Ahmad, the taxi driver, has "only one wife," five children and earns a monthly salary that can just get him a night's stay at the palatial hotel, the name of which is embroidered on his immaculate pin-stripe shirt.He is one of several people whose articulate sound bites a curious journalist would note, even in the crush of an Amman street in 36 degree Jordanian heat and dust.It is the International Press Institute's (IPI) 62nd Congress and while Ahmad's (not his real name) choice of compact car for the budget-minded reporter negotiates difficult parking space, Lebanese broadcaster, May Chidiac is not improbably wheeling her motorised chair at break-leg speed through the conference hall.
Less than eight years ago, the outspoken television presenter had had her left leg, from the knee down, and left arm ripped from her body when a bomb went off under her car–an act widely believed to be the penalty for her relentless attacks on what she saw as continued Syrian interference in the internal affairs of her country. This week, on an IPI stage, Chidiac describes her quick and painful return to the journalist's desk. She is in the presence of a group of international journalists including vocal critics of the bloody civil war in Syria and Middle East correspondents and bloggers who have witnessed the ravages of extreme conflict in their own territories.Ahmad meanwhile slows for speed bumps and lurking policemen with guns using speed-tracking radar, not bullets, while relating the Syrian refugee angle to the story. These neighbours to the north have been arriving in droves to escape the fighting �500,000 to date and counting.
Not unlike the West Indies, Jordan's past co-mingles freely with the tales of those who came. Ahmad is Palestinian and he knows the stories behind the coming of the Egyptians, the Iraqis, the Saudis and the Asians and, latterly, the Filipinos who make the beds at the hotels.It would however be Hamzah, the Petra tour guide, who would quickly add, to his own migration statistics, the notion that while those who came often carried the burdens of violent circumstance, Jordan remained "a place of peace."Peace indeed.Chidiac had actually painstakingly made her way up a narrow tour bus stairwell the evening of the IPI awards ceremony at the nearby King Hussein Club. As the bus slowed at the sight of police in riot gear and a small but agitated crowd, the locals quickly explained that the protesters were Jordanian "pan-Arabist" Ba'ath party sympathisers whose loyalty to the political organisation of the late Iraqi leader, Saddam Hussein, has endured.One week before, Iraqi embassy staff, including its Consul General, had been engaged in a frantic fist fight with several pro-Saddam protesters, including his former Jordanian lawyers, at an official function to commemorate the mass killings of the former dictator's regime. A YouTube video of the clash with over 2,700 hits, records the violent fist and chair-throwing scenes.
This evening, the crowds had started to mass around the view that the Jordanian government could have done more to protect its citizens. Nervous officials would have recalled last November's demonstrations which included unprecedented public displays of defiance against the monarch, King Abdullah II.The king was a no-show at the opening of the IPI congress and instead sent his prime minister, Abdullah Ensour, who strongly defended a controversial press and publications law which calls for the registration of online news websites–a move condemned by Jordan's Center for Defending Freedom of Journalists (CDFJ) with support from the IPI.Neither Ahmad nor Hamzah could be lured into direct observations about the state of political affairs; not with foreign journalists at any rate. But they are both clear that the external image of a peaceful oasis in a desert of pain represents a tentative but important chance of surviving the most challenging of Arabic springs.
