It's been a privilege to be here in the Middle East during one population's decision to finally call its own shots. A dear friend who lives in Jeddah wrote me that he has had to "resist the powerful urge to grab a flint-lock musket and three-point hat to join the rebels [him]self", and I feel similarly. But this is not my fight, nor my victory, when it comes. I'll do my part in cheering lustily from the sidelines. I feel my inner Bostonian coming out when all I want to yell is 'here we go Syria, here we go', a la the Boston Garden of my childhood.
Other than the thoughts above, I have not much more to say on the matter of this Arab revolution; I read the news with a bemused smile on my face, thinking of all the money we spent on so much warring tragedy when all it really took was patience, Facebook, and some savvy Arab IT nerds. Perhaps old Zuckerberg should win the Nobel Peace prize. There's nothing like wall-envy to stoke the fires of freedom.
So, to break from the above, here's some quick glimpses of my past week. It's been a bit radio silent as I collect my thoughts after some pretty difficult events, but here goes:
- I went to the gym this morning during 'women's hours'. On the way there, I noticed that all the electricity was out in Ramallah. This is not uncommon; you know, conflict zone, developing country, blah blah blah. I was going for a ladies' workout class taught by a very severe Russian woman. I got there and the women were waiting in the locker room for the lights to come back on. There was a healthy political debate going, with the women discussing the happenings in Amman, Syria, Gaza...the whole neighborhood. I sat there listening, thinking 'here I am sitting in Ramallah, in a locker room with no lights, surrounded by Palestinian women talking some serious politics'. Not in Kansas anymore, dear reader. The workout was intense.
- Moving back during the week, I spent Thursday-Tues of this past stretch of time in Amman. Now for those of you who don't know, I have a long love affair with the Arab world's most boring capital; I studied abroad there in 2004, went back in 2006 to do a research study, and spent the majority of 07-08 pounding pavement trying to get a bookmobile started up for Iraqi refugees. This was the best thing I'll ever do in my life, of that I am sure. I worked 18 hour days, climbed around used truck lots on the Iraqi border, got hauled in by the secret police, made incredible friends, snuggled endless children, held hands with endless crying mothers, got my heart broken by the sheer tragedy, and ultimately came out of it with a $3M USAID-funded 3 year program and an experience I will never forget. So, there's that history, you know? I was excited to go back. I stayed with a dear friend of mine, which was wonderful, and I felt very much at home. But on the final afternoon I was there, this dear friend and I went for coffee. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the news, who knows, but we ended up falling into a political conversation. Now, these are not my favorite to have here, for obvious reasons. It generally goes like this: my country gets shit on, I politely listen along, I make a joke about Obama, I sigh in commiseration, and then hopefully it stops. Plus, I live in Palestine-- my very existence is political. Do I really need to talk about it? In any case, he started in on the war in Iraq after awhile, and I was just plain tired of the topic. In my desire to end the conversation, I quickly said 'forget the Iraq war, it was a long time ago'. He exploded, told me I didn't care about Iraq, and launched into the various and sundry ways in which my privileged American existence made me unable to understand how devastating it was. Now, given, my comment was not the best way to end the conversation. But hearing someone I care about tell me I don't care about Iraq almost killed me. Especially since this person had direct experience with the contrary...I dragged him around with me to refugee camps for protection as I sought to talk to Iraqi families, I introduced him to my Iraqi friends, etc. Plus, this is a friend! I lost it. I sobbed. It was awful. Even writing about it feels awful, but I sort of have to. It was honestly one of the most hurtful things anyone has ever said to me. Which brings me to my next point.
- This is not sexy, my life, or my work. Make no mistake. It is as much isolating and weird and lonely and boring as it is fabulous and normal and interesting and dynamic. I've lost many friends I cared deeply about, the thing that still pains me the most, due to distance, time, and the sheer growing apart of lives lived unentwined. I've missed births, deaths, graduations and hospitalizations. I've spent countless hours in airplanes, I've lived in 7 cities in the 5 years since college, and never spent more than 1 year in any single apartment. All that being said, no one is making me do it, and when I add up the pluses and minuses, i'm still in the black, and most days I am truly happy and wouldn't change a thing. So I guess, don't make development work sexy, nor make it into an act of martyrdom, but do realize it's a choice like any other, with trade-offs that need to be recognized. But to have someone tell me I don't care, given all of the above? Come on, dude. I could be eating a pork bun right now.
- The crossing at the King Hussein/Allenby Bridge from Jordan back into Israel is truly one of the most absurd experiences I have ever had. Bedouins and Japanese tourists all in a row, endless waiting, repeated questioning, and then finally emerging five hours later into the dappled sunlight of late afternoon to have an Israeli tell me, with a look of almost reverent shock on his face, that I am incredibly beautiful. Experiential whiplash.
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