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JORDAN
February 15th is a raw winter day in Jordan's capital Amman. It is a day of demonstrations around the world against a possible war with Iraq. In London, where the weather is also raw and cold, a million people from all strata of society turn out. But on the streets of Amman, barely 2,500 are present. It's a coalition of the usual willing suspects. The green flags of the Muslim Brotherhood and the Red Flags of Marxists flap above the crowd in the stiff breeze. The crowd curses Arab leaders for their passivity in the face of the Bush administration's push for war and chants for the defense of Iraq. The demonstration doesn't lack for passion, but the small turnout is surprising to an observer. Ibrahim Alloush, university lecturer and Islamic political activist says the demonstration has to be seen in the particular context of Jordanian politics. Real dissent is stifled in Jordan, Alloush explains. This demonstration has official government sanction and hence many people won't come out because they feel it isn't independently organized. Alloush is a fierce proponent of democratic expression. He learned this ideal as a student in the U.S. There you have the essence of the conundrum that is Jordan on the eve of war. Jordan is probably the most Americanized of Arab nations -it is the only Arab country with that ultimate symbol of American friendship, a free-trade agreement with the U.S. and it is a nation deeply concerned about the coming conflict.
But Jordanians are not overly demonstrative about their feelings because they are, for the most part happy to follow the decisions made by their monarch, King Abdullah. And, King Abdullah, unlike his father King Hussein during the first Gulf War, has decided to work with America in the current conflict with Iraq. The people, in public at least, take their lead from him. So while tanks rumble around Heathrow Airport and Americans are sent scurrying to hardware stores to stock up on plastic wrap and masking tape, in Jordan, King Abdullah's government keeps a grip on popular feelings, but for the most part doesn't have to hold on too tight. The feeling you get traveling around this country of 5 million people is that the situation is normal and there's nothing to get excited about. Remarkable considering the country sits smack dab in the middle of the world's greatest crisis zone. Baghdad is 600 miles across the desert to the east, and Jerusalem is an hour's drive to the west. Amman is yet another incoherent jumble of a new city. Originally set on "Seven Hills," yes, the local tourist authorities want you to make the connection with Rome, an earlier empire that used to call the shots around here, Amman has spread in all directions. Each convulsion in its neighbors, Iraq and Israel and the Palestinian territories over the last four decades has brought hundreds of thousands of refugees to Amman's hills. If there is a heart of Amman it is Hashemi Square. Set in a sharp valley with the ancient Acropolis overlooking it from one side and a massive Roman Amphitheatre running up the other. Hashemi Square, home of cheap shopping and teashops, is the unofficial headquarters of Jordan's Iraqi population. Best estimates are that there are around 300,000 Iraqis living in Jordan. Most seem to be economic migrants rather than political refugees from Saddam's regime. In fact with just weeks until the expected war, you can't find an Iraqi to say a bad word about Saddam. Not the peasant woman, shapelessly wrapped in black, crouched in a doorway selling cigarettes at a discount. Nor do a group of men killing time in a tea shop next to a tobacconists with an awning that says the "Big Taste of America." The praise for Saddam isn't surprising. The popularly accepted figure is that one in 10 of the Iraqis living in Amman is a member of the Mukhabarat, Saddam Hussein's secret police. The social connections between Jordan and Iraq are part of daily life here. People come and go between Baghdad and Amman with ease. The economic connections are just as close. The air of normality in Amman extends to the countryside. The highway to the border with Iraq runs through a bleak stony desert. The main forms of human activity are Bedouin shepherds leading their flocks to water and grass that aren't visible to the untrained eye, and the oil trucks from Iraq making their regular round trips to the Zarqa oil refinery. At the Border Crossing
At R'weisheid, the border crossing with Iraq all is calm. R'weisheid is just a couple of sheds, and cheap military buildings and a duty free shop. Normal traffic goes by: a steady stream of tankers and trucks, coming
in and out of Iraq, families visiting Amman for the Islamic holiday of
Eid al-Adha, small-time entrepreneurs driving ancient station wagons loaded
with consumer goods purchased in Amman for sale on the streets of Baghdad.
The streets of Baqa'a camp are poor and festering with anger. Baqa'a, on the outskirts of Amman, was set up to handle the exodus of Palestinians from the West Bank after the 1967 War. Baqa'a is the largest refugee camp of the dozen or so dotted around Jordan, although camp is something of a misnomer. The people who live in Baqa'a have long since moved out of tents and after 35 years and two generations born here, the place has the feel and look of a permanent settlement.
One floor above the poorly paved street is the office of dentist and activist Hishem Bustani. He has personal experience of the monarchy's desire to keep the lid on dissent. "I've been arrested, like, five times," he says. King Abdullah's government is fragmenting civil society, Bustani claims, all the while "putting on a tie and showing a freshly, shaved face to the West and claiming to be in favor of democracy." Bustani was in trouble with the government long before war with Iraq reared its head. He is an anti-Israeli activist in an Arab country that has taken large steps towards normalizing relations with its neighbor to the west. Bustani works in the "anti-normalization movement," which makes its biggest political statement through a boycott of American products believed to be manufactured by Jewish-owned companies. The list of proscribed products is lengthy and includes well known brands of shampoo and cosmetics. Late last year, the Jordanian government banned the Anti-Normalization Committee's activities. But in Arab culture where word of mouth is paramount, the boycott continues, a quiet way for the Jordanian public to show displeasure with government policy. Dentist Hishem Bustani told me the boycott is just a small indication of popular unhappiness and that the coming war might spark off violent protests. I told him I didn't feel the kind of swelling of unrest that could be sparked off by war with Iraq. "I feel it. I'm telling you," he assured me. Although he acknowledged that a war with Iraq might not be a big enough issue to galvanize Jordanians. There are plenty of grievances more profound than the survival of a dictator like Saddam to ordinary Arabs. And in Jordan, there is one place to find out about them, if you can slip past the cordon of security that surrounds it: the Islamist stronghold of Ma'an, a town of 20,000 on the road south to Aqaba. Ma'an's citizens have taken to the streets to challenge the Jordanian government line on a range of issues from normalization of relations with Israel to fiscal belt-tightening required by the IMF, and most recently the possible conflict with Iraq. The government's response has been harsh. Hundreds of troops patrol the streets. Armored personnel carriers are stationed at major intersections in the town.
I spent an interesting Friday in Ma'an talking politics and religion which in this city are inseparable. The very youthful local imam, Hussein Motawe Ayydi, emphasizes that in Islam, religion and politics are joined together. Ayydi's Friday sermons, laced with politics have drawn the attention of Jordan's security forces. The young preacher has been arrested three times "for crossing the red lines" in his sermons and speaking against the government. In Ma'an I was treated to a splendid lunch of Manzaf, Jordan's national dish. A whole lamb is boiled in its own juices and yoghurt, then served up on an enormous platter of rice with almonds. My translator and I were treated to legendary Arab hospitality, although she resisted its ancient rules ever so slightly when she desperately tried to avoid being offered a third massive helping. I wondered how Adel Mohamit and his extended clan felt about Egyptian
President Hosni Mubarak's statement there was nothing Arabs could do to
prevent war on Iraq. Mohamit derided Mubarak and all Arab leaders as men
only interested in preserving their own rule, which to him meant kowtowing
to the U.S. Adel's brother chipped in, "if they leave it to Arab citizens they will choose martyrdom and fight the Americans and the Europeans." Adel told me that 20 young men had gone to Iraq to fight. The imam added that if it was allowed, thousands of Jordanians would join their Arab brothers in the fight against America. There's only one way to test the validity of that proposition, and I
somehow doubt King Abdullah's government would allow thousands of young
men to travel to Baghdad to fight. Jordan is too tightly constructed a
society for that. Set along the world's most dangerous geopolitical fault
line, it's built like one of those earthquake-proof buildings in San Francisco
- its foundations set on rollers so the building will sway but not crack
when the earth shifts.
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Jordan:
Economy and Trade
