“All the other people from your country have left,” said the Barista. Ominous sounding indeed. He was referring of course to all of the American summer students at the University of Jordan, who finished their language programs last week and have returned home, leaving me to represent. I can't be confined to the societal construct that is the "semester."
I received word from the powers-that-be that I may have to fly home sooner than planned. It would only shave a few weeks off of my stay, but the message suddenly made me cognizant of how quickly the time is passing, and how much I have left to do. A couple weeks ago, a social scientist friend (who is well-traveled in the Arab world) was in town, and we were discussing my impressions thus far of Jordan. I gave him my run-down to date on the local socio-political context, but noted that my lens of observation up to this point has been fairly narrow – I've spent most of my time in middle class West Amman. His frank and astute commentary on this fact was, “man, you need to spend some time with some poor people.” Werd.
There is a fairly stark economic dividing line between West and East Amman, with East Amman constituting the much more sprawling, crowded, working-class, and economically depressed section of the city. GDP per capita in Jordan is around $4900, according to the always-trusted CIA World Factbook (*cough*), and the section of the city I call home no doubt biases that figure significantly upwards. It's easy in West Amman to forget that unemployment in Jordan hovers at somewhere in the area of 30% (unofficially), the price of everything is rapidly rising without a concurrent average income trend, and that at least 15% of the population lives below the poverty line (an official figure which seems far too low). These numbers almost certainly don't take Jordan's substantial and largely destitute refugee population (nearly 2.5 million, depending on who's counting) into account.
The closest most westerners ever come to this other side of Amman is a visit to the downtown Citadel and Roman Amphitheater, with some shopping time spent haggling in the Souks. After a few hours of the chaos, noise, poverty, and pollution, most beat a hasty retreat back to their hotels in West Amman. Moreover, most westerners (and especially Americans) are cautioned by their respective embassies not to venture too much further into East Amman, where the crime rate is supposedly higher and there are fewer SWAT-looking paramilitary personnel with assault rifles to instill confidence that Big Brother is maintaining the iron hand of law and order.
It is this side of Amman, however, that no doubt holds the most potential truth to be found in what actually constitutes the Jordanian socio-political reality. It is not only where the underprivileged majority resides, but where social discontent seems to be most vehemently and publicly expressed, where the on-the-ground realities of Jordanian politics and economics play out, and where the seams are no doubt most likely to stretch and break. It is not just East Amman that intrigues me in this regard, but similarly crowded, down-trodden, and far more politically volatile urban centers in the West Bank, Gaza, Beirut, and even Baghdad.
If only I wasn't so timid (okay, mildly terrified). While I know that some of the reports regarding East Amman are no doubt considerably exaggerated (so the State Department can say they told me so when I get myself shanked), I also know that some of the reports contain shades of truth, and even my local friends generally tell me to steer clear (I don't think some have even themselves spent any significant amount of time on the east side).
I have no problem at all blending in here, but that's only helpful so long as I don't open my mouth. I've been told I should just tell people that I am indeed Arab, have grown up in the States, but have come to Jordan to get in touch with my roots. This would no doubt open some doors and garner a great deal of friendly sentiment. However, as an academic and an intellectual, I have an ethical issue with telling people a lie about myself, and then asking them to pass on to me their truth.
So thus my impasse. I'm not sure I'll resolve this issue before I leave, unless I somehow manage to miraculously acquire the local dialect and/or throw reasonable caution to the wind. I'm almost certainly going to have to come back, after considerably more language training and fact-finding. It also would help to make some friends who can guide me through my initial interactions.
I'm generally critical of social scientists who claim subject matter authority, but have never ventured beyond the ivory tower to validate facts with their own two eyes. Needless to say, I understand the temptation. I'm in the process of dreaming up my dissertation proposal, and the theories I have, to be adequately tested, would require the kind of down-in-the-weeds social interaction that I'm currently ill-equipped to pursue.
Time and patience I suppose. Damnit.
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