Gulf States in Central Asia and the Caucasus: Pragmatism Redrawing the Map

M A Hossain

It is easy to overlook the quiet revolutions in geopolitics, especially when the headlines are dominated by wars in Ukraine and Gaza, tensions in the Indo-Pacific, or the perennial drama of U.S.-China rivalry. Yet, beneath the surface of global power struggles, there is a subtler but equally consequential shift unfolding across Central Asia and the South Caucasus. And it is not Moscow, Beijing, or Washington leading the charge—but Abu Dhabi and Riyadh.

In recent years, the Gulf states have redefined themselves from oil-rich rentier economies into strategic actors with global ambitions. Their latest frontier is the heart of Eurasia, a region long trapped between competing empires and great power rivalries. By investing in infrastructure, hosting peace negotiations, and building pragmatic partnerships, the United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia are becoming indispensable intermediaries in a geopolitical landscape once exclusively dominated by Russia, China, and Turkey.

This is not an isolated trend. The recent GulfLink logistics venture between Kazakhstan Railways and the UAE’s AD Ports Group is a case in point. On the surface, it looks like another trade deal. But look closer, and it signals a strategic reorientation: Central Asia is being connected southward to the Gulf’s transport hubs, offering an alternative to the overland routes that traditionally linked the region only to Russia or China. Similarly, Uzbekistan’s decision earlier this year to lift visa requirements for Gulf nationals is more than a tourism move; it is an invitation for deeper economic and cultural integration.

And then there is diplomacy. When the UAE hosted peace talks between Armenia and Azerbaijan, it stepped into a role historically played by Moscow. For decades, Russia’s shadow loomed large over the South Caucasus, cemented through military bases, energy pipelines, and the promise of security guarantees. Yet after Moscow’s failure to prevent renewed hostilities in Nagorno-Karabakh and its growing preoccupation with Ukraine, space opened for new actors. The Gulf states were quick to seize it, offering neutrality and incentives for peace built around economic dividends rather than coercive pressure.

This approach deserves attention precisely because it is different. Unlike the United States, which tends to mix security assistance with ideological lectures, or China, whose Belt and Road Initiative often fosters dependency, Gulf states deal in pragmatic reciprocity. They do not seek regime change. They do not export ideology. They invest. They build. And, crucially, they do so without forcing local leaders into rigid alliances.

History makes this shift even more striking. Central Asia and the South Caucasus were once tightly bound to the Russian Empire and later the Soviet Union. When the USSR collapsed in 1991, the region inherited messy borders, fragile institutions, and lingering ethnic disputes. Russia continued to exploit these vulnerabilities, maintaining influence through energy, security pacts like the Collective Security Treaty Organization, and its self-appointed role as a regional arbiter.

But over the past two decades, this dominance has frayed. China emerged with its Belt and Road projects, flooding the region with infrastructure loans. Turkey leveraged soft power, shared language, and culture to cultivate a “Turkic world” narrative. The United States made intermittent forays, mostly driven by counterterrorism concerns after 9/11.

Into this crowded arena came the Gulf states, offering something different—a partnership model without the baggage of past empires or ideological strings. And it is precisely this neutrality that gives Abu Dhabi and Riyadh an edge. They are not there to compete with Russia or China directly. Instead, they provide hedging space for local actors, allowing Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Armenia, and Azerbaijan to diversify their foreign relations beyond their immediate great power neighbors.

What makes Gulf engagement particularly relevant is its non-intrusive conflict management style. Consider the South Caucasus. Armenia’s reliance on Russian protection proved hollow when Azerbaijan, backed by Turkey, regained control over Nagorno-Karabakh. Moscow’s credibility as a security guarantor collapsed. In stepped the UAE—not with troops or ultimatums, but with a neutral venue for talks and an economic vision to incentivize peace.

This approach mirrors the Gulf’s own experiences in conflict mediation. The Saudi-Iran détente brokered by China was facilitated by years of quiet Gulf diplomacy. Similarly, the UAE’s role in Yemen’s peace process demonstrated that even bitter conflicts can be softened through economic carrots rather than military sticks. Applying this model to Eurasia, where frozen conflicts are a legacy of Soviet-era borders, could unlock new pathways for stability.

The same logic applies to Central Asia’s simmering disputes. The Ferghana Valley, shared by Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan, remains a hotspot of ethnic tension, porous borders, and radicalization risks. Gulf states, with their experience in counterterrorism and deradicalization programs, can provide expertise without provoking nationalist sensitivities. By supporting security cooperation while simultaneously investing in logistics and trade, they address both the symptoms and the root causes of instability.

Critics might argue that the Gulf cannot replace Russia or China. True. They neither have the hard power to dominate Eurasia nor the historical ties that Moscow enjoys. But that misses the point. Gulf states are not trying to supplant the great powers; they are inserting themselves as moderating actors, capable of balancing rival influences. This “dynamic neutrality,” as some analysts call it, allows them to engage simultaneously with Russia, China, Turkey, and the United States without being seen as a threat by any single actor.

Moreover, the Gulf brings something the others lack—capital unburdened by political conditions. While Western aid often comes with demands for governance reforms, and Chinese loans tend to create dependency traps, Gulf investments are framed as mutually beneficial deals. A new port, a logistics hub, an energy pipeline—these projects give immediate, tangible benefits to local populations, making Gulf engagement politically palatable.

There is also a deeper lesson here about the changing nature of global power. In the 20th century, influence was projected primarily through military bases, ideological blocs, or coercive economic leverage. In the 21st, especially for middle powers like the Gulf states, influence increasingly comes from soft leverage—connectivity, capital, and credibility.

Of course, there are limits. The Gulf states cannot resolve every frozen conflict, nor can they indefinitely maintain neutrality if regional rivalries sharpen. But their very presence already alters the strategic calculus. For Armenia, disillusioned with Russia’s protection, the UAE offers an alternative partner. For Kazakhstan, caught between Russian security demands and Chinese economic dependence, Gulf investment provides a third option. For Azerbaijan, already aligned with Turkey, Gulf diplomacy adds another layer of strategic depth.

The broader implication is that the geopolitical map of Eurasia is no longer binary. It is not just Russia versus the West, or China versus the United States. It is multipolar, with middle powers like the UAE and Saudi Arabia redrawing the contours through trade routes, peace talks, and pragmatic alliances. But for now, the message is clear: the Gulf states are no longer just consumers of global order. They are quietly becoming its architects—one port, one pipeline, and one peace deal at a time.