On our first day in Jordan, we also met Mona, the director of the Jordanian Center for Civic Education Studies. Mona has been doing groundbreaking work in Jordan, having been the first in the region to translate Project Citizen text into Arabic. In addition to being present in more than 100 public schools, Project Citizen is starting to be adopted in the universities. Mona also explained some of the projects that local students have taken on: recycling, traffic congestion, heavy backpacks—in other words problems that young people all over the world face. Mona noted, “The issues are the same from culture to culture.”

Most interesting, perhaps, we had chance to speak with Mona about her life and her personal insights into Jordan. Discussion quickly turned to the Palestinian issue, as it is the dominant issue in this country and pervades many aspects of life here. Mona’s father was born in Palestine. An owner of significant parcels of land, he left his home in 1948, under threat of slaughter if they did not leave. At that time, most left with the understanding that it was a temporary evacuation and that they would soon be able to return to their homes.

Mona’s father, like tens of thousands of Palestinians, was never able to return. Many of them still hold the keys to their homes, which may no longer be standing or may now be home to Israelis. Mona explained that Israel to this day still has records of her father’s ownership of land.

Mona talked about the issues of citizenship, which admittedly are perplexing—at least for this outsider. Mona has citizenship. Her children do not, even though they were born in Jordan. I believe this is because their father is not Jordanian, but Algerian, and Jordanian citizenship is linked to the father and not the mother. Some Palestinians living in Jordan (the numbers seem to vary widely depending on who you ask and how people choose to identify themselves) are Jordanian citizens. Many—and I gather most of these are refugees who were forced to flee in the 1967 Six-Day War—are not granted citizenship. Part of the reason the neighborhoods of Amman that are home to hundreds of thousands of Palestinians continue to be called “camps” and their inhabitants “refugees” is because to do otherwise would be to accept a reality that no one on this side of the Jordan River wants to accept. Refugee camps signal to the outside world that there is indeed a Palestinian plight or crisis that needs to be addressed.

Jordan has probably done more than any other country to accommodate displaced Palestinians. And their infrastructure and school system has felt the burden. There is a sense that other Arab states, which will refer to the Palestinian issue as a significant hurdle to regional peace when convenient, should do more to help support the Palestinians.

Meanwhile the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) picks up much of the slack, providing some food, schools, and health clinics for the refugees.

And while Jordanians seem to express solidarity with the Palestinians, we’ve also heard that the refugees here are more “pampered” than they are in Syria and Lebanon. We heard that some of the UNRWA schools are actually better than the Jordanian public schools. When I asked Mona whether there was any resentment toward the refugees, particularly from low-income Jordanians, she quickly responded that there wasn’t.

Many Palestinians, less likely to be considered refugees, are fully integrated into Jordanian society and for them, the return to their homeland is less urgent or is more a matter of principle than practicality. Our driver Fayez, whom I’ll speak of later, was born in Jerusalem. His family seemingly left sometime in the early 1950s (our conversation, mostly in English and occasionally in Spanish, was somewhat strained by the language barriers). He explained that he has little desire or intention to live in Jerusalem again—“I have my business here,” he notes.

For the many Palestinian refugees in Jordan (estimates start at 1.5 million and go up from there), they live in something of a no-man’s land. They aren’t Jordanian citizens. They cannot travel. They cannot vote. They cannot visit family members who have remained in the West Bank or Gaza.

On our agenda is a visit to an UNRWA school and further discussions about the seemingly intractable issue of Palestinian refugees and the prospects for lasting peace with Israel. Of course, because our itinerary is limited to Jordan, we’ll only be hearing one side of the story.

First, a disclaimer: I will try not to universalize my observations from a week spent in Jordan. My window into this society has just been opened a crack and is still limited—deeper insights could obviously be gained by living here, and of course speaking the language. Yet because of this incredible opportunity, I’m likely to know at least a little bit more than perhaps the average American about this small Middle Eastern country and important US ally. I will apologize in advance for any generalizations that I draw based on my short time here.

Despite my eagerness to explore Amman on our first day, our group spent the first four hours in a conference room in the Le Meridien Hotel, where we were staying. Breakfast was a sumptuous buffet spread—a blend of Western and Middle Eastern offerings. Among other things, I enjoyed hummus, sushi, and an omelet.

From there, we proceeded to our meeting room. Walking through the hotel, we passed a Jordanian military band that was rehearsing. The band’s dominant sound was bagpipes—one of the many apparent cultural incongruities to be encountered in Jordan. Given Britain’s influence in the region and in particular over Transjordan following the Sykes-Picot Agreement of 1916 (which gave Britain its post-WWI sphere of influence in the Middle East), bagpipes seem less out of place. Still, these are not the sounds one conjures up when thinking about Jordan.

Dan Prinzing, the Education Director of the Idaho Human Rights Education Center (IHREC), and the person who organized the mission, provided the backdrop for our trip and the work that he and the IHREC have been doing in Jordan. This is Dan’s 20th trip to Jordan. It’s safe to say he considers the country a second home. And his love for the place and its people is palpable.

He spelled out one of the overriding purposes of a mission like this: To discover for ourselves that “much of what we know and have heard about the Arab world is steeped in misinformation.” He encouraged us to keep our minds, ears, eyes, and hearts open. He urged us to ask questions and talk to Jordanians. And he encouraged us to take in the food, the culture, the history, and the people and enjoy a rare opportunity that most Americans will never have.

Next, Dan proceeded to explain the evolution of his work that led to such a close relationship with Jordan. In a previous role, Dan was coordinator of international and civic education at the Idaho State Department of Education, under Dr. Marilyn Howard (who now serves on the IHREC Board). Back in 2003, they began looking at what civic and international education might look like in a very insular state like Idaho. A task force of teachers focused on curricular design, linking schools with international schools, and the goal of enabling teachers to travel.

Initial work began in Germany (where many Idahoans can trace their roots to), China (Idaho’s largest trade partner), Mexico (where a growing population of new Idahoans hails from), and the Basque Country.
At the same time, Dan began to get involved with The Center for Civic Education and its Project Citizen program. The Center for Civic Ed held its 2005 World Congress in Amman, with 300 people from 70 countries attending.

A few years and several trips later, Dan found himself as the project manager for the implementation of e-lessons of the Project Citizen curriculum, which would be offered in the King’s “discovery schools” throughout Jordan. This project would be funded by the Center for Civics Education and the Jordan Ministry of Education. The project has been so successful that it will now be customized for Lebanon, the UAE, and several other countries. Though Dan showed us a few of the e-lessons (translated into English), it wouldn’t be until the next day that we would truly see the impact of Project Citizen in action.

• Le Meridien

It was about 45 minutes from the Queen Rania Airport to the Le Meridien hotel. At the entrance to this large and elegant hotel was a line resembling the security line at an airport. All bags were to be placed on the scanning belt and all hotel guests were to proceed through the metal detector. This was not something I’d experienced at a hotel before.

After the long journey, there was nothing left to do but get some shuteye. It was a little frustrating to be in Jordan and not have the energy or strength to do or see anything yet. But tomorrow would be a full day.

On the first leg of the 24-hour journey to Amman, Jordan, I sat next to a Marine officer who had recently returned from a 12-month tour of Afghanistan and was now flying home, after having spent a month (immediately following his tour) training with German soldiers in Mountain Home. While I had intended to bury myself in my Lonely Planet Guide to Jordan, the officer, whom we’ll call Tim, seemingly wanted to engage me. I was happy to indulge, as I suspected he might have some insights into (or at least strong opinions about) the Middle East.

We spoke for most of the flight, with Tim mostly indulging my curiosity as he told tales of his tours in Afghanistan, Somalia, and in Operation Desert Storm. It was clear he loved his country, respected our president (and voted for him), and felt a deep sense of pride in being a Marine. It was also clear that he had little optimism for “victory” (however one defines it) in either Iraq or Afghanistan. And ultimately, when the inquiry turned to me, he grappled with the question that seemed to be eating away him, but which he posed to me indirectly, on several occasions: “Why would you willingly choose to travel to the Middle East?”

It wasn’t that he disliked the people of Iraq or Afghanistan. Not at all. But he somewhat forlornly acknowledged that in his position, it simply wasn’t possible to ever truly earn the trust or goodwill of the people he was ostensibly there to protect. Nor could he, facing the constant threat of a surprise insurgent attack, ever really trust the people in those communities, no matter how much he might come to understand or appreciate their culture.

Tim wanted me to understand that he wasn’t some stereotypical ethnocentric solider, insensitive to the culture in which he was operating. In fact, he gave me his “Culture Smart Card—A Guide for Communication and Cultural Awareness”—published by Department of Defense for both Iraq and Afghanistan. He wanted me to know that the stereotypes were not true—that he and his men were not only attuned to world events but culturally aware and sensitive to the challenges of cross-cultural communication.

But he realized that being a soldier in someone else’s country was not a way to build bridges across cultures. And it seems that his experiences in Iraq and Afghanistan, which, based on his descriptions, sounded terrifying and traumatic, had certainly colored his views of the entire region, such that he was imagining our educational mission to Jordan as akin to a tour of duty in Kandahar.

He wondered aloud, “You don’t seem the slightest bit nervous. Why is that?” I suspect it’s a question that some friends and acquaintances also wondered, upon hearing of my trip, but didn’t have the guts to ask. In other words, “You’re going to the Middle East—don’t you fear for your safety?”

I explained that Jordan is an increasingly popular tourist destination for Westerners, a relatively reliable U.S. ally, and an oasis of stability and peace in an otherwise tough neighborhood. King Hussein was a peacemaker and his son King Abdullah II seems to be following in his footsteps. But he didn’t seem convinced.

In addition to the Culture Smart Cards, Tim shared with me his pocket guide to detecting and dealing with IEDs. I suspect that he was looking for an excuse to rid his bag of this haunting remnant of his last tour, but he had momentarily unnerved me. Was I perhaps being a bit naïve about this journey?

I’d have another 20 hours of travel to ponder that question.

Editor's Note: Idaho State Rep. Brian Cronin is in Jordan this week with the Idaho Human Rights Education Center and a group of Idaho educators. He will post occasional essays on The Grip during his visit, furthering this blog's mission of highlighting global culture in Boise.

• Brian Cronin

Funding for such missions is traced back to the No Child Left Behind law and the Education for Democracy Act, which funds the Center for Civic Education (CCE) in Calabasas, CA. The CCE has partnered with 28 states and over 65 countries. Out of the legislation, the Cooperative Civic Education Exchange was created with the purpose of, among other things, providing a means for the exchange of ideas and experiences in civics and government education among political, educational, and private sector leaders of participating eligible countries. And that’s how I, an Idaho legislator, and also a Board member of IHREC, got to come along.

Through its partnership with Jordan, the IHREC helped to build an e-learning civic education program for the King’s Discovery Schools (comparable to charter schools) in Jordan. The IHREC currently receives an annual contract from the Center for Civic Education as flow-through funding from the US Department of Education.

The teachers were to embark on the trip as a means of gaining cultural understanding that they could then impart to students. As for me, I believe much of reason I’ve been asked to join is so that I can gain a deeper appreciation for civic and international education and its role in statewide curriculum standards.