wide enough for all of us. The country is vast, and the work is more than any single group can handle. In fact, multiple organisations working in similar fields can lead to healthy competition—and better service for the people we aim to represent.
This leads me to a related and important point: the language we use to describe our presence in countries like Britain. It’s become routine to hear phrases like “the Arab community,” “the Muslim community,” “the Egyptian community,” and so on. But while these labels may be familiar, they’re not without complications. They often suggest we are temporary guests—passersby whose story will end with a return to the “homeland.”
Now, in some exceptional cases, such as the Palestinian diaspora, that implication might hold some political truth. For many Palestinians, exile is intrinsically tied to the dream of return and liberation. But when we speak of Arabs and Muslims in Britain, the label “community” falls short. It paints us as perpetual outsiders, even when we are born here, carry British passports, and contribute meaningfully to society.
That’s why I find it more accurate—and more empowering—to speak of Arabs in Britain, British Arabs, or the British Muslim community. These terms carry weight. They affirm that we are not visitors, but citizens. We are part of the national story, not guests in its margins.
When I write about political matters, I prefer the term British Arabs—people who carry both a national identity and an ethnic one. These affiliations do not conflict. They complement each other.
So, on a personal note, I encourage a shift away from the overuse of the word “community” when referring to groups that are now rooted in the very fabric of British society. Let’s adopt terms that reflect partnership and belonging—not isolation or impermanence.
This isn’t just a semantic debate. Language shapes perception. Perception drives policy. And policy determines the future.
By Adnan Hmidan
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