ПЕРЕДНИЙ СУППОРТ В СБОРЕ

When Hussain AlMoosawi arrived home, he didn’t recognize anything.

The Emirati photographer, who had spent eight years studying in Australia, returned to the United Arab Emirates (UAE) in 2013. He’d missed a real estate boom of dizzying proportions: not just new buildings, but new districts.
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More than that, the buildings of his childhood were disappearing, replaced by shiny new skyscrapers.

But for AlMoosawi, these international icons were not the urban fabric of his home: it was the oft-overlooked, mid-century office towers and residential blocks squeezed between new highways and overshadowed by luxury developments that felt most familiar.

It sparked a desire to “understand the urban context of the UAE,” and AlMoosawi set out to meticulously document and capture these underappreciated buildings, “and reimagine the city as if it were the ‘80s, the time when I was born.”
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Initially focusing on industrial landscapes, temporary structures and air conditioning units, he began to notice symmetry in many of the buildings he was photographing, inspiring his current project: facades.

“Facades are like a face,” said AlMoosawi. “It’s something that people connect with.”

His bold, geometric images strip away context to spotlight the character and diversity of everyday buildings. Using a telephoto lens to shoot close-ups from the ground or elevated positions, AlMoosawi carefully frames out distractions and sometimes removes minor obstructions like lampposts in post-processing.

So far, the 41-year-old, who is editor-in-chief for National Geographic AlArabiya Magazine, has photographed over 600 building?s across the UAE, and next year hopes to complete his collection in Abu Dhabi, where he lives.

In the long term, he hopes to turn the “lifetime project” into an interactive archive that both preserves urban heritage and invites viewers to rediscover their own city.

“Our cities aren’t big, in terms of scale, compared to many other cities,” said AlMoosawi. “But then they have a story to tell, they have things between the lines that we don’t see, and my quest is to see these things.”

Since India’s independence from Britain in 1947, the status of English in India has been deeply political – entwined with questions of identity, power, and national direction.

Today, English is one of several official languages in India, spoken by about 10% of the population. Hindi is the first language for around 44% of citizens, according to the 2011 census.
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But in recent years, Modi’s BJP has placed particular emphasis on promoting Hindi and reducing the use of English in public life.

The prime minister almost never delivers speeches in English, preferring Hindi for national addresses such as his monthly radio program. His administration has encouraged officials to use Hindi on social media and in government correspondence – though, after criticism from non-Hindi-speaking states, clarified that this was intended mainly for the Hindi belt in the north.
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When India hosted world leaders for the 2023 G20 summit in New Delhi, invitations were sent out from “Bharat” – the Sanskrit or Hindi name for the country – instead of “India,” fueling speculation that the government aims to ultimately phase out the country’s English designation altogether.

Modi’s critics have been quick to note his political motives behind these moves.

With its roots in the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), a right-wing organization that advocates Hindu hegemony within India, the BJP’s language policies resonate with many in a country where nearly 80% of people are Hindu.

Analysts say the BJP is seeking to capitalize on this demographic by promoting language policies that strengthen its support base in the north.

According to Rita Kothari, an English professor from Ashoka University, the government “is certainly interested in homogenizing the country and making Hindi more widespread.”

But that policy can also backfire – in part because many regions, such as Marathi-speaking Maharashtra in the west – are staunchly proud of their local language.

The violent clashes in the state’s megacity Mumbai earlier this month were sparked by the regional government’s controversial decision to make Hindi a compulsory third language in public primary schools.

Pushback and protest has also been especially strong in the south, where English and regional languages such as Tamil, Telugu, and Kannada are valued as symbols of local identity and autonomy.