Monday, August 2, 2010
Walking through Jordan and seeing one’s life
After the landing in desert land and the clearing of the intelligence officers, Jordan opened its doors, I opened my heart, and a hectic clash in a dream world ensued. A dream world of split personalities, where at night, or any given time during the day; Palestine is Chiapas, Iraq is Colombia, The US gives without interest, the Bedouins are Navajos in the southwest who dream of air conditioned skies, and Jordan is the land where nothing bad happens. This place is too much like home, I understand much of it and this brings me a certain level of comfort, but I don’t like it. To my cynical eyes, this country is like any other where the indigenous and the poor learn to survive without food or water, escape the spell of modernity while the hierarchies have a first dream world and those with plenty of wealth can dress and behave any way they want without regard to Sharia law. This is indeed a place of contradictions.
As the jetlag subsides and welcome greetings fade away, I see a structure oversaturated with ministers, their own political plans, and personal issues. I wonder how is that the many ministers can get anything accomplished if they are subject to political, personal and royal agendas? Is this a progressive country, and the symbol of Arab moderation it proclaims in the media or a military state? I feel in my most resentful self that the politics of hypocrisy and convenience also have a place within Jordanian society just like in the American continent. I get very confused, sad and even angry to see the many disparities in this country that are often accompanied with a denial. In this regard I feel too familiar, and maybe that’s why I get easily agitated, and find myself trying to calm down. As we visit different agencies, I feel very lucky to hear of people’s histories of survival in an environment with so many restrictions.
I find myself in a very fragile state, even physically, and I get skeptical when I see the two different initiatives on youth development, the one sponsored by the Ecumenical Studies Center and the Bint Talal organization sponsored by princess Basma. The youth in the first one address issues that are real to their communities and daily lives, the Bint Talal center has almost a cosmetic appearance of smiles and no scars, this is hard to imagine when working with what I am explained to be a poverty stricken population by the director of the center. As the visit progresses, it is hard for me to find people to openly talk about drugs and crime, most representatives say that is nonexistent or under control. Every time I see this picture I have to ask, where are those who we do not see, what they do to survive, and is anybody doing something for them? As I read and see more about Jordan drug trafficking and addiction, gang fights, honor killings, Iraqi-Jordanian feuds and identity politics I grow weary of the degree of denial.
Another reminder of the power of the systems and structures is present during the visits to the municipalities. I feel that the impact of these encounters is intangible, yet backed up by very real institutions. When visit the municipalities of Amman, karak and Irbid, and the Bedouin areas this feeling gets accentuated. Some just talk pretty, others seem genuinely interested and desiring to improve their communities, others do not even know where their resources come from, others are too eager to please our eras during election times. When visiting the Queen Zein Al Sharaf Institute for Development makes me feel good to see a woman in the leadership. It makes me feel sad in contrast to see the Ministry of Agriculture developing what to me seems like the solution for the hunger and thirst of the elites or the ones who can pay. The son of a retired general gains enough trust in me to let me know that what we see is only a small part of the class issues in the country. When I ask about the Iraqi refugee reality, his explanation makes takes away my hope. He gives me depictions of people dying of hunger in the middle of the dessert in makeshift tents; he tells me that in Jordan they only are thought of as charity publicity at the end of Ramadan. He tells me that this is also the biggest contrast between the first waves of guest from Iraq, who were extremely wealthy and who create a lot of power conflicts in the kingdom.
As I have grown around diplomats due to my parents careers, I have to admit that most of the time I see that circle as an Invite to share in the big pie of nothing, I see the same in this land, and I can almost see the same people, different language. My alienation grows bigger when thinking how irrelevant the human emotion, and making the person whole is for the hierarchies and their schemes of fixing society. And I try to figure out what can I learn from this. My answer is troubling for my anger and frustration. The one lesson I see in my Jordan experience, and that can be applied all over the world, much to the regret of the freedom and anarchy dreamers, is that systems and structures still matter. They can make or break lives, store water and pave roads, subsidize women and youth initiatives, earn weapons contracts or stop and make wars. As we go through the Palestinian refugee camps, I feel like a white person walking through Soweto. I cast doubt on the many layers of my personal privileges and alienations. And the question ringing in my head is who really dominates the national and international humanitarian agendas here? This becomes more present when we visit the UNRWA , IOM , and UNHCR offices; at times these places look like one more bureaucratic mess, at times as humane seasoned workers, at times like people who just live form check to check.
I cannot understand all that is in front of me in just a few days, I know I am biased, I want to trust my instincts, and I have to force myself to step back, and at least for now, to just watch. I see that our human struggles of survival are the same, to make our issues relevant, fashionable, and important. How to achieve this when it is basically a matter of the heart? The basic answer to a very complex issue is honest dialogue. A dialogue that needs to happen at all levels, skipping the many ministers and hierarchy systems, in places where no one is there for the photo opportunity, and in rooms full of politicians who play for the favors of the royal family. Where even in a world of hierarchy people are equal in their condition, an island of equity where class doesn’t count or pushes people’s agendas back. In this kind of environment the main understanding to have is that in those especial dialogues elimination of class doesn’t mean eliminating traditional structures or responsibilities, and that if one is to really see the country and its peoples grow, it has to happen. IF I go away form what is truth to my heart I fail to see, and become afraid. What did I see in Jordan? I ask myself, also what did I see in myself? I saw dust and thirst, I saw Italian suits and people begging for change in the old downtown streets, I saw a house of luxury and domestic foreign servants, in a few words, I saw a microcosm of the world, how ironic. I find my personal fears there too, the fear of accepting the invitation to the convenient, the business talk, and the titles that are supposed to mean that one is honorable, the titles that validate one’s intentions, and even worth. I tell myself that I cannot forget these people, I cannot forget my people, and I cannot forget who I am supposed to be myself.
The fatigue of a lifetime of resistance of the ones who live down brings Jordan and the rest of the world together, a fatigue polluted by the perpetuation of some of humanity’s unhealthiest traits, a situation that brings awareness, and impulses cynicism to win. Yet, If I stay in that gray area fed by negativity and tiredness I’ll fail to see love for the land, youth willing to acknowledge real issues, spirits of Bedouins resistance, a smile in a camel’s face, food in a land of need, and life blooming in the middle of the desert. Regardless of whom we are, our hope for a better world brings us together. I chose to not criticize anymore, and to open my eyes and awaken my conscience. It is a humbling feeling, I no longer know where I belong, yet I am at home. Regardless of what the consultants working in a monarch’s land may think of Freire, being in Jordan with its people, working with them even for a minute, and giving the voice of my people, is working and giving a voice for its people, not forgetting is to not giving up because of the people, and to be one of the people wherever I roam is what counts for me. Being in Jordan is part of my liberation, and no one can take it from me, regardless of what the consultants may say. This place gives me two feelings at the same time, and they are the same ones that I carry with me all the time, joy and a heavy heart.
Posted by Tomas Ramirez
Photo credit: Tomas Ramirez