Berkley Center

As I have been reminded constantly since the moment I arrived in Jordan, by the directors of the program I am on, by my parents, by the news, and by my host family, Jordan is in a tough neighborhood. Every single one of the states it borders has a travel warning. The reality of Jordan’s situation is most visible through the many refugees to whom it plays host.

People tend to define the refugees by the conflict with which they are associated. There are the Palestinians who came after the 1948 war, those who came after the 1967 war, and those who continue to come. Then there was a huge wave of Iraqi refugees from the 2003 war and the subsequent sectarian strife. And most recently there are the Syrian refugees who are not yet integrated into society: their refugee camp is on the border and is closed. No one enters, no one leaves. These refugees all face similar problems: access to healthcare, jobs, and housing, and a fear of exploitation.

Citizenship is another facet of the refugee situation. I first found out about the narrowness of the citizenship laws one Saturday morning as my host mom, her sister, and I sat drinking tea and talking. To be specific, they were talking, and I was politely listening but not understanding, as is my trademark here. Her sister turned to explain their conversation. Her children are not Jordanian citizens. Though they were born here and even though their mother is a ranking member of the army, their father is Syrian and thus they are barred from citizenship—citizenship is inherited just from the father. The most pressing concern for her was that university would be extremely expensive for them because the government wouldn’t subsidize tuition like it does for Jordanian citizens.

When I asked my colloquial Arabic professor about this (she also considers herself our cultural interpreter), she traced the reasoning for this back to the second wave of Palestinian refugees. The Palestinians from 1948 all automatically received citizenship but after that no other refugee group has. A lack of citizenship not only disenfranchises the refugees but also puts them in a lower social class where they cannot get governmental jobs and prevents them from sending their children to university for a subsidized price. However, to grant citizenship more freely would heavily stress a country lacking in most resources. For example, Jordan is one of the most water-poor countries in the world.

While the focus in Jordan is mostly directed to the refugee groups I have already mentioned, there is a smaller community of Somali and Sudanese refugees also living here. They are the smallest refugee population in Jordan and thus often forgotten and underserved. Many of the Somalis and Sudanese come to Amman via medical visas and then ask for asylum once they are in the country. This is a lack of adequate support and infrastructure for these refugees, because they are the smallest and thus most often forgotten group.

This is the refugee population I have had the most contact with during my time in Amman. On Mondays and Wednesdays the Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS) runs English programs for the adults and children, and I am a volunteer teacher. The JRS began this program just last year when, at an English lesson geared toward Iraqi refugees, a volunteer teacher met Ibrahim and was introduced to his small apartment where several other refugees were living. It was through this personal connection that JRS came to know this underserved refugee population.

Our mission is, as the JRS country director described, not only to teach English but also to walk with the refugees on their journey. We are not here to impose a Western ideal of education or culture, but rather to provide them with the useful tool of language and to be their companions on a road whose difficulties I can barely begin to comprehend.

The 7 to 10 year-olds that my wonderful partner teachers and I have are at once energetic, eager, distracted, frustrating, and endearing. They are, in short, children. I am often reminded of their American counterparts. Last spring break I was a participant on an Alternative Spring Break trip to Pulaski, VA, an area in Appalachia. During my week there I helped out with an after-school program catered towards third graders with learning or behavioral disabilities and whose families were in distressed economic situations.

Despite the fact that the two groups of children are literally worlds apart, I can’t help but see the similarities. Some of them are traits that all children share: the drama and shifting friendships, the excitement when they get an answer right, the same cartoon characters that decorate their pencil bags and backpacks. Some traits are clearly specific to those in distressed situations: the poor dental hygiene and rotting teeth, the lack of school materials, the behavioral issues.

These children are so similar, but their futures drastically diverge. While the American children will have a social safety net and opportunities for advancement, like college scholarships, the refugee children will be barred from jobs and universities because they cannot get Jordanian citizenship. I am not saying that all the American children will prosper and all the refugee children will not, but rather I am recognizing the importance of belonging to and being protected by a country.

I do not pretend to have an answer to this problem and both sides of the argument have valid points. All I can actually do is to walk with them in an effort to better understand their journey. And to teach them a vocab word or two, Insh’Allah.

For more reading on the refugees in Jordan and on the water situation check out the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees’ report on Jordan and the government’s website on water and strategies to conserve water.