Amman is a city made for sunrise and sunset.
It's a growing, bustling city. Noise is everywhere, and yet,
I find it to be a city that demands your silent attention. Amman calls you to
inhale and exhale, to honor and practice what you've learned from the world,
and to appreciate that you have treasure troves of knowledge left to gain.
Maybe it's the history embedded in the dust that cakes the tops of my feet at
the end of every day, also found grainy between my curls, and hiding beneath my
fingernails. I know that it's dirt, but there is something holy in it. Even
washing it away becomes a small, smiling kind of ceremony. Something, however
untraceable, of the roots of my heart lies in this place. Dust to dust, light from light. Dust, the earth,
is ancient, and it is what has given us life. It is old and it is new, and
therefore so am I, and so is everyone. I feel a calm here that is
unprecedented, and it has given way to thoughts I usually shy away from.
I am quiet here, perhaps too quiet. I listen far more often
than I speak. This pattern has been developing steadily over the past two
years. I trust my ideas less, and I am painfully aware that what I know of the
world is limited, that my opinions have been formed rather rashly, and based
upon sources that are not necessarily to be trusted. I've expressed this to
Jasmine, my flat mate. She is more, though, a kind of soul sister initiating me
into what she has learned of the world thus far. She tells me every perspective
has value, each place in your life reveals something new. I myself have shared
this oft repeated line with friends and
acquaintances in the past, and yet hearing it said to me, it doesn't
quite change my striking lack of faith in myself and my ability to think.
Amman is challenging me to grow up. It inspires the kind of
self-reflection I have previously feared and avoided, and I fear that my
uncertainty is occasionally expressed a little too pointedly to my mother over
the phone. As I try to recap my days and explain my internal struggles, I find
myself raising my voice and battling on the offensive, suddenly defending ideas
that I am only trying to wrap my head around. After traveling through Asia last
summer, and the Middle East this summer, it is becoming harder and harder for
me to conscientiously pass judgment on anyone. Nothing at all appears black and
white. And perhaps some things should, but I'm so deep into this journey of
trying to understanding the human heart and the circumstances that shape it,
that I can't bring myself to really delineate between right and wrong, true and
false, pure and corrupted. Honoring and acknowledging complexity has taken a
new role in the way I view the world, sharpened by the fact that I have grown
up in an incredibly privileged context. I am from the white American middle
class, and have been blessed with married and supportive parents, a good
education, a supportive extended family, and the good fortune to have found part time
jobs. How can I know, how I can I bring myself to pass judgment on the actions
taken by those who face the challenges of poverty, oppression, corruption, and
discrimination?
I find my heart
pushing at the sides of my body the way it did when I was child, desperate to
love everyone, and to forget the rest. I haven't felt that kind of compassion for
a long, long time. I feel as though I am returning to myself, though this time
with challenges I fear my mind will never overcome. I fear becoming
"political" on this platform, because as important as politics are
(or at least, they seem), the matters of the human heart will always be more my
level of understanding. However, one of the issues I have been grappling with
is that of Palestine/Israel. From a purely human rights perspective, it's a
situation that needs to be remedied immediately. It is unjust and heartbreaking in every way. The things I have
learned about the conflict so far in college (since no one bothered to really
mention it to me before) make it incredibly difficult for me to sympathize with
those involved in the creation of Israel. When I first learned of it, I was
shocked by how quickly I could write them off as cruel, and as evil. But of
course, nothing is all good, and nothing is all evil, and I quickly distanced myself from that snap judgment. The situation is layered
and complex and beyond my grasp. I try to articulate all this to my mother, who
retorts with hints of shock and disapproval in her tone, "Well what about
the Israelis killed by suicide bombers? What about them?" I have no answer, and immediately
regret my decision to share. I regret the venom in my words of response even more.
The issue of suicide bombers and the resulting death is equally heartbreaking, without a doubt. But I can't pretend to know the truth of
circumstances that lead people into suicide bombs, just like I can't pretend to know what it's like to feel like a people without a land, and to fight for what you feel you deserve. I can't pretend to know what
it's like to have my identity challenged and ignored, to have my house occupied
or bulldozed, to be denied access to a good education, to have my life
controlled by a military power (supported by the super power of the US) set
against my very existence. I can't pretend to know what it's like to have all
of this exploding and raging inside of me, leaving me vulnerable and angry and
scared, and then to be embraced by extremists who brainwash their young. I
can't know, and I won't pretend to. This is not an attempt to defend murderers, it is an attempt to understand the context from which healing and peace must arise. The perpetrators here, in my eyes, are the
governments and the things they have done with their militaries. People are pushed to these ends by powers that
care nothing for them as individuals, that aim to divide and conquer, that use
the livelihoods of innocents as avenues and leverage for the own secret and
corrupt games. Israeli citizens are not to blame, and neither are Palestinians.
In a perfect world, less people would stand idly by, and more would take a stand. But perhaps I should begin
implementing that in my own country before I go prescribing it to an issue
beyond my understanding.
I hesitate to put all of this online, for friends and
family, for acquaintances and total strangers. I don't claim to know
everything, or to be set in my ways. I only claim to recognize a problem, and
to be grappling with it as best I can. If you are incensed by what I've written
and want to give me a mouthful, I urge you to do so in a way that fosters
understanding, and not anger. I am eager to learn all that I can, but it is
hard to listen to arguments meant to defeat, and not to educate. Keep in mind
that this post is less of a political statement, and more of an invitation into
what my mind and heart are trying to process. My aim is to be honest about my
journey to understand, and who knows if I'll ever come to a stopping place. I
hope not, I think it's better to let yourself always be flexible and open and
curious. Things that stagnate tend to die. No matter what I come to know, it
would be foolish to expect that I could singlehandedly solve the conflict. My
chief occupations, I hope, will be to actively seek understanding, and to
actively demonstrate love. Be the
change, ya dig?
I am trying to pray to Saint Elizabeth of Portugal, who made
peace among the murderous fathers and
sons of her own family, who fought over who would control the land of their
kingdom. She seems to be an old hand at resolving conflict among those that are, in reality, all one.
So, now that I've gotten all of THAT off my chest and my
mind is a little clearer, I can move on to the more light hearted parts of
life. The next post will be full of the things I've been doing! I need to go
work on Arabic for a while and attend a gallery opening (and set up our new
furniture for the terrace!), but I promise the second post will be up before
midnight, a definitely happier.
Thanks to anyone who read this rambling, half baked,
uncertain expression of a struggle to understand with compassion.
Here's an article by Omid Safi, one of my incredible
professors at UNC, and the man who led the educational tour portion of my time
in Turkey. He is far more articulate and knowledgeable than I, and manages to
express the factual evidence that has fueled my understanding of the conflict.
I like to read your post its awesome.. I read your other post . Keep it up
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