It goes without saying that youth, activists, workers, women and elderly are joining together in light of the inspirational revolutions sparked in Tunisia and Egypt. Who would have known that only four months ago, Mohammed Bouazizi, the Tunisian street vendor, famously known for setting himself on fire, would find the Arab world, in a domino-like effect, spiraling viral protests across the region. This blog-post was inspired primarily after the Jordanian protests, not because the Libyan, Syrian, Yemeni, or Bahraini protests are not as fundamental; rather because the protests sparked a few comments on twitter that alluded me to reflect on the current political climate in the region.
Who would have known that in such a short span, decade-long dictators would be toppled down, giving the people the power to speak out and take control of their own political destiny. Who would have known that years of colonial, and imperial representations of the people would be dismantled through a collective body of people, joined together with one voice. Constructions of the Orient are tabula rasa, no longer inferred. For there are no "Clashes of Civilization". There are no "apolitical" bodies incapable of handling "democracy". There are no uneducated, incompetent minds willing to stay silent. There are no longer Islamophobic or racial assertions to blame citizens for their inability in taking political and individual action unto themselves. Who would have known, that after December 17th, 2010, a personal self-immolation, sparked by desperation, frustration, humiliation and harassment, that the Middle East would never be the same again.
The reasons for such actions and reactions are not because people are randomly trying to replicate Tunisia's and Egypt's successful ousting of their long-standing dictators, but because Tunisia and Egypt provided a voice, for millions of people who have been silent for far too long. Bouazizi's act of rage, brought out years of swallowed sorrows and frustrations in the citizen's nation-state.
Essentially, for some countries, like Syria, Libya, Bahrain, Yemen and the like, the call for some people, is not simply or merely a call for a revolution, but a call for change; a call for freedom; a call for effective reform; a call for deconstructing unjust tribal control; a call for fair and moral dealings; a call for an obligatory recognition for citizens rights; a call against spacial restrictions; a call against political limitations; a call against class division and class-based control; and a call for human rights in its very primitive nature et al ...
Protests, calls for reforms, demands for change, active community involvements, etc., are not demands against the nation, but against despotic or corrupt state-bodies. Those who speak out are not against their country. Those who speak out are seeking the betterment and the greater fulfillment of their country, now, tomorrow and for the future generations to come. Those who speak out, do so, because silence maintains a deaf stability hesitant to reacting to change, in fear that the status-quo might be affected. Those who act out, do so, because they have the right to do so; because freedom of speech is not limited to theoretical assumptions and rhetorical assertions. And because citizens are not simply absent subjects.
Showing posts with label Middle East. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Middle East. Show all posts
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Rochelle, just another Migrant Worker ..
So, I got my nails done. After much contemplation of the bourgeois-like atmosphere filled in the Amman-salons, I decided, why not pretty myself up. Ironically, after conversing with some friends about the idea of being fashionably instinctive, I realized that I often fail in putting the effort, not because I don't mind dressing up, but because I don't want to be categorized as one who's more consumed in herself than what's happening around her. And while, my manicure might make me feel a little feminine for a couple of hours, essentially, sitting in the beauty shop being pampered by a migrant worker while people are losing their lives in revolutions and historic political changes, makes me feel, a little full of myself.
But that's not the purpose of my post today. Today, I want to share a story of Rochelle, the Manicurist. A young, thirty-three year old Philippina, living in Amman, Jordan. Rochelle has been living in Jordan for over 5 years now.
At the age of 27 years old, a young mother of three, and having just given birth to her youngest daughter, who is now 5 years old, Rochelle had finally arranged the final paperwork to allow her to travel abroad for work. Living in a modest home, her husband, an employee at a bank, making barely enough to the sustain the growth of his vibrant family, Rochelle made an independent decision to travel. And not your conveniently adventurous type of travel to explore the world, but rather an unrelenting desire to provide for her family, in whatever means possible; even if it meant being separated from them. Rochelle explained that if she ever stayed in the Philippines she would never be able to make enough to save any money or make a significant amount for her labour.
In 2005, after arranging with a recruiting agency, Rochelle saved enough money to pay for her ticket to Jordan, where she was to spend the next two years with a Jordanian nuclear family with two children living in the city of Dabouk, notorious for being the "Kings" neighborhood. Rochelle reminisced of her time in her employers home. "I was not allowed to leave the house, and had to work 7 days a week, with no break... I didn't know how to be a maid in the beginning, and my Madame used to always shout at me... " Rochelle despairingly confessed that for many nights she would cry remembering her children, regretting that she did not bring with her pictures or memories to help her long-nights without them. So much so, that in fear of jeopardizing her work-environment, she was instructed not to bring any valuables with her, not even her wedding-band. A disconnected attachment to loved ones so far away, only acknowledged by the mere monetary savings, no more than $225 sent back home once a month; while, she kept about $150 for her daily needs for the month.
At the time, for two years, Rochelle was paid $200 US dollars, where she worked for over twelve hours a day, 7 days a week, accounting to about $6 dollars a day, not even the minimum wage paid to a young worker in North America. [e.g.The minimum wage in Toronto today is about $10.25/hr] As soon as her contract was over, her employer failed to purchase the promised return ticket home, for Rochelle to visit her family. Rochelle, rejected to renew her contract with the family, and moved out, into a small apartment in third-circle Amman, to work two jobs to help sustain herself and attempt to regain her freedom.
Today, Rochelle works at a middle-class like beauty salon, specializing in Manicures and Pedicures, while also accepting part-time work both cleaning homes and providing private beauty services in customer's homes. Making approximately 450 JODs a month, and paying about 90 JODs for rent, Rochelle estimates that in a year she would be able to save enough money to travel back home to visit her children and husband. Rochelle confessed that while her life felt heavy and discomforting at times, the only thing to sedate her to numbness were her anti-depressant pills. Sleeping a little better, crying a little less, Rochelle numbed her responsibilities to a sole purpose that she believed was destined to help her family live a better life.
While, Rochelle is just another Migrant Worker among the hundreds of thousands that live in Jordan, and in the Arab region, her story, like many others, help us regard Migrant Workers as more than mere subordinates here to serve us for some cheap often refused labour by a local. Rochelle tells of friends often so desperate as to surrender their bodily-integrity to keep living. She tells me, that she is thankful to have never been in that situation, and that whenever she feels down she feels like she could be in worst hands. Today, Rochelle tells me that she feels a little more free, allowed to come and go as she pleases, allowed to go to the grocery store, and walk around the block, she feels a little more free in her ability to come and go, but limited to the expensive lifestyle in Jordan.
Too many times, I've come across discriminate attitudes for an Indonesian, Philippino, Indian, Sri-Lakan, or another Asian, that travel thousands of miles, far from friends and family in the attempts to live a better life, or explore greater opportunities.
Think not low of the next cheap labored Migrant Worker you encounter... but rather of their continued sacrifices to survive. What makes us any better, than the destined conditions that were set for us?
But that's not the purpose of my post today. Today, I want to share a story of Rochelle, the Manicurist. A young, thirty-three year old Philippina, living in Amman, Jordan. Rochelle has been living in Jordan for over 5 years now.
At the age of 27 years old, a young mother of three, and having just given birth to her youngest daughter, who is now 5 years old, Rochelle had finally arranged the final paperwork to allow her to travel abroad for work. Living in a modest home, her husband, an employee at a bank, making barely enough to the sustain the growth of his vibrant family, Rochelle made an independent decision to travel. And not your conveniently adventurous type of travel to explore the world, but rather an unrelenting desire to provide for her family, in whatever means possible; even if it meant being separated from them. Rochelle explained that if she ever stayed in the Philippines she would never be able to make enough to save any money or make a significant amount for her labour.
In 2005, after arranging with a recruiting agency, Rochelle saved enough money to pay for her ticket to Jordan, where she was to spend the next two years with a Jordanian nuclear family with two children living in the city of Dabouk, notorious for being the "Kings" neighborhood. Rochelle reminisced of her time in her employers home. "I was not allowed to leave the house, and had to work 7 days a week, with no break... I didn't know how to be a maid in the beginning, and my Madame used to always shout at me... " Rochelle despairingly confessed that for many nights she would cry remembering her children, regretting that she did not bring with her pictures or memories to help her long-nights without them. So much so, that in fear of jeopardizing her work-environment, she was instructed not to bring any valuables with her, not even her wedding-band. A disconnected attachment to loved ones so far away, only acknowledged by the mere monetary savings, no more than $225 sent back home once a month; while, she kept about $150 for her daily needs for the month.
At the time, for two years, Rochelle was paid $200 US dollars, where she worked for over twelve hours a day, 7 days a week, accounting to about $6 dollars a day, not even the minimum wage paid to a young worker in North America. [e.g.The minimum wage in Toronto today is about $10.25/hr] As soon as her contract was over, her employer failed to purchase the promised return ticket home, for Rochelle to visit her family. Rochelle, rejected to renew her contract with the family, and moved out, into a small apartment in third-circle Amman, to work two jobs to help sustain herself and attempt to regain her freedom.
Today, Rochelle works at a middle-class like beauty salon, specializing in Manicures and Pedicures, while also accepting part-time work both cleaning homes and providing private beauty services in customer's homes. Making approximately 450 JODs a month, and paying about 90 JODs for rent, Rochelle estimates that in a year she would be able to save enough money to travel back home to visit her children and husband. Rochelle confessed that while her life felt heavy and discomforting at times, the only thing to sedate her to numbness were her anti-depressant pills. Sleeping a little better, crying a little less, Rochelle numbed her responsibilities to a sole purpose that she believed was destined to help her family live a better life.
While, Rochelle is just another Migrant Worker among the hundreds of thousands that live in Jordan, and in the Arab region, her story, like many others, help us regard Migrant Workers as more than mere subordinates here to serve us for some cheap often refused labour by a local. Rochelle tells of friends often so desperate as to surrender their bodily-integrity to keep living. She tells me, that she is thankful to have never been in that situation, and that whenever she feels down she feels like she could be in worst hands. Today, Rochelle tells me that she feels a little more free, allowed to come and go as she pleases, allowed to go to the grocery store, and walk around the block, she feels a little more free in her ability to come and go, but limited to the expensive lifestyle in Jordan.
Too many times, I've come across discriminate attitudes for an Indonesian, Philippino, Indian, Sri-Lakan, or another Asian, that travel thousands of miles, far from friends and family in the attempts to live a better life, or explore greater opportunities.
Think not low of the next cheap labored Migrant Worker you encounter... but rather of their continued sacrifices to survive. What makes us any better, than the destined conditions that were set for us?
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