AMMAN, Jordan — I came face to face with Arab modernity here in Amman, Jordan, last week, and what a refreshing encounter it was. I renewed my passport in 25 minutes. “Not a big deal,” you may be saying to yourself. Well, it is a big deal. It is a striking if small demonstration of precisely how the antiquated political/administrative systems of the Arab world can change where there is the political will to get modern.
The single most widespread cause of personal annoyance and political resentment by ordinary citizens throughout the Arab world is this: the sense that your Average Ahmad citizen is not treated fairly or decently by his own government and society, but rather suffers the ignominy of corruption, abuse of power, favoritism, disdain, humiliation, and institutionalized discrimination in the pursuit of the most routine and uncomplicated affairs, like renewing a passport.
I flew to Amman from my home in Beirut, expecting to need most of a day to complete the task, based on previous experiences. In fact, when I did renew my passport I had the same sensation as being in a Swiss bakery, a German bank, or a Swedish travel bureau – well, perhaps with the singular difference that a policeman with a machine gun very politely asked to look inside my briefcase as I walked into the building at 9 a.m. on a slow April morning.
I walked into the main hall, picked up and filled in a simple application form, stapled two photographs to it, and then got my first dizzying blast of Mechanized Arab Modernity: A machine with buttons asked me to choose if I wanted a new passport, a renewal, replacing a lost one, a second passport, or other options. I pushed the appropriate button and got a small tag with a number on it. I walked into the main hall, sat on one of many clean benches, and watched the monitors hanging down from the ceiling flash the numbers to be served, pointing with a nifty red arrow to the counter where one was to go. I waited around 4 minutes, saw my number called, went to the appropriate counter, and gave the papers to the man behind the window.
He quickly read through the application, politely pointed out that I had forgotten to write my name in English beneath the Arabic, waited 20 seconds while I did that, stamped all the papers with the exuberance of a rock and roll drummer doing a solo number, gave me another small tag with my name on it, and asked me to go four windows down to the cashier.
I went to the cashier, waited about a minute behind one other person on line, paid my 20 dinars, got yet another little tag with a number on it, and was told to go to the window at the back of the building in 15 minutes to pick up my passport. I did not believe that the new passport could possible emerge from the bowels of the post-Ottoman, post-colonial, Hashemite, Jordanian, Levantine, Arab bureaucracy so quickly. Curiosity demanded that I check out this possibility, just in case. I went immediately behind the building to explore this uncharted terrain, and encountered a landscape of tranquility and efficiency that was as refreshing as it was novel in my lifetime of encounters with the bureaucracy of the modern Arab security state.
A spacious outdoor waiting area was not only outfitted with many clean benches, a water fountain, and a roof to keep out the sun, but also a large ceiling fan to keep things cool in summer. Sure enough, a man behind a counter called out the names of waiting people who came forth to pick up their new passports. I took my seat, waited to hear my name called, and just as promised my new passport emerged 10 minutes later. The entire process, from the moment I walked into the building, took 25 minutes. I walked away with enhanced pride in my Jordanian citizenship, and also a sense that between the opening machine with the buttons and the closing ceiling fan were two important lessons to be learned.
First, the modern Arab security state, if it so wishes, is able to administer services to all its citizens with civility, efficiency and equity, without the need for discrimination, bribery, corruption, or cutting corners. Second, the Jordanian citizens in this little narrative radiated a sensation that I have rarely if ever seen in the encounter between Arab citizen and state: serenity. Because they felt they were treated decently and fairly by their government, the Jordanian citizens in that thoroughly modern hall felt good in their skins. They showed none of the resentment frustration and humiliation that usually define ordinary Arab citizens who are so often crushed and dehumanized by the crudeness and authoritarianism of their own civil servants and soldiers.
Arab citizens who are treated decently behave decently. If we can do passports with dignity, we should also be able to do politics the same way, no? I hereby nominate the man or woman who transformed the passport department to be the next prime minister of Jordan.
Rami G. Khouri is editor-at-large of the Beirut-based Daily Star, published throughout the Middle East with the International Herald Tribune.
Copyright ©2006 Rami G. Khouri / Agence Global
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Released: 29 April 2006
Word Count: 858
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