AmeriCorps: Spending that pays off

I just spent two years in graduate school studying conflict—indicators to predict it, factors that influence it, ways to resolve it.  Almost all conflict literature points to a common crucial factor: unemployment, and more specifically, youth unemployment. Sure, unemployment in the United States is nowhere near that of Sudan or the Ivory Coast.  But our 9.8% unemployment rate is nothing to laugh at and neither is our youth unemployment rate measured at 19% last July.  What would my student essays have offered as a potential remedy? The obvious answer is programs that generate jobs, particularly those that provide training to young people.  This is why I was shocked to hear that the House of Representatives voted last week to eliminate the AmeriCorps program.

In 2005, I was an idealistic young graduate looking for work and I wanted to find a job that served some greater good.  I joined AmeriCorps and worked at a fledgling community center, tutoring kids and teaching English to new immigrants.  I gained teaching experience and management skills and went on to work as a full-time salaried staff member there for almost three years after my AmeriCorps service year was over.  Thanks to the institution of AmeriCorps, providing the center with energetic free staff members, it grew exponentially and was able to serve a wider community.

AmeriCorps is no free ride.  As an AmeriCorps “volunteer”, I earned a living stipend of just $10,500/year, but was provided healthcare and an education award.  My AmeriCorps training cohort was diverse: We were recent high school and college graduates, current part-time students, mothers looking to rejoin the work force and career changers seeking experience. What we had in common: each of us needed employment and wanted to contribute to American society.  We truly embodied the AmeriCorps pledge, particularly, “I will bring Americans together to strengthen our communities.”

The programs AmeriCorps members staff provide afterschool activities and safe spaces for teens, and they tutor children who would otherwise fall through the proverbial cracks in our system.  They provide job training and placement for adults and build houses for Katrina victims.  They run food banks, set up health clinics and counsel survivors of domestic violence.  These are programs that strengthen the fabric of our society.  I would suggest an AmeriCorps-like program as a conflict prevention mechanism for any of the “fragile states” I studied last year.  Is this really an institution we want to remove from our country?

In January 2011, national unemployment was at 9.8%, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. Some states have been hit much harder, with my home state of Michigan precariously perched at 11.7%, only recently down from 13%.  Factoring in the number of people not included in these statistics because they are no longer looking for work, and the many underemployed people getting by on part-time jobs, the numbers are much higher.  Only six months ago, the Joint Economic Committee reported a 19.6% unemployment rate for young people ages 16-24. It’s important to again emphasize that this only includes youth actively seeking employment. This is a dangerous number for a nation worried about crime and security.

Enter this new plan to cut all funding to AmeriCorps.

President Obama signed the Edward M. Kennedy Serve America Act on April 21, 2009, renewing and expanding the national service program that houses AmeriCorps. Among other things, the Act approved gradually expanding the 75,000 AmerCorps members then serving to 250,000.  This is 250,000 people who, like me, will find employment strengthening our country’s underserved communities.  Or this is 250,000 additional jobs that could be lost and countless people who will not benefit from the programs these members would have staffed.

I know many will argue, “But we have to make spending cuts somewhere.”  Yes, there will be cuts, but cutting one of the major American innovations that provides jobs at present and supports organizations to grow and generate future jobs is not the answer. It’s simply faulty reasoning. The positive cycle of growth will be stopped in its tracks if AmeriCorps is taken out of the equation. 

At the end of 2009, the House voted to continue funding AmeriCorps at $1,149,721,000 per year.  This cost amounts to just 0.03% of the total federal budget for 2010. In Michigan alone, there are 1,824 AmeriCorps members serving (excluding the many involved in sister programs like the Senior Corps) and the total cost is only $12,551,137.  In terms of “bang for your buck”, this is a clear success.

As the Senate prepares to vote on this issue, let us support institutions that further what we Americans pride ourselves on—The American Dream.  AmeriCorps members pledge, “I am an AmeriCorps member, and I will get things done.” Senate, let’s get things done.

Gettin' Down in Vayetown

This post is from a blog I wrote in 2010 while working on a project with vocational training centers in Liberia.

Monrovia, Liberia
 

The project is going well. Which is surprising me because I really wasn't confident in it when we left New York despite our months of planning. I’d had so many questions and doubts, most of which centered on whether we were capable of adding any value to the programs here in Liberia. What do we know about vocational training? About vocational training in West Africa? In Liberia in particular? What do we know about market assessments and even about training people here? There were so many unknowns and yet so much trust and so many resources had been put into this project already.  The temp video was a rinky-dink production using borrowed cameras, poor lighting, no external mics, our team-members as actors, scripts written by us, and editing in a single 10-hour day by me and Nora. I was tempted to tell the rest of the group that we hadn’t been able to produce the video after all to avoid the embarrassment of showing it here.

But to my surprise the training and the video and our written short guide have been a wildly popular activity here. And participants told us our hands-on activities were “fun”, “useful” and that they’d use them again in the future with the youth. I’m still skeptical of the larger impact we can have but the thing I’ve realized is how dedicated the staff here are to their vocational training programs. And how committed the students are to learning vocations and to succeeding. And this means they want to learn. We’re welcomed more warmly that we could ever expect and everyone listens attentively, waiting patiently for us to finish a section to tell us that we’ve spoken waaaay too fast and they haven’t understood a word!

Today, Charles, who is around 14 or 15 years old, adeptly went through the steps of a practice interview in our role-play activity. He introduced himself to the staff member pretending to be a “Restaurant Manager” and took care to thank him at the end, shaking his hand. He's so motivated to succeed and listened to every word today, synthesizing the information perfectly in the focus group later. Charles has a large scar, close to five inches on his neck and I can’t help but wonder about his past. What was his life like during the war? Is the scar an accident… or a wound inflicted by another human being? What does Charles dream about at night?
On the drives each day to vocational training centers, we pass by ruins of houses again and again, with no roofs and half-walls. Many of them have families squatting in them or they’ve been converted into corner stores. We drive by billboards with text: “Grow the food you eat. Eat the food you grow,” “Stop Rape” (with drawings of a man on top of a protesting woman and a large X through it) or “Use treated malaria nets.”

If can't tell, there's a lot of laughter in this picture.

Today was a special day. Vayetown is a small remote village about 45 minutes drive on a pothole-riddled dirt road from Tubmanburg. The vocational training center there has mostly older students and I’ve leaped to the conclusion that this town was heavily hit in the war, which would also account for why so many young adults here have not attended school. (Only those not in the school system are eligible for the VT programs. This is an attempt to address the problem of the thousands of young people who missed years of schooling while living in refugee camps during the war.) We had a great training session, despite some small setbacks—the generator went out and we had to suspend our video showing and jump to a different section of the training until a new generator could be found. It had also taken us an hour longer to arrive than we’d anticipated due to the poor condition of the roads. But the staff and students were receptive and I feel I can safely say we’ve left them with motivation to do a market assessment for their area and improve on their programs. At the end of our training, the director told us the students wanted to welcome us in their special way by performing traditional Liberian dance. While the 140 students from the entire center piled into their large classroom, drummers set up and the dancing began--first, a group of four young women around 14 years old and later three young men of the same age. After the dance (which was amazing) we thanked everyone, exchanged contact information and took some photos. As we started to enter the car, with the music still running through my head, I unconsciously did a few steps of a two-second version of their dance and a few of the girls noticed and started laughing. Nora quickly joined in, and within seconds we had a large crowd and drummers materialized. We did our thang for a few minutes and judging by the faces of our onlookers in the photos, we’ve provided some laughable memories for the students for at least the next few months. My conclusion: My lack of shame was clearly a winning quality today.

Only stray dogs pepe here

This post is from a blog I wrote in 2010 while working on a project with vocational training centers in Liberia.
Monrovia, Liberia

What am I doing here?

As part of my capstone project for my Master’s Degree (International Affairs) along with a group of other students, I’m working for the Women’s Refugee Commission who in turn partners with the Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC) in Liberia. We’re working to make the “Market Assessment Toolkit for Vocational Training Providers and Youth” more user friendly. The Toolkit is a 130+ page manual for how to link vocational training (VT) programs with market assessment, thereby ensuring that the youth trained in various vocations actually exit the program are able to actually use the skills learned. For example, if a VT program trains all their youth to be carpenters and tailors and floods the market, not all those young people will earn a living in this way. But a market assessment might highlight the need for mechanics and opening up a new training program in mechanics could ensure that young people can get jobs. Our task is to make this Toolkit easier to use, through a training we’re developing that can be replicated by VT program staff, a shortened version of the Toolkit and instructional videos. We’ll be visiting four VT programs coordinated by the NRC in our time here and piloting our preliminary training tools, including some very amateur videos we’ve filmed and edited back in New York as stand-ins until we could film on location at the centers in Liberia. That’s pretty much the deal. 

Initial thoughts:
The streets are lined with people pretty much everywhere. Markets look like the pictures I’ve been downloading online for our videos. Next to the government ministries, people are hanging around, selling gum and fruit. I’m so used to traveling and working in other countries where most people don’t speak English or if they do, it’s only to me, not to each other, so sometimes I forget that the language they’re speaking is English. It’s also sometimes hard to understand because, as McNeil told us, “We drop letters. We speak quickly and don’t say the whole words.” McNeil is from Monrovia and has a permanent smile. He works for the NRC.  When I asked McNeil if people danced a lot in Liberia (basically trying to get us an invitation to go dancing somewhere) he said “What?! What?! Hahahahaa”. He then launched into a monologue about how you can’t ask questions to Liberians, because they’ll only answer with a question. McNeil giggled for the next half hour and we joined in. It’s impossible not to smile when around McNeil.

Outside of the NRC compound, there are words painted on a wall. Nora looked at it and said, “What does that say? ‘Only stray dogs…’ Oh!” Someone had written in blue paint, “Only stray dogs pepe here.” We all laughed, along with Fred, our NRC supervisor. Fred is from Uganda but has been living and working in Liberia for the past four years and he is a wealth of experience and knowledge. Nora had seen this phrase written on a few different walls. I guess it’s a reminder for people not to pee on the wall? I’m thinking of adopting it as a new phrase that can mean anything from “That bar? I’m not going. Only stray dogs pepe there” to “My house is a mess. Only stray dogs pepe there.” An all-purpose phrase that can be adapted to any occasion.

The NRC compound seems lavish in comparison to the houses nearby. There is a pool in the middle and air conditioned buildings. But paint is cracking in a way that reminds one of the remains of luxury in Cuba… or the UNRWA buildings in Palestine. The NRC is settled amidst a herd of UN and NGO headquarters. The road there is an adventure in alphabet soup: UNICEF, UNFPA, IRC, NRC…

Our apartment building, which houses only expats, most of whom work at the NRC, contains large apartments with air conditioning and keeps us sealed off from the malaria-carrying mosquitoes. We even have a TV, and off-again-on-again wireless internet. The tall wall around our apartment building has barbed wire and sharp glass at it’s top, preventing intruders and there is a 24-hour guard. Across the street, people mill during the day and after dark outside a broken-down building, reminiscent of Detroit, selling water we’ve been warned against drinking and candy. There is a building curfew of midnight on weekdays and 2am on Saturdays. We’ve been told never to walk around after dark. From the 2nd floor of our building we can see the ocean but have also been warned against the beaches, both because of “crazy people” and an intense undertow which can pull you down even if you only wade up to your knees.

Lebanese business owners appear to run this town, or at least control it financially. I opened up google on my computer and was confused then it came up in Arabic, wondering if it was detecting some setting from when I’d been working on my Arabic homework a week before, even though this didn’t really make sense. I clicked on the button to switch it to google English and saw that I’d been directed to www.google.com.lb, “Google Lebanon”. Fred told us that Lebanese families are the privileged class in Liberia and they own a lot of property in Monrovia, many apartment buildings, restaurants and hotels, a challenging power dynamic to say the least. We passed by Leela Café and Salaam Store.  I wonder if I’ll end up practicing my Arabic while in Liberia, quite unexpectedly.

On our ride from the airport to Monrovia last night with Sharif, who also works for the NRC, the radio announced that Charles Taylor’s wife had given birth to a baby girl that day. The commentator asked the informant, “So Charles Taylor has time to see his wife?” “Oh yes, he has all the freedoms of a regular person.” The commentator went on to ask more questions insinuating conjugal visits at which point all of us in the car started laughing, Sharif laughing the loudest. The informant assured the commentator that he would share with the Liberian people the name and birth weight of the child as soon as he found out more details. For some reason the commentator was intent on extracting this particular information. Sharif told us many people are happy that Taylor is in the Hague, but many others are not, because they enjoyed kickbacks during his regime and now, without these privileges they have a harder life and must find work. Others believe Taylor should be tried in court but are not happy he’s been taken to Europe for the trial.
It’s interesting to finally experience the type of market we’ve been talking about “observing” as part of the Toolkit. We marveled at the live giant snails being sold and the fish, dried and with their mouths locked in a bite onto their tails and sold in rings. We bought a mélange of fruits and vegetables to make a pasta sauce and will be trying some white half-tomato-half-potato-like vegetable tomorrow. One of my favorite things to do when in new places is try new foods, though I'll admit its led me to some "mistakes" at times (I'm referring to the cockroach I ate in Thailand). I’d brought along the video camera to shoot some footage for our market observation video and little kids and teenage boys came flocking to me, all willing to be in the video. Older women held their hands in front of their face, saying, no, not me. I felt like a tourist and wanted to call out “No, it’s for an actual project, I’m not just a tourist.”

My first thoughts: Liberia is very hot, and very green and people wear colorful clothing with great style. And you can buy "Chucky", "Bride of Chucky", "Scary Movie" and "Scary Movie II" all on one DVD for $5.

On Syrian TV

This is an excerpt of the Aghla Shabab program episode that aired on Syrian TV on August 14, 2009. (I'm the one on the left not saying anything in this clip.) The video clip features participants, mostly college students from the United States and Syria, and staff from the 2009 United States-Syria Grassroots Diplomacy Program. 

"How will your project help me?"

This post is from a blog I kept in 2009 while working in Jordan to conduct a conflict assessment of the country. 

Last week I headed back to a community center in East Amman that works with a combination of Palestinian-Jordanians and Iraqi, Somali, and Sudanese refugees. They center mostly holds classes for youth and adults in English, Arabic, computers, art, sports, etc. It's mostly for youth who don't go to school for whatever reason. Some of them are refugees and have been out of school for quite some time (until 2007, Jordan did not provide free education to non-Jordanian-citizen children); some of them don't go to regular school because they need to help work to support their family. Some of them have simply dropped out. Adults come to improve their literacy and computer skills. M, the director, had told me earlier that from the beginning he laid down the law that "Here, we are one people, not Palestinian or Iraqi or Somali, just people." He told them, "I don't want to have to fire anyone. Or kick anyone out." From then on he claims they hadn't had any problems, but he said that many of the other centers in other areas had a lot of problems between groups of students or teachers.

M had kindly set up a focus group with some of the Iraqi teachers and one Palestinian-Jordanian teacher. From the beginning they were friendly but guarded. The Palestinian teacher, Menal, asked me at the beginning, "What is the point of this project? What will it do to help me? How can it improve things?" I was at a bit of a loss. Probably nothing, I thought. I told her I wasn't sure but that hopefully someone would read our report and at least understand better the challenges facing her community. And perhaps an NGO would provide more helpful assistance. That was all I could offer. Menal went on to stress the vast divide between the Palestinian and Jordanian community and the great amount of discrimination she felt. She wasn't very hopeful for the future and couldn't envision anything that would make it better.

When it came to the plight of the Iraqis I felt even less useful. Was I just pouring salt on wounds by asking these questions? I hoped it was helpful to give them a forum to vent. They can't get jobs, even with their master's degrees. The one young male teacher told of playing guitar at a coffee shop and being kicked out by the police, because he is Iraqi, literally thrown out the door, in front of his friends. The older female teachers told of how their husbands couldn't get work, and sat around becoming more and more depressed each day. How their children were harassed in schools. How they just didn't feel at home, even after six years. They were just waiting for resettlement in America. And what could I do for them? Could they take my contact information? Of course I gave that but hoped they didn't assume that would help them gain resettlement. One woman looked as if she were going to cry. What can I say? No, my research won't solve their problems. Any of them. All I can do is sit there and listen.

What will they find in America?

June 15, 2009

This post is from a blog I kept in 2009 while working in Jordan to conduct a conflict assessment of the country. 

Today was a new day. A busy frantic getting-lost getting-lost again talking asking listening learning seeing going feeling day.

We conducted three interviews, one with a high up politician man in the major Islamic opposition party (IAF), one with representatives from Al Jazeera Amman and one with an English class of Iraqi refugees living in East Amman. Basically West Amman is wealthy and has lots of foreigners and cute cafes and East Amman gets less services, less water, it's where the Palestinian refugee camps are and where many Iraqis live--those who don't have the money that most Jordanians perceive Iraqis to have.

Amman, Jordan

All were interesting interviews, but I was most affected by our trip to East Amman where we'd been told not to go after dark. The streets are narrow and we saw trash on them for the first time in Amman. We drove by one of the refugee areas and there are children in tattered clothing running the streets at sundown, something you NEVER see in West Amman. Everyone in West Amman seems to be wearing the newest Gap and Zara and Adidas. (Clearly i'm exaggerating but it's my impression). We weren't sure what to expect as we drove off into the netherland of East Amman this afternoon at 6, already exhausted from a full day.

After getting lost five or six times (now the standard), we finally were able to meet up with Rami*, an Iraqi who is being resettled in Tennessee in a month, thanks to his help as a “mutarjim”, a translator, for the American army. He hopped in the backseat and instructed us on how to get to Kumiko’s apartment where the English class was being held. I wasn’t sure how on earth they’d expected us to find this place, given the sparse directions we’d been given, but I’ve given up being surprised by the directions in Amman. People seem to assume you’ll just ask around 6-7 times until you find some landmark someone can meet you at. This is the third time we’ve had to resort to this method. I have to say that probably a tenth of our time here in Amman has been spent lost in our Toyota Camry. Poor Israr had to keep rolling down his window to ask "Where is Hashemi?" or "Where is Plaza Mall?" and decipher the cryptic answers for me as I skirted death by crazy driver and dodged people leisurely crossing major roads mid-traffic. 

And who is this Kumiko? We weren't sure. We’d met a Syrian-American guy the week before, doing medical research on refugees, who’d put us in touch with Kumiko. She turned out to be a Japanese woman who’s been living in Jordan for 14 years, speaks Arabic as well as English and hosts English classes in her apartment every night for refugees. She’d invited us to come by tonight and we’d said yes of course, hoping to get some information on the Iraqi experience in Jordan, but knowing we might not have any formal interviews.

We were right about that. But had a much more rewarding experience. And saw a window into the lives of Iraqi refugees in Jordan. Rami led us in and introduced us to the class. I dazzled them with my meager Arabic skills “Ismee Heidi. Ana min Amerka. Sakne fee New York. Ana taliba fee jama’a Columbia, buss sanke fee saef fee Amman.” From that moment I was a celebrity. We then switched over to English as that is after all why they were there. Abdul explained that he was being resettled in Illinois, where his daughters already lived. He’d been rejected once before for resettlement, because of his service in the Iraqi army, even though he’d done work for the Americans, but finally had gotten his papers and now was leaving in five days. Hussein was leaving for North Carolina in 8 days, and Ali for Ohio in a month. Samer and his daughter Aliya were still waiting for resettlement. Rami told us how he’d been angry for a while at how long it took to get his resettlement, even though he’d work for years for the American army, but he said with a grin, “Now I’m leaving in a month for Tennessee, so I’m not angry anymore.”

A focus group

Rami was the teacher for the day, having excellent English skills. During the middle of the class, as students were struggling to pronounce “p” versus “b” (Arabic doesn’t have a “p” sound), I tentatively raised my hand, remembering a trick from my teaching-English days, and offered to help. I was invited up to show them how holding a piece of paper in front of one’s mouth when speaking could demonstrate that when you say “book”, the paper doesn’t move, but when you say “park”, the paper moves with the air from the aspirated P. For the next 20 minutes, I was invited to continue teaching the class, as a guest teacher. We went through “C” words, “D” words (dinosaur was the first suggestion, from eight year old Aliya tagging along with her dad to class), and “E” words. Somehow “era” came up which fortunately an Iraqi woman with excellent English who was helping out the class was able to translate. It was both deeply rewarding to spend time doing hands-on work again, and also heartening to see the work of not only Kumiko, opening her home and giving energy to the places where help was truly needed, but also the comraderie between students, with those who knew English volunteering to teach the class every day. They offer two levels of English as well as men’s and women’s classes. And two hours each day. It’s really a great group. But it was also very depressing for me to think of the lives ahead of these Iraqis, most from Bagdad, but one from Basra and one from a smaller town I’d not heard of, all educated with lives from the past that were no longer possible. I thought of those headed to Ohio, Tennessee, North Carolina. What will they find there? Each are struggling with English and I know Americans aren’t particularly patient when it comes to people who can’t speak English. And I know they’ll face racism and anti-Arab—particularly anti-Iraqi sentiment at times. I’m worried for when Aliya is resettled. Where will she end up? Will her classmates make fun of her accent? Will they call her “the enemy”? I told them that they were going to nice places. And I asked them if they had any questions about America, but they just looked at me with anticipation for what was coming and smiled at me and thanked me for visiting. I do believe my country has many wonderful aspects. And the children of these men will probably live a good life, and will hopefully be fortunate enough to travel to visit their parents’ homeland some day, but it made me incredibly ashamed to represent this “great country” that had bombed their towns, killed their friends and family, and which was now hesitantly opening it’s doors to them only to throw them racial slurs and hard work when they arrive. I know the situation is more nuanced, but the facts remain... Maybe it’s the air tonight, but I’m feeling a bit disappointed in the world. Right before I left, Kumiko said “You study human rights? I need so much help. So many problems. Please come help.”

*all names in the above blog entry have been changed, because I didn’t ask permission to use names in any writing. 

On a separate note: 
Link to an interesting gender study of the small town of Sahab, produced by JOHUD (the Jordanian Hashemite Fund for Human Development): http://www.johud.org.jo/Latest/why-don-t-women-join-the-work-force.html

Self Check-in

June 10, 2009

This post is from a blog I kept in 2009 while working in Jordan to conduct a conflict assessment of the country. 

Three words can sum up how I feel about the project a week into our work here.
Curiosity. 
Frustration. 
Self-doubt.

 I should perhaps first describe our project here in greater detail. The project line is as follows:

 “Along with another graduate student from Columbia University, I am conducting a conflict assessment of Jordan as part of a project with International Solutions Group (ISG), a consulting organization here in Amman, which provides support to development and humanitarian agencies. We will be studying potential triggers of conflict in Jordan as well as current capacities for strengthening peace. The aim of our research is a document that can assist these organizations to work in a conflict sensitive manner.”

 That’s what I send in each email to potential interview subjects. The idea is much more complicated though. Jordan is not an active conflict area, and certainly not an active violent conflict area. Wedged between Iraq and Palestine/Israel (as well as Syria and Saudi Arabia), Jordan is the operating ground of hundreds of INGOS, UN agencies and other development and aid organizations. The idea of our work is to understand all tensions that currently exist in the country and what could trigger them to grow worse, what is being done or can be done to alleviate the tensions, and what are the effects of the large amount of development and aid work on these tensions, for better or for worse. The project was originally explained to me at one point as aimed at reviewing the effect of the INGOs and UN agencies on conflict in Jordan, because they’re focused on, for example, Iraq and are not necessarily mindful of their impact on Jordan. We aim for them to be more aware and act in a “conflict sensitive” manner.

 I can’t even tell when I’m becoming jargony these days, because I’ve said all this so many times.

 So the idea is that we conduct 25-30 interviews and 5-6 focus groups asking a series of 8-10 questions, most of them fairly general such as “Do you believe there are any tensions in Jordan?” If they say yes, we then delve into what they are. If they say no, then we try to probe, asking whether there are any issues related to different social groups or any problems related to the economy. And it hasn’t happened yet that this didn’t lead to identification of most of the following areas of tension: the issue of the Iraqi refugees and the perception that they are causing inflation, tensions between Jordanian-Jordanians and Palestinian-Jordanians, the gap between rich and poor, water scarcity where some villages are without any water at times, and conflicts between tribe and “tribe-like” structures based on regions. These always come up or at least some combination of them along with a few other issues. However, the way in which these are perceived to manifest themselves, the degree of severity and ideas for what could make the situation better or worse have widely varied.

 Now this whole interview process is complicated for many reasons. Firstly, it is often perceived as a strange study for us to conduct, as “Jordan doesn’t have any conflict” is a familiar refrain. So I get the sense that some interview subjects have felt that we are trying to conjure up problems that are not there. Other times the subject has agreed whole-heartedly that there are major problems and alluded to near apocalyptic proportions of the perceived problems. Still other subjects, such as government officials and some UN agencies, appear not at liberty to discuss all the issues, some more transparently unable than others. There seem to be vast misperceptions about the wealth of the Iraqis and the belief that there will be no water problem. Some feel that the country is at risk because of destabilizing factors from Israel and the idea of an “Alternate Plan” for Palestinians (a very touchy subject here in Jordan: the idea that Jordan would become Palestine, leaving Israel free for Israelis, clearly a threatening idea for Jordanians, who are already a minority in their own country, with between 60% and 70% of Jordan being Palestinian.) There is additional sensitivity required as we are looking into the positive and negative effects of international organizations and inter-governmental agencies (like the UN) on the country’s conflict dynamics. However, I must be careful in wording this goal, when speaking to representatives from these organizations, who have put years of their lives into this work, and seem easily put on the defensive.

 How to describe the emotion involved?

 Curiosity.
It’s a tough job, and very taxing. Anthony pointed out before I left that this could be my calling—interviewing for primary research. He said, “Your favorite thing to do is ask questions… and here that’s what you’ll do all day!” I think he might be right. We’re learning some incredibly interesting things. And the challenge is to listen to what they are and are not saying and the way they are conveying information. I’m still learning how best to encourage more out of the subjects and to uncover what they really mean and to delve deeper into their words. I’m fascinated by each respondent, by their opinions, by the differences in their responses, by their understanding of their society. One key to our research is less that we uncover the truth and more that we accurately measure perceptions of the truth as these can be more important than facts. If people believe there to be a problem, this can make the problem reality. Each day is a new adventure and a new organization, office, agency, university.

Each day we see through another’s eyes. It is like looking into a prism. You can’t see directly inside, but you see the reflection from different angles and are able to see just a part.

 I read before coming here that one effective interview method calls for agreement with the subjects answers, as opposed to appearing unbiased. This leads them to feel more comfortable with you and more likely to continue speaking. I find it quite natural to agree with whomever is speaking, as how can I disagree with their opinions of their world? It’s their world after all.

 Frustration. 
It is difficult to balance what I feel our internship organization seeks, what interview subjects want to emphasize and what we feel is important. I feel a bit pulled in various directions. Each person I speak to has an opinion of what is the best way to go about such a study, and on it actual value. We were told by one subject that the study was pointless and we would both discover nothing true because no one would tell us the truth and that our findings would have no impact. I was told by a Jordanian researcher today that I wouldn’t be able to do anything as an outsider who hadn’t read pages and pages of history and politics of the country, that I’d be able to understand nothing. We were told by others that our questions were too broad. We were told by our organization that they were too specific. We are told by some that we’ve chosen a “bad subject” (regardless of the fact that we didn’t actually choose this subject for ourselves). I feel that we can’t do anything right. I often feel I don’t know how to ask the questions in the way such that they can be understood properly. And explaining the research subject and it’s objective has proven to be near impossible. I generally have to explain it three times in different ways, when finally the person understands or at least gets tired of questioning me.

 Despite all this, we seem to be lining up interviews left and right. Our schedule includes nearly two interviews a day, which leaves little room for typing the notes (typically 2-3 hours per interview) and setting up more interview, not to mention reflecting on the information we’ve learned and checking current news to stay up to date with events in the region, that are vital to our interviews. (We were incredibly embarrassed to have an interview subject mention a world news headline that had occurred three days prior and we had no idea.) And then there is the woman who told me the study would be pointless unless I read such and such books (a list of around eight full size academic publications). Sure, no problem, I’ll forgo sleep. Forget the treadmill. Power Hut will have to wait.

 One thing I must say is that people have been incredible hospitable and accommodating. We’ve not had a single local organization refuse our interview request, and only one from an INGO (international NGO) that claimed lack of time. Upon arrival we are immediately asked for our favored drink, usually Turkish coffee is chosen, and water is always brought. We then have been given 1-3 hours of the subject’s time and they have all been quite friendly and accommodating, even though those who were not able to speak freely.

 Self-Doubt.
The woman who wondered what we expected to find given our outsider status and lack of extensive knowledge about the country hit a sore nerve in me. I’d pondered for months before beginning this internship, why on earth I should assume I was qualified to undergo this research. I had finally settled on the idea that as an outsider I might actually be more open to learning the full picture, not having previous biases. I also might have greater access to information, as people might speak more freely to me than they would to a fellow countrywoman.

 And as to my qualifications, never having conducted primary research before, well, they wouldn’t allow me to come and do this if I wasn’t capable, right? Right?

 I am still am doubtful about my place in this context. This country is overrun by foreigners. Their presence is inescapable, particularly in West Amman, where we live. Whole shopping areas cater to Westerns and many restaurants and bars are clearly geared towards expat tastes. I feel my foreign-ness, my Western-ness, my American-ness at all moments. When I step into an interview or focus group, I know how I’m perceived. Or at least I think I do. And I feel that I’m asking these questions, probing for an answer of “Yes! Conflict! Bingo! Eureka!” because that’s the purpose. I’m here to identify areas of conflict. It wouldn’t be much fun to produce a report that says, “Nope. No problems here. Next!” Then again, it’s also clear that it isn’t the case that there is no conflict. I almost feel that if I could start the conversation by recognizing to the subjects that my country has tensions too. My country probably needs an early warning system. Then maybe I could feel less like the headmistress, looking down at my class, wagging a finger, saying, “I know you’ve been fighting again…”

 It’s an interesting place to be in. Speaking with so many people, often Americans like myself, who’ve spent their lives thus far working in development or aid work, moving country to country, or having been in Jordan for the past few years, I feel I’m constantly trying to gauge where I would fit in. Most of them seem deeply jaded, frustrated by the lack of success, the dysfunctional nature of their organization, or their inability to do more. Many seem to have given up trying to connect with the local community outside of their work-life. Many seem content to frequent the expat bars, drinking their worries away. And these are really good people, deeply committed to social justice, to equality, to alleviating poverty, to leveling the world playing field. So who am I to judge? Would I end up this way? And could I live the expat life for years, not two months? And do I want to? What is the impact of this work. I’ve heard it said more than once that the outcome of projects someone’s worked on did more harm than good. Mary Anderson would throw up her hands in distress.

 And from our own work of go-go-go, and observing the fast pace of work at our organization, I can see that well-meaning, truly intelligent and knowledgeable people just don’t have time and resources to look at all aspects of a project. They don’t have time to listen to Jean-Paul Lederach and “Don’t just do something. Stand there.” I feel like I don’t have time to stand there and watch. And they certainly don’t.

Amman, Jordan

I also wonder about my competency as a researcher. Do I ask the right questions? Do I hear the right answers? Do I seek the right interview subjects? Do I get enough information? I often hear the criticism and take it to heart. I’m learning slowly to let it roll off my back but it’s a slow process and the wounds seem to hurt every time. And then we have to go back at it and hope that the response to what we’ve obtained is satisfactory this time.

 Today we went to interview Right to Play, who stated that part of their aim is to create change (greater quality and social inclusion) in youth without them realizing, through working together playing sports. It made me so happy to see the work of their staff and how proud they seemed. I miss working at camp. I miss running the after-school tutoring program. I miss working with youth and working for social justice.