Change is a Sound.

I leave tomorrow morning to catch a flight to Beirut.  I’ll be there for 3 nights, in Jerusalem for 2 nights, and then in Cairo for 2 nights as well.  Then I spend one more night in Amman before my direct flight to JFK and my flight from NY to BOS arriving a little after midnight on the 23^rd.

Part of me is more than ready to be home, and to be with family and friends that I haven’t seen for almost four months. It’ll be phenomenal to sleep in my own bed, in my own room, to drive my car, and to experience the absentmindedness that comes with the everyday routine only found in one’s real home.

Yet, a very substantial part of me isn’t ready to leave… and probably never would be were I to stay longer.  Part of it is the people on my program, my family, the staff, and the people I’ve met in Jordan.  I am surrounded by very ambitious, connected, and bright people at Bates as well as in my group of friends from MA… but, as much as I love them, there’s something that is entirely different about the students I’ve spent the most ridiculous quarter year of my life with.  All of them, whether majors in Arabic or Middle Eastern Studies, or people who decided to go to some random place where people would think they’re insane for going (like me), came to a country in a region that is horribly generalized, stigmatized, and considered by many Americans to be incapable of functioning like a “normal society.”  Most of us mentally prepared ourselves for a horrible semester that we’d have to power through. It was easier for some than others, but I think Jordan and SIT far exceeded our expectations… al hamdilallah.

It’s come up in conversation a number of times that no one except those of us on SIT Jordan will ever be able to truly understand what our experience was like, no matter how detailed our retelling might be for a third party.  I think this is very true, even compared to students from another semester.  Everyday has been an adventure, and we’ve all shared our individual stories of excitement, frustration, pain, sorrow, discomfort, and elation, and I truly believe we’ve lived and learned vicariously through each other’s experiences.  It would be impossible to truly GET what that meant to a person without the context of our group dynamic, the background of our experiences, and the feelings we all shared and struggled with. 

Moving on from a finite stage of one’s life is always bittersweet.  Whether it's the end of a favorite year in middle school, graduating from High School and having friends travel many hours away, or moving away from home to start a new chapter in your life, there’s an immeasurable sadness along with the excitement of the future.  I remember how sad I felt saying goodbye to my friends at college after visiting this semester.  I knew it’d probably be over half a year before I saw many of them again, and replaying their goodbyes in my head wishing me luck, or asking me to stay safe, on that lonely, lonely drive back down 95 evoked that mixed feeling.  It was a good sadness, because I knew I had such phenomenal people in my life… It was the same feeling I had when my parents said goodbye the day I flew out, and when I found the notes they had hidden in my luggage and heard their voices as I read aloud in my head the same points of uniqueness about choosing to study in Jordan, passing up far easier opportunities, that I mentioned before, and that, though they’d miss me deeply, the benefit I would get and the way my life would change would be worth the pain of separation.  The feeling that came with those words and simultaneously that change in my life is indescribable.

You can hear that change in the goodbyes between many in SIT Tribe too.  In the awkwardness of not wanting to admit the reality that many of us may never meet again, and at the same time, the heartfelt appreciation for what the other person has done, both academically…such as in the incredible job done by everyone on their Independent Study Projects (I wish you could have seen the presentations and heard the breadth and depth of the work) and how that has changed the researcher, the class, and the staff… and also in the personal changes we’ve experienced and imprinted on each other.

It was definitely heard during our re-entry and evaluation excursion yesterday.  When our academic director, Dr. Raed, said, “you’ve been my students, but once the program is over you will be my friends.”  I heard it too when my friends Ian and Ben played “Big Country” “for the last time,” with Ian playing a guitar with all of our names carved into it.

I’ve heard changes the whole time I’ve been here. Like one of the first days when I had a drop off in the downtown, and everyone around me was speaking Arabic and I had no idea what they were saying or where I was.  I heard it when I spoke my first few words of amiyah, and in the excitement in a Jordanian’s voice when I’d speak to them in their native language, or when I completed my first full conversation with a cab driver. I heard it when my youngest host brother said my name, or another new word, and when my host mother and I would laugh at something ridiculous the children had done (again, though varied in the free reign they have here in the Arab world, overall, children are the same EVERYWHERE). I’ll hear it the next time I talk to a stranger like the random guy at the bar in JFK before I left, who said “be careful, we’re the godless infidel over there,” and that I now know for a fact he’s wrong, and can call him on it.  I’ve heard it and felt it in the daily call to prayer…the beauty of the melodies, and the passion in the voice, despite my even firmer commitment to a secular public sphere after having lived in a country with an official state religion, and where culture and religion are practically inseparable.  It was even audible in the conversations I’ve had with other students over regional events, life, love, or how their cup of Nescafe (something I won’t miss) was. 

The sound isn’t all me, or my peers though.  The theme of the program is “Modernization and Social Change,” and you can hear flickers of that change in the hopes of lecturers on women in Jordan and the struggle to fulfill their rights.  We listened as professors spoke about Islam and Modernity, and countless lectures deviated to discussions of the revolutions throughout the Middle East and North Africa, and the effects likely to be seen in Jordan.  It came out loud and clear in my ISP research, discussing what democracy means with the leaders of that movement here, what media coverage is like in the west, and alternative media opportunities the youth movement could look to.

It’s been and will be heart wrenching to say goodbye to this country, to my life for the past few months, and to these people we’ve all called family or tribe.  But the sound of goodbyes is the sound of change, and while I’ll miss this experience dearly and the people I’ve met more than tears or words can show, I’m a much better person for having known them and been here, and I know that everyone else, Jordanian and American alike, is changed from our time here.  The path they’ll be taking over the course of the next few years, though it would’ve been exciting anyway, is even more so after this.  I can’t wait to hear about their lives in the future. 

We Are All Human, Let's Start to Prove It.

So much for no more social commentary… in light of recent international events, I feel like if I looked back on my writing while I’ve been here, I’d seriously regret not expressing my view at the time.

The title comes from a song, 911 for Peace, by political punk band Anti-Flag.  It was written in the weeks following the September 11^th attacks, when out of shock and horror, patriotic fervor and bloodlust swept the nation. (At the time, I must’ve been, I think, 12, and was swept up as well in the blind fury for retribution.)  While many, including my 12-year-old self, might dismiss this line and the sentiment of the song as a whole as pointless, shallow, unrealistic rhetoric, I, however, feel the sentiment behind the song, and especially in the words: “We are all human, it’s time to prove it” holds powerful potential for analyzing the death of Osama bin Laden, the reaction of the US and the world, and the broader question of US policy regarding “the War on Terror.”

Despite my love for this song, and deep respect for people with the mental fortitude to reject all forms of violence (and oppression as I think enviously of friends of mine who have the control to be vegetarian or vegan), I am not a pacifist.  So, the difficulty I face, given the fact that I don’t believe in good and evil, is how I can conceive of a “just” use of force and violence…

Following the outbreak of jubilant celebrations outside the White House and at Ground Zero, and expressions of America’s victory following the death of bin Laden devoured cyberspace, a number of my friends began posting a quotation from Martin Luther King (part of which was not actually his words, but the words of the girl who originally posted it—the power of communication is absolutely incredible) that said (here’s the viral add-on): “I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy…” (followed by the actual King line) “Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.  Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”  ---Aside- the fact that it was misattributed in no way lessens the words of the individual who added the first line.  Her language flowed well enough with the ideas embedded in King’s language to fool millions, and the fact that any individual can have such communicative power IS something we can all rejoice in---

I’ve never really even tried to think of a way to justify violence before, perhaps its just too unpleasant of a thought, and if I felt it was justified… it was therefore justified.  But that’s a cop-out, and I fully realized this when confronted by these two polar reactions.  After reading the lines about “mourning” and “rejoicing” in the “death of any enemy,” I started thinking less about when is it justified to take a human life, and rather about the nature of mourning and where mourning originates for me, and why I won’t mourn the loss of someone like Osama bin Laden, Timothy McVeigh, or any of the popularly classified “evil” human beings. 

When I mourn a victim, living or dead, the tragedy I identify with and the sorrow I feel comes from the death, (or irreparable alteration- because ideas outlive individuals) of their personal hopes, their ambitions, their dreams, and the meaning their existence and exercise of these desires, however lofty or simple, gave to those that loved them and knew them.  The tragedy lies in the loss of the aspiration for constructing something, whether it is a family and a 9-5 job…or the elimination of world hunger.  You can find this across cultures, across races, across borders, and across the line that we’re frequently given of “enemy” and “ally.” But, there was nothing constructive about Osama bin Laden, his ideology, and his goals…there was only hate, and hate is destruction.  I have nothing to mourn in the loss of this human being, and I still call him this because, to quote America’s greatest President ever, Josiah Bartlett: “they weren’t born wanting to do this.” I suppose if there’s anything to lament, it’s that the world we live in can allow individuals to become so hateful.

There are innumerable debates surrounding this news.  What impact will it have politically, historically, electorally, for Obama and for America.  Does it justify the practices of the United States in the “War on Terror…” should there even BE a War on Terror anymore?  It would be impossible to think about them all, but a few are worth some reflection.  The “War on Terror” is not over, and will never be over.  Despite bin Laden’s death, or even in the event of the complete eradication of al-Qaeda, terror still exists. When disgruntled workers walk in to work and shoot their co-workers, when teenagers are beaten mercilessly by neo-Nazis because they think they’re an illegal alien, when people are stripped naked and left to die in the wilderness because of their sexual orientation… when these things happen terror, hate, and dehumanization endure. 

 Questions in the past have been raised as to the relative justness of the Bush Administration’s practice of capturing militants (and innocent people in the wrong place, at the wrong time) and brutally interrogating them without due process, and the targeted killing employed by the Obama administration.  Here’s how I feel:  the former liked to justify military action because we “are at war” but ignored what that entails for treatment of prisoners simply because “they don’t agree to it” and that this war is different.  The targeted killing, or assassination as some might say, is a more accurate representation of traditional combat, and while the targeting of these leaders is in a gray area legally, they are, without a doubt, military targets.  As for the details of the bin Laden raid… was he surrendering if he was unarmed, should he have been apprehended and tried in a civilian court?  No one can really know for sure except for the DEVGRU operator (thank god they chose SEALs instead of Delta Force) who pulled the trigger.  This detail… I won’t lose much sleep over it.

I was not surprised in the least by the overall reaction in America, and the exuberance in front of the White House and Ground Zero.  And while I was excited by the news on May 1^st, I agree, however, with those who find this showboating disgusting.  I read a very interesting article a friend of mine posted: http://www.good.is/post/when-you-piss-on-osama-s-grave-you-make-america-unexceptional/?utm_content=headline&utm_medium=hp_carousel&utm_source=slide_1

While I categorically deny American exceptionalism (I love my home, but so does everybody else…), clearly most Americans who acted like this do believe in that idea, and the perspective of the article is a cutting critique. Remember the disgust following the abuse of dead Blackwater mercenaries in Fallujah? Below is a graphic image of a Somali mob parading a dead American soldier after the events that inspired the book Black Hawk Down. 

Now here are some images from the NYC mob:

There is little doubt in my mind that if this group had been handed bin Laden's body, the same scene as the first would have been replayed. 

The take away of the whole scenario is this: the elimination of a hateful man with an unrelenting, destructive ideology is nothing to mourn.  The death of his goals (at least as embodied in his individual role as a terror mastermind) is, in my opinion, something worth rejoicing in.  If we don't have to mourn the lost potential of his future victims, then the love they can express will potentially be able to drive out the hate.  It's not about good and evil, it's about recognizing and respecting the dignity, and potential embodied in another human life.  It's about being constructive, not destructive. 

I'll close with a facebook wall post from my best friend the day bin Laden was killed, as well as my response:

He wrote: one of the great ironies about this whole thing is that the info they got about a courier that led them to bin laden was given by a detainee four years ago. four years ago we were at a rally to restore habeas corpus to detainees...were we on the wrong side of history? lol

I replied: No way. Bin Laden's one man, and as great as it'll feel for Americans to have their vengeance or "justice" or whatever you want to call it, and as well deserved as that feeling is, this battle will never be over. Whether it's World War I, II, Korea, Vietnam, or the War on Terror national security has been argued as a trade off against civil liberties. Somebody needs to stand against these injustices too. 

As long as people like Hazaifa Parhat are held so long that they have to tell their loved ones to remarry... As long as people like Maher Arar are detained at John Fitzgerald Kennedy airport in New York, rendered (disappeared really)to Syria and tortured... As long as innocent people have their lives ruined by actions sanctioned by the United States in our name, the hate created by Bin Laden and his allies who deny the humanity of those they disagree with continues to win, whether or not Bin Laden's heart is beating and his mind plotting new attacks. This was a great article from '09 about gitmo that talked about the Uighurs:http://harvardmagazine.com/2009/01/the-war-the-writ

I am thrilled Bin Laden is dead, that all his victims, American, Sudanese, Afghani, Iraqi, the nationalities are endless have received their revenge, and maybe the families of those victims can have some peace of mind. I'm thrilled that a walking terrorist command and control center had his brains blown out, and wont live to plot another day. But do I think the ends justified the means? I, for one, will never regret being able to say I never stood on the side of injustice, hate, and inhumanity. Whether that'll fit with the popular tale about our era, who knows, but I feel like as long as you do, you'll never stand on the wrong side of history.