Collaborating on a BOOK!!!

I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!!! I just had a meeting with a book publisher who wants me to help compile resources and contribute to a book about child sexual abuse!

DREAM COME TRUE!!!  To be able to sift through all the information and experience I have, glean from other resources, and provide Jordanians with a comprehensive, “Eastern”-focused book explaining what can be done to both prevent sexual abuse and offer healing to abuse victims.

I feel like a helium balloon cut free from it’s moorings. Good thing this office has a roof.

100 for Fouad & My Own Brush with The Law

I had planned a post for Fouad’s 100th day in prison without charges, 100th day without seeing his wife and children, 100th day of listening to the niggling voice that accuses him that speaking his mind wasn’t worth it. As media freedoms in Jordan seem to deteriorate, I feel the chill and hear volume of that niggling voice increase. It is easy to support him in prayer, and with a post now and then, but is it easy when he could be a poster boy for what happens who those who flex their freedom too freely here?

For me, the consequences are nothing compared to those who are citizens here. Yet, even I, Mrs. Family -Values/Parenting/Non-Political writer, hit a snag with the powers that be over something I wrote in a magazine! It was a warning, a reminder of how closely writers are watched, yet no specific example was given. It was probably intended that way. Sadly it fulfilled it’s purpose: I self-censor more, re-read looking for a detail that might offend, delete a snarky comment that isn’t worth giving up my precious Jordanian lifestyle over.

The journalists who are incarcerated here could also be husbands and fathers. I wonder about those kids, like Fouad’s and am sure the plan is going to back-fire. Those kids are going to resent and stand against what kept their daddies away. They could be a force to contend with in a decade or two.

Peace

BAJO - Affirm Dignity, Expose Depravity, Provoke Longing

Welcome to BAJO at Kinzi’s! I will be using my tag-line as a frame to Blog About Jordan.

I, as an ex-pat female, American Christian, love living in Jordan. To some that would seem a few too many minority adjectives to truly work, but for me it does. What do I love? Passionate people who care deeply about injustice. Strongly connected families who gather for Friday meals with conversations that ebb and flow like clockwork. Driving a little too fast down the winding avenue from Rainbow St. to the Balad. Mansaf at Al Quds, Msukkhan at Ammon Chicken, Kanafeh from Habeebeh (right?). The sights and smells of the souk downtown. Shopping at Al Afghani in the balad, not at Mecca Mall.

The stark beauty of the desert, of northern scrub-oak forests, the angelfish darting in Red Sea reefs, the stars from Wadi Dana’s tents, breathing in Petra dust as you haul yourself back up from the Treasury after a day of adventuring. Can’t forget the chance to drive like something out of Need for Speed Carbon and learn just how many centimeters you get for a sudden brake while driving at 90kph. Exhilarating!

Amman is a living entity: breathing, pulsating, growing, tripping up, regrouping and trying again. The greatest thrill of living here is watching this country carve out it’s world niche between extremely diverse points of view. Creating an identity with part ancient heritage, part foreign import. In one home, you can have a tattooed-teta in a handworked thobe and her jet-setting, multi-nationally employed grandson drink mint tea together while watching the news. Two completely faces of Jordan, two generations between them, living out the dignity of their forefathers in two different realms. Sometimes the two realms mesh well, sometimes they collide.
Sometimes watching ancient and current cultural values clash is a scary thing. My greatest heartbreak here is for victims of abuse, who have experienced depravity personally. Women who had something very precious stolen from them by someone they trusted; crushed by the weight of responsibility of protecting their family honor. The secret never stays silent, but screams from within for disclosure, justice, apology and acknowledgement. Yet, if even a bit slips out, the hope of ever having a life of cultural validation and value can be erased with word. The secret eats away at young hearts, accusing and creating a false reality that becomes like solitary confinement. She carries the weight of crime alone, and lives in craven fear that she may just tire of silencing the inner scream, tell the wrong person, and live out her nightmare of being alone for life.

I long for the day when honor is defined not by female blood on wedding day sheets, nor can be cleansed only by the spilt blood of the dishonorable woman. I long for the day when men of honor will take the dignity of that weight upon themselves by changing laws and traditions that protect shame-killers and sentence the victim to death or a lifetime without living. I long for the day when honor is defined by strength of character, courage to confront accepted evils and the protection and empowerment of the weak. When brothers will stand by sisters, allowing them to bloom out from underneath the weight of honor.

I believe that day is on it’s way, and Jordan’s best is yet to come. And I believe Jordan’s male blogging community will usher that day into Jordan’s tomorrow.

“A Lie Told Often Enough Becomes The Truth”

(Hey blog readers…this is a copy of an email I get, fyi: it has Christian content. It is for one of my special readers, but may encourage others too. Have a great weekend! Kinz) Roadside Assistance, to help you on your journey, is from Committed to Freedom Ministries. We hope you find this brief weekly e-mail encouraging and helpful for you or someone you know. A Lie told often enough becomes the truth. “A lie told often enough becomes the truth.” Those chilling words were spoken by Vladimir Lenin, a Russian Communist revolutionary and the father of the Soviet Union. Abuse survivors regularly experience this mind jarring reality. I’ve taught for years that when you are an abuse survivor, the lies feel like the truth and the truth feels like a lie.   You have most likely repeated the lies from abuse so often and for so long, that they have become true to you. That’s what propaganda does. It disorients, deflects logical thinking, and disguises the truth so that it cannot be recognized. The lies of abuse teach you that you have no value, that you are disposable, and that your wants and needs are unimportant. They were pushed into your heart where they have festered for years. You grew ideas about yourself, other people, and God around them. You measure every decision, thought, and action by them. They have distorted your vision, destroyed your relationships, and tainted your ideas about God.   To aggressively challenge these stubborn lies requires a rehearsing of the truth that is just as tenacious. At first, truth sounds counterfeit and foreign: You are loved. You are a treasure. You are pure and noble. You are sacred. You are a reflection of God’s image. Nothing can separate you from the love of God. But you will find that as you practice speaking this truth to yourself, to your relationships, and to your life circumstances, they slowly erode the lies that have conquered you so many times in the past.   Lenin knew the power of repetition. That power is even more significant when it comes to repeating truth. The mantra of abuse recovery comes from the Jesus, who taught, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32). And what is the truth worth repeating? That God loves you. That you are more precious to God than anything else in the universe. That you have such value and dignity that you actually reflect the image of God in you. That you are pure and noble and sacred because Christ is working in you and through you.   This is not about talking yourself into truth; it is about overriding the repeated lies that have derailed so much of your life. I remember during a very difficult part of my journey, when I didn’t know up from down, I began to practice repeating the truth. When the lie that I had no value slapped me in the face, I would challenge it with the truth that I am created in God’s image. When the lie that I was disposable threatened my stability, I retaliated with the truth that I am precious to God. When isolation and abandonment crushed me, I anchored my heart to sacred love. I made a decision to handle truth until I knew it was truth. A truth told often enough becomes the truth.

Murdered by Her Madame

One of the reasons the cause of domestic workers touches my heart so is that I used to be one. I know what it is like to clean up others people’s messes for money, and how dirty people can really be when they know someone will clean up after them. One was in high school, cleaning condos of the rich and famous: I have an interesting collection of antique salt spoons my ‘clients’ left behind after snorting cocaine. Later it was when I was debt-ridden and couldn’t afford to eat. It’s not a profession one chooses if one has other options.

The Jordan Times reported today that a woman and her son are being held on charges of murdering their house helper. Manslaughter, to be precise, but it sounds like murder to me. This pair (and horrifyingly, another minor son)  decided to punish their 22 year old Indonesian maid for leaving the house without permission, fighting with them and wanting to return  home. They admitted to severely beating her, tying her with rope and when they noticed she wasn’t conscious, dumping her body. Her sexual organs showed signs of bruising, as well as her lower body being unclothed when she was found. Why is this level of brutality, possibly including sexual torture, only considered manslaughter?

I can’t even imagine how a more awful and lonely way to die. Knowing you had tried to get away from dangerous people, your last thoughts knowing that your worst fears were realized. Knowing you ran out of options at only 22 years old.

De Tocqueville on Slavery - A Warning

In response to my post about the treatment of Asian domestic workers, one reader sent me an email with this quote. It is a reminder to me that the enslavers pay a price, as well.

She wrote: “The author of our textbook is British and he is referring to Alexis De Tocqueville (French),  author of Democracy in America who wrote during the pre-Civil War time period in America:

“De Tocqueville, significantly, felt that the American syndrome of morality, independence, enlightenment, industry success; tended not to work where slavery existed.  He was shocked to find the French-speaking people of New Orleans (where slavery existed)  infinitely more wicked and dissolute than the pious French Canadians (no slavery), and blamed the infection of slavery, anti-freedom.  Similarly, he contrasted ‘industrious Ohio’ with ‘idle Kentucky’: ‘ On both sides [of the Ohio River] the soil is equally fertile, the situation just as favorable.’ But Kentucky, because of slavery, is inhabited ‘by a people without energy, without ardor, without a spirit of enterprise.’

From my reader: “Aside from the unabashed pro-American point of view, the thought that struck me is that “slavery” is not only hurting those who are mistreated, but it is hurting the people, the society, who practice, tolerate, and depend upon it”.

 

Not only did it seem and applicable warning to Jordanian-dwelling  ’sirs’ and ‘madames’ of all nationalities, but to those of us who purchase products made in sweatshops where human rights violations occur. It may not be a violation of the level of human rights in that country, but we need to apply what we enjoy to those whose labor we enjoy as well.

More Restrictions on Domestic Workers?

Slavery seems to be the word of the week on blogs. Pheras (Made in Jordan) and Fadi (The Observer) both have posts referring to articles in Al Ghad and Al Rai high-lighting local reactions to the recent discovery of a half Indonesian newborn abandoned beneath the Abdoun bridge.

I am a bit fus7a-challenged, so I haven’t read either paper, but here was Fadi’s take from his blog:

According to Suher Bushnaq, a writer at Al Ra’e newspaper, in her article yesterday 12/9. She believes that we are giving our domestic workers a lot of freedom and that with such freedom we are subjecting our selves and our families a lot of potential risk. She brilliantly calls at the most popular Jordanian newspaper to subject our domestic workers with more slavery conditions than they already endure.

And to make her article more professional, she sure had to consult a social counselor which I have no idea from where did she get her degree because I believe that social counselors should know at least with basic human rights concepts. The quoted social counselor name is Raba Allam. She said that people should NOT give their domestic workers any day off including weekends! (Notice the tone of slavery and the violation of every law of workers rights). She also asked families to keep an eye on their maids and restrict their freedom (as if they have any).

Bushnaq goes on describing how families after hearing the news of the baby are taking stronger measurements to prevent such condition to happen to their maid. Those who used to let their maid go out to the supermarket and owning a cell phone are stripping them from such luxuries.

I am appalled. I really thought Jordanian media was making progress when Nick Seeley, Lina Ejeilat and the JO team printed a comprehensive series on the horrific problems domestic workers face this fall. According to their research, one in TEN domestic workers are victims of worker abuse. So on any given street in Um Uthayna, in every other apartment building an Asian woman is being mistreated.

I’ve visited the Philippine Consulate where well over 100 women have fled non-payment, beatings, starvation and rape from their West Amman employers. It’s the same with Sri Lankans, perhaps even worse. These were the women who could escape by using their cell phones, fleeing after a trip to the dukaan or trash can. Most just put their heads down and endure so that their kids can eat, go to school and have some hope for a better future there.

This is a issue of HUGE imbalance of power. These Asian women support their families and have no other means. It is a flagrant misuse of the power of the wealthy. I can’t even go to kid’s birthday parties without being sickened by the latest ”maid story”, how terrible these awful animals are to their wonderful employers, who condescend to allow them into their homes and pay them $150 a month for the privilege of serving them 24/7. These moms aren’t out working, or even volunteering for a good cause. They are getting their hair and nails done, playing bridge or arranging flowers. Since when did cleaning ones own house become a dishonorable thing? I think that disconnecting oneself from the more mundane work of life promotes a hierarchical mindset.

My landlord has solution to this problem. She hires a Jordanian woman from Zarqa who comes and cleans one day a week. Um Hamzeh is a widow and has put all her kids through college. She takes pride in working hard and doing a good job. My landlord honors her and is thankful for her willingness to help, and stays personally connected to an East Amman family in need. I’m sure there are 10,000 Um Hamzehs who are willing and able. Both Jordanian families benefit. The money stays in our economy. West doesn’t ignore East. If a family can’t pay the going rate of $400 month salary for a Philippina, and guarantee her basic human rights, then there are options right here at home. Options that propagate, rather than diminish, the honorable Jordanian commitment to hospitality and generosity to ALL guests in this country.

Lost in Translation (Time to Study Again)

In addition to all on my plate this week, I had the privilege of addressing a class of graduate level ethics students about the phenomenon of childhood sexual abuse in Jordan. It was quite an honor, but I realized a couple of hours before I left that the group was going to be a mixed gender group. Whoa Nelly, she says, in fact, a male majority! Rewind…

At the conference I went to in the US, in the middle of the pre-conference training sessions, I realized that I was in WAY over my head. There were so many new concepts, and so much topic-specific lingo being thrown around I felt I was back in Jordan, barely understanding one sentence before grabbing hold of another. I felt like an ESL student in my own mother tongue! I also knew there was no way I was qualified to lead a group at the level that was expected, despite the amount of experience I had here.

As a result, after discussing it with my group leader, I decided to step down as a leader and attend the conference as a participant. It was one of the most humbling experiences of my life. The leadership team was wonderful about it, said it happens every training time, they had a substitute and it was all good. We both realized that they provide on-going training to all co-leaders, and I had missed out on six years of additional instruction although I had taught over one hundred women and trained seven co-leaders myself. I also explained to them that in Jordan, a young woman who trusts enough to tell her story in a small group would risk losing her chance to marry if word got out. They can hardly grasp that. It’s a whole different paradigm here.

You probably know I’ve become a bit Arab, and really don’t spend much time with men of any nationality except my husband (and on-line with bloggers!). When the group of men came in 2006 to lead the seminar for a group of Jordanian  men,  the Urdani guys wouldn’t even let me sit in the room during the teaching time,  they were so embarrassed to have a woman know what they were learning about. So it is easy, I just pretend men don’t exist. But in the West, that method of coping doesn’t work as well. I’ve had to re-learn how to enjoy male friends in a halting, lurching kind of way. (That will be another blog post some day)

Well lo and behold, my participant group at the conference was co-ed. Yabaya, was I a nervous wreck. How was I going to tell my abuse story in front of a bunch of guys??? How was I going to listen to their stories? How was I going to say sexual words in MIXED company? (The answer to those questions and more in another post, someday)

Back to Jordan, this week. After a bit of panic, a LOT of prayer, I decided to enter with confidence. Part of which meant using a translator so I didn’t have to endure the agonies of mispronouncing a sexual word in Arabic in front of MEN (perhaps it would be easier than facing a group of women giggling over my bad Arabic, tho). So I walked into that room of suits like the professional I am, stood tall and began my talk.

But my translator kept messing up, and I had to keep fixing his translation. He was translating the word ‘ábuse’ as ‘rape’. Another guy took over, and he was better, but wanting to ask questions in English that were a bit off-topic. Even though it was cold, I was sweating. Fortunately the group was very responsive, which always helps. I started using  Arabizi, and it went well with just a few words translated. When the whole group struggled to find the right word, they were actually more engaged and attentive.

Finally it was over, well worth the time. Fifteen more people having a better understanding of the subject and what it will take to tackle it in a contextually appropriate way. The next day the prof emailed me and said it had been a great talk, but that I needed to study up and give it in Arabic for full impact. Sigh.

I guess that will be the story of my life in Jordan, always needing more study. Ya salam.

Some “Love” Comments

Well, it has been awhile since I have had such comments; someone pretending to be El 3atel made them. Maybe the same one impersonating Hamede and 7aki?

Most say to ignore such venom. I say respond, and pray, as only God can change the hearts of such evil. Since it is a rather pointed threat, I will be reporting it. And since I have such a low aptitude for tech stuff, how do I found out about this IP?:

IP: 219.95.189.68

***Muslim readers, I know very well this is not representative behaviour of those in the blogging community, which is one of the reasons I feel so at home in Jordan and in the blogosphere here. You don’t need to comment just to say this man doesn’t represent Islam, from what of it I have learned from you all, I agree.

A commenter mentioned I have broken a religious and social rule in displaying this man’s evil, that  repeating it is also an offense. Forgive me, though, as I think I will stick with my own religious and social rule (which is in my header) which is to expose sin. Exposing darkness to light is part of the process of change. I did take out words that were unrepeatable for me.

I am not trying to make Islam look bad, just exposing a Muslim nut-case for what he is, just like I would a Christian nut-case writing similar things. If I have truly deeply offended or injured the sensibilities of a loyal reader,  or seriously damaged my reputation before you in the name of freedom of expression, than I will consider deleting the post.  This person isn’t worth that to me, as you are all the community I move in. ***

From Trash Baby to Precious Treasure

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, so the old saying goes.

That baby girl  left to die in a trash can has had forty-five families want to adopt her! I may be wrong with the details as I heard it from someone who heard it from the Ministry of Social Services, but another friend just told me an article was in Al Ghad today.

Sadly, the MofSS says trashed babies are found 4-5 times a WEEK.

“Children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb His reward”. Psalm 127:3

“Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them, for such is the kingdom of heaven.” Jesus Christ, as quoted in Matthew 19:14

 How beautiful to see the people of Jordan affirm the true value of this baby: a heritage, fragrant fruit, true blessing, precious in God’s kingdom.