Election Day

Election Day
Quiet and calm nestle within the streets of Madaba as the town awakes for Election Day. The nation has a two day holiday, yes-two whole days off in order to vote, and Jordanians are approaching their duties with diligence and a degree of excitement. I wander the streets for the visitor’s center, hidden well from the visitors and after several failed attempts; I head back towards the haven of my hotel. A car speeds by and honks repeatedly as an arm waves frantically from the window. I look around and realize the flailing arm and erratic horn serve to gain my attention. The car whips to the side of the road and my driver from the airport jumps out of the car and dodges the traffic to cross the street. He greets me with a warm smile and shakes my hand. His excitement is contagious and I can’t help but laugh with him for a moment.

“Today is very busy, very busy with election!” He exclaims.

He clutches both cell phones in his hand and I point to the mobile devices. He says that the election is today and his cousin is involved. I am unsure if his cousin is running for office, or merely involved in the process, but after several more moments runs back across traffic to his car and drives off in a fury.

As I head back to the hotel, I notice the streets are waking for the day. A soldier and a man with a cigarette dangling from his mouth are working to snap a deadlock on the exchange office, one on each arm of the massive bolt cutters, pushing furiously and laughing at one another. A van speeds by covered with election posters and the words freedom written on the windows.

While preparing for a trip to the pool, (I find it hard to avoid working on something, so I use jet lag as an excuse for engaging in the art of relaxation) I hear shouting, as though from a large group, coming from the window. I see nothing, and just assume it’s a common occurrence.

Several hours later, a new friend from Jordan (complete with a Chicago accent) tells me of the demonstrations happening throughout the town due to the elections. Throughout the day we hear sirens and helicopters and I fight the journalistic urges to enter the streets and photograph the process. We notice people on the rooftops pointing, so we also make our way to a higher vantage point to see tanks filled with soldiers making their way up the main street into the city.

Here I am, one day in Jordan and riots and demonstrations are occurring just down the road. Do I photograph? Do I participate in this Election Day process? The journalist in me says yes, the practical side-which weighs the calculated risks of such situations says no- much to my professor’s dismay, I’m sure. Not knowing the language, not knowing the climate of the local political and religious sects and simply not knowing my way around town make this an illogical choice.

Curious, I ask my local friend what is the source of these demonstrations. She heard that the government was trying to interfere in the election process and many of the young men from the rural villages were protesting this interference. I pause and think of all the issues we have in America when it comes to voting- disenfranchisement, vote caging, unsecured electronic voting machines, etc., and how calm our streets remain on Election Day.

Should our streets be calm when the government interferes with our ability to vote? Should we cause a riot, make a scene, force the government to send in troops to quell the dissatisfaction at our own election process? I am not condoning rioting, but merely saying a strong voice of opposition is needed at times, particularly when our ability to vote is at stake. Would this balance our democracy, help force more of our votes to count? Or should we engage in more active civil disobedience to achieve such means; particularly when our media is unable or unwilling to help us voice our dissent? Maybe civil disobedience would be effective if the people had a stronger voice. And where do we derive such strength in voice?

Amidst the chaos of the day, the evening returns the town of Madaba to normalcy. As the sun set and both the political and actual temperature cooled and the streets came back to life. A car pulled away from the hotel covered in flowers and carrying a bride and groom towards their celebration of union. Tourists entered the streets to dine at the local restaurants, people launched fireworks in honor of several weddings and an almost full moon rose over Madaba.


News on the election day in Jordan: http://english.aljazeera.net/NR/exeres/C27980A9-903A-43DA-B334-12CF4191B11D.htm

Moon Over Madaba

Moon over Madaba

Jordan remains a country of beauty and relative calm nestled between two of the most volatile regions in the Middle East. Landing in Amman, one is fully aware of their surroundings, as men holding Blackwater signs and drivers looking for groups of western tourists await their new arrivals. I pause to look out the vast windows of the airport and ponder the proximity of such pain and despair which I read about in the paper. Over a few hills to the East lies Baghdad, to the West lies Israel.

Quite a surreal drive into the little town of Madaba, Bedouin tents scattered amongst the arid landscape with flocks of sheep and groves of olive trees woven through the desert landscape and street signs with arrows pointing towards Iraq. My driver proudly tell me of his family in Ohio and how he hopes to obtain a visa soon to return for a visit. He lived in Ohio for sometime, but returned to care for his family farm. Pride fills his voice as he tells of the olive trees and livestock that his brother is now caring for just outside of town. The Jordanian flag hangs from his mirror and posters of politicians are taped to his rear window. Local music plays from a cassette tape as we travel the roads into Madaba.

As we enter town, I reminded of such vast differences in our world. At home, the local parks and recreation department is tearing down a wonderful little spot of woods and natural habitat near my home to fill the land with playing fields and parking lots. A multi-million dollar project to “better the community.” I look out the window and see young boys kicking a worn and tattered soccer ball through a dusty patch of empty space between three story concrete buildings, laughing and playing amongst the debris and rocks that litter their ‘field.’ Their joy and love of the sport is no different than in the States, only the surroundings. Does a community need such millions dollar structures for its children to play and engage in the act of being a child? Instead of building such a structure for children to play, might we just provide the simple tools needed so everyone could play, a round ball and a pair of shoes?

Calls to prayer fill the air as I sip on Arabic coffee and watch the moon rise over the hotel. The call is distinct and beautiful, a strong reminder the vast distance which lies between me and my home.

Taking you on a little journey...

This shall be the first of many entries regarding the cultural interactions that occur while traveling throughout the world. My intention is two fold, as many deliberate actions have several differing but equal purposes. Often times I am asked about the places I travel; is it safe, are the people friendly, what does the country look like, would you return? I intend to place the reader in the situations I encounter in the hopes of expanding his or her own perception of the world beyond their daily lives. Secondly, I hope to create a dialogue that will spread amongst the viewers of this site and the people they interact with on a daily basis. The latter being the more important element of the intentions, though one does not exist without the other’s presence. A dialogue that goes beyond what the mass media claims is reality. A dialogue that may create a feeling of human empathy that bears no cultural biases or prejudices. A dialogue that may broaden or reverse the preconceived notions that people harbor. Notions gained from a mass media which has evolved from its origin as a “watchdog of the government” into, at times, a mouth piece for the motivations of partisan politics filled with exhaustible talking points which stifle healthy dialogue and debate. For without a realistic, empathetic and passionate dialogue about the world beyond our borders and within, we can not maintain the complex and amazing machinery that is our democracy.

As the author of this column, I promise to not bog the reader down with trifling statements of mundane activities; what I ordered from a samosa stand in Nepal; how I rode a camel around the great pyramids of Giza, and how the bed I slept in last night had questionable microscopic critters living within its fibers. I promise to tell you of the conversation I had with the owner of the samosa stand who fled his homeland in the Himalayans to avoid a civil war, or the woman I shared a beer with by a pool in Jordan who remains a Palestinian refugee after decades of living in displacement, or the camel handler wearing a Las Vegas Police Department sweatshirt who asked if I could be his second wife in order to come to America and visit. I promise to keep the entries short and digestible (present entry excluded, of course) and I will show you with images of the world I am witnessing. I will work towards leaving blatant political statements out of this blog as well, though that is not an absolute statement. Many of you are aware of my political leanings and there is no need to muddle the heart of this column with politics. My politics will be apparent in my actions, in my subjects and the things I choose to write about and that which I leave out.
“It seems to me nonsense, in a period like our own, to think that one can avoid such subjects. Everyone writes of them in one guise or another, it is simply a question of which side one takes and what approach one follows. ” ~ G. Orwell

As the reader, I ask that you comment on what you read, to myself, to your neighbor or your colleagues standing around the water cooler. I ask that you elevate and initiate a dialogue with your friends and family that questions our role as Americans, both at home and abroad, and question that which you perceive to be true. A dialogue that is mutual and well intended, without the deviation into partisan bickering which happens so often in our country. For in questioning our own reality and bearing witness to the realities of others, the tools that democracy affords us; freedoms of choice, speech and the power to demand better of our government, may be utilized to their fullest to truly make the world in which we live a sustainable place for raising the next generation, and the ones to follow.

I ask that you spend some time with these writings and forward them to your circle of friends and loved ones. The subscription button on the sidebar will send an email to your mailbox each time this column is updated, making life a little simpler. My intention is to see how far and wide we can spread a little conversation. Turn off the television, step away from the internet (after reading this, of course) and engage those around you in the art of conversation!

And if nothing else, you may learn something, or see something that you had no idea existed. And remember that questioning your world, your reality and at times your identity is a healthy and positive action.