In the Middle East, the sons also rise

Even in what are supposed to be republics, ageing Arab leaders plan Jordanian-style dynastic success

The new king, Abdullah II, stood on the steps of the Raghadan Palace greeting Bill Clinton and Tony Blair, secure in the knowledge that the millions of Jordanians who were there to mourn King Hussein would accept him because his father had chosen him. The funeral was choreographed as much to show Jordan's seamless line of succession as to honour the 47-year reign of a monarch who was not always so lauded by the west.

Power had changed hands without the need for any democratic niceties. Abdullah's main qualification for the job is that as a major-general he will have the backing of the army - a prerequisite for any ruler in the Arab world. In a region where nations have been in a constant state of war for nearly 50 years, the armed forces have a stranglehold. Liberal democracy, to which even sub-Saharan African states aspire from time to time, has less than a toehold in most of the Arab world. If you think you are in a state of total war, as the Arabs think they are, you don't hold elections, as the British and Americans also refrained from doing in the early 1940s. True, Lebanon is an exception, but only because, after years of civil war and terrorism, it has nothing to lose from a fling with democracy. The Palestinian areas of Israel, true also, have an elected parliament, but Yasser Arafat makes all the important decisions without any reference to it.

Every Arab state knows what happens when you hold elections: the people vote for Islamic fundamentalist parties, as they did in Algeria. Such parties pose what ruling elites consider an unacceptable risk to national stability. They promise to redistribute wealth, enfranchise the poor and revive the equality that prevailed in the time of the Prophet. They would nationalise banks, commerce and industry and shatter the national economy within a matter of months. They would impose compulsory prayer, ban satellite television and order men to wear beards and women the veil, thus igniting social conflicts.

So a country of Bedouin tribes, where women are required to cover up and alcohol and gambling are associated with Satan, has another king with a playboy past, speaking in heavily accented British Arabic. Abdullah and his younger Hashemite siblings may claim descent from the family of the Prophet, but he and his younger brothers have all been educated in the secular west.

And throughout the Arab world a new generation is being groomed by its parents to take the reins of power. For the most part they are thirtysomething sybarites, united in their passion for fast cars, women, casinos and alcohol.

The next handover is expected in the Syrian capital, Damascus, where the 70-year-old President Hafez Assad is educating his 35-year-old son, Bashar, in the techniques of statecraft. This soft-spoken, British-trained ophthalmologist has emerged as his father's deputy and represents him at state functions at home and abroad. The diabetic Assad senior, who has been in power for 30 years, had planned to nominate his elder son Bassel as his successor, but the future president was killed in 1994 when he drove his Mercedes 600 into a road barrier in dense fog just outside Damascus airport.

Like Hussein - who ruled out his brother Hassan as his heir in his dying days - Assad has also been at loggerheads with a younger brother. Before he incurred his brother's wrath, the ambitious Rifaat was Syria's vice-president and revelled in all the privileges that went with the job, including a luxurious apartment in Paris where he dined off gold plate.

Monarchies like Jordan, Saudi Arabia and Morocco can claim that dynastic succession is part of local culture and tradition. But presidents of the so-called socialist republics such as Syria, Iraq and Libya believe they also have God's blessing to name their sons as their successors. The presidents of these three countries each came to power in army-led coups and have since legitimised their rule by staging "referendums" that invariably give them 99.9 per cent public approval. Their courtiers have convinced them that the people will support any decision they make.

In Iraq, Saddam Hussein's notorious son, the oafish Uday, behaves as if Iraq belongs to him. Part of the country's oil revenues is paid into his private bank accounts and he has enriched himself further by issuing business licences in exchange for bribes.

Libya's Colonel Muammar Gaddafi, who has also been in power for nearly three decades, believes his son, Seif al-Islam, is the Libyan best qualified to replace him. The 27 year old was dispatched to Amman by his father to congratulate Abdullah on behalf of the Libyan people.

Mercifully for the Palestinians - who claim to be the best educated and most progressive of all Arabs - Yasser and Suha Arafat have been blessed with a daughter, Zahwa. In male-dominated Palestinian society she will have to fight twice as hard as any boy to win a place in the dynastic stakes and she is in any case too young to replace her ailing father.

The trouble is that most of the next generation of rulers will probably lack the political skills of their fathers and so be unable to deal with the resentments that are building up throughout the Arab world.

From Libya and Morocco in the west all the way to the Gulf in the east, ruling families have reason to be afraid of the rising power of political Islam. The firebrands in Egypt who assassinate western tourists, the Algerian fundamentalists who torture and kill their own people, the Syrian Muslim Brothers who have vowed to topple the atheist Ba'ath regime and even the observant Muslims of Saudi Arabia are waiting in the wings for the right opportunity that will propel them into the palaces.

None of the ruling regimes' chosen sons can be described as devout Muslims and the profound sense of alienation is evident even in countries like Libya and Iraq, where Seif al-Islam and Uday have been largely tutored at home, leading sequestered lives and mixing only with their fathers' approved circle of cronies.

The mosque thus becomes an alternative source of authority and assistance for impoverished families who find it difficult to identify with the chinless generation of future rulers. But the radical preachers are no more interested in representative government, and rather more committed to imposing their own way of life on people, than the incumbent rulers. Deciding between a rock and a hard place is not much of a choice for the many who live beyond the palace walls.

This article first appeared in the 12 February 1999 issue of the New Statesman, Kick out the image-makers

Biteback and James Wharton
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“It was the most traumatic chapter of my life”: ex-soldier James Wharton on his chemsex addiction

One of the British Army’s first openly gay soldiers reveals how he became trapped in a weekend world of drug and sex parties.

“Five days disappeared.” James Wharton, a 30-year-old former soldier, recalls returning to his flat in south London at 11pm on a Sunday night in early March. He hadn’t eaten or slept since Wednesday. In the five intervening days, he had visited numerous different apartments, checked in and out of a hotel room, partied with dozens of people, had sex, and smoked crystal meth “religiously”.

One man he met during this five-day blur had been doing the same for double the time. “He won’t have been exaggerating,” Wharton tells me now. “He looked like he’d been up for ten days.”

On Monday, Wharton went straight to his GP. He had suffered a “massive relapse” while recovering from his addiction to chemsex: group sex parties enhanced by drugs.

“Crystal meth lets you really dig in, to use an Army term”

I meet Wharton on a very different Monday morning six months after that lost long weekend. Sipping a flat white in a sleek café workspace in Holborn, he’s a stroll away from his office in the city, where he works as a PR. He left the Army in 2013 after ten years, having left school and home at 16.


Wharton left school at 16 to join the Army. Photo: Biteback

With his stubble, white t-shirt and tortoise shell glasses, he now looks like any other young media professional. But he’s surfacing from two years in the chemsex world, where he disappeared to every weekend – sometimes for 72 hours straight.

Back then, this time on a Monday would have been “like a double-decker bus smashing through” his life – and that’s if he made it into work at all. Sometimes he’d still be partying into the early hours of a Tuesday morning. The drugs allow your body to go without sleep. “Crystal meth lets you really dig in, to use an Army expression,” Wharton says, wryly.


Wharton now works as a PR in London. Photo: James Wharton

Mainly experienced by gay and bisexual men, chemsex commonly involves snorting the stimulant mephodrone, taking “shots” (the euphoric drug GBL mixed with a soft drink), and smoking the amphetamine crystal meth.

These drugs make you “HnH” (high and horny) – a shorthand on dating apps that facilitate the scene. Ironically, they also inhibit erections, so Viagra is added to the mix. No one, sighs Wharton, orgasms. He describes it as a soulless and mechanical process. “Can you imagine having sex with somebody and then catching them texting at the same time?”

“This is the real consequence of Section 28”

Approximately 3,000 men who go to Soho’s 56 Dean Street sexual health clinic each month are using “chems”, though it’s hard to quantify how many people regularly have chemsex in the UK. Chemsex environments can be fun and controlled; they can also be unsafe and highly addictive.

Participants congregate in each other’s flats, chat, chill out, have sex and top up their drugs. GBL can only be taken in tiny doses without being fatal, so revellers set timers on their phones to space out the shots.

GBL is known as “the date rape drug”; it looks like water, and a small amount can wipe your memory. Like some of his peers, Wharton was raped while passed out from the drug. He had been asleep for six or so hours, and woke up to someone having sex with him. “That was the worst point, without a doubt – rock bottom,” he tells me. “[But] it didn’t stop me from returning to those activities again.”

There is a chemsex-related death every 12 days in London from usually accidental GBL overdoses; a problem that Wharton compares to the AIDS epidemic in a book he’s written about his experiences, Something for the Weekend.


Wharton has written a book about his experiences. Photo: Biteback

Wharton’s first encounter with the drug, at a gathering he was taken to by a date a couple of years ago, had him hooked.

“I loved it and I wanted more immediately,” he recalls. From then on, he would take it every weekend, and found doctors, teachers, lawyers, parliamentary researchers, journalists and city workers all doing the same thing. He describes regular participants as the “London gay elite”.

“Chemsex was the most traumatic chapter of my life” 

Topics of conversation “bounce from things like Lady Gaga’s current single to Donald Trump”, Wharton boggles. “You’d see people talking about the general election, to why is Britney Spears the worst diva of them all?”

Eventually, he found himself addicted to the whole chemsex culture. “It’s not one single person, it’s not one single drug, it’s just all of it,” he says.



Wharton was in the Household Cavalry alongside Prince Harry. Photos: Biteback and James Wharton

Wharton feels the stigma attached to chemsex is stopping people practising it safely, or being able to stop. He’s found a support network through gay community-led advice services, drop-ins and workshops. Not everyone has that access, or feels confident coming forward.

“This is the real consequence of Section 28,” says Wharton, who left school in 2003, the year this legislation against “promoting” homosexuality was repealed. “Who teaches gay men how to have sex? Because the birds and the bees chat your mum gives you is wholly irrelevant.”


Wharton was the first openly gay soldier to appear in the military in-house magazine. Photo courtesy of Biteback

Wharton only learned that condoms are needed in gay sex when he first went to a gay bar at 18. He was brought up in Wrexham, north Wales, by working-class parents, and described himself as a “somewhat geeky gay” prior to his chemsex days.

After four years together, he and his long-term partner had a civil partnership in 2010; they lived in a little cottage in Windsor with two dogs. Their break-up in 2014 launched him into London life as a single man.

As an openly gay soldier, Wharton was also an Army poster boy; he appeared in his uniform on the cover of gay magazine Attitude. He served in the Household Cavalry with Prince Harry, who once defended him from homophobic abuse, and spent seven months in Iraq.


In 2012, Wharton appeared with his then civil partner in Attitude magazine. Photo courtesy of Biteback

A large Union Jack shield tattoo covering his left bicep pokes out from his t-shirt – a physical reminder of his time at war on his now much leaner frame. He had it done the day he returned from Iraq.

Yet even including war, Wharton calls chemsex “the most traumatic chapter” of his life. “Iraq was absolutely Ronseal, it did exactly what it said on the tin,” he says. “It was going to be a bit shit, and then I was coming home. But with chemsex, you don’t know what’s going to happen next.

“When I did my divorce, I had support around me. When I did the Army, I had a lot of support. Chemsex was like a million miles an hour for 47 hours, then on the 48th hour it was me on my own, in the back of an Uber, thinking where did it all go wrong? And that’s traumatic.”

Something for the Weekend: Life in the Chemsex Underworld by James Wharton is published by Biteback.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 12 February 1999 issue of the New Statesman, Kick out the image-makers