Tattoo Ruminations........Part Two: VEGAN

Part Two: VEGAN

As I mentioned in my previous post, I did not waste much time in getting my second tattoo. Most things in life that I find interesting, enjoyable and that give me pleasure I tend to jump into headfirst and take to extreme limits. Tattoos are one of these things for me, and as soon as I had gotten my Chinese name completed, I immediately knew what I wanted my next one to embody: my Vegan beliefs/principles, which are perhaps the most defining things about the way in which I choose to live life. 

My journey to living a Vegan lifestyle was a process that took place over a few years and was done in conjunction with my wombmate/twin brother, John. Although this initially started primarily for health reasons, it has since grown to encompass far more than simply what I choose to eat and not eat and in fact dictates many of the choices I make on a daily basis. I will get into all of these reasons throughout the body of this post and hope that I am able to make readers more aware of their impact on our planet and fellow living creatures, as well as practicing mindfulness in life. 

John was the catalyst for me in becoming more conscious of my dietary choices and together we progressed from being omnivores to vegetarians to Vegans. For two South Dakota farm boys who spent their childhoods eating whatever was put in front of them, which included copious amounts of our family farm's pork and beef, it is ironic in some ways that this happened at all. The progression from eating anything and everything to then becoming aware of every single thing that I put in my body was not something that happened overnight, nor would I recommend to anyone to drastically change their dietary habits all at one time. It is far better in the long run, I believe, to make changes gradually and a few at a time. In any case, as I became more conscious of the food that I consumed, I naturally became more aware of how I felt in response to the things I put in my body. The more I did this, the more I wanted to further refine my food choices and ensure they were as life-sustaining as possible. Within roughly eight months' time both John and I had completely cut animal flesh out of our diets. 

For the next year or so, we were then following a vegetarian diet and continuing to eat dairy products, eggs, wearing animal derived clothing and other products from animals. It was then during a trip to Mt. Desert Island off the coast of Maine that we finally made the commitment to being Vegan. This had been, at least for me, something I had considered doing for quite some time. The final deciding factor for me was becoming more aware of the difference between the environmental impact of a plant based lifestyle versus that of a animal based lifestyle. It is this aspect of Veganism, coupled with the health and ethical aspects, that keep me so firmly rooted in my Vegan principles. By following this particular way of life, I feel I am able to coexist with all life creatures on Earth as peacefully as possible, an ideal I continually aspire to achieve. 

It has now been nearly eight years since I adopted a Vegan approach to life, and at this point many of the things I do in line with Vegan principles are habitual and simply my own reaction to life. I still do, however, make decisions on a daily basis that are directly influenced by these principles. One area in particular is in the way in which I choose to commute to places in my daily life. I am a firm believer in mass/public transit as a means of moving from place to place. However, I generally choose my own body as my means of transport either by walking/running or cycling to get to and from places. When this is not feasible, I then do my best to use a combination of public transit and myself to get where I need to go. Although this may not seem like a part of Vegan principles, for me it is directly in accordance with the values that this lifestyle attempts to embody: peaceful coexistence with one's surroundings. I do not claim to be perfect in my attempts to live in this way, but I do my best, which is all anyone can do in this life. For example, one thing I do quite often that is in direct contrast to this ideal is travel via airplane. Unfortunately nearly all of my efforts to reduce my carbon footprint each year are very nearly negated by the amount of air travel I do annually This is a fact that I have chosen to live with, as I enjoy travel too much to give it up at this point. 

I feel it necessary to clarify that I do not judge others for their lifestyle choices and do not consider myself a militant Vegan, though I did at one point. I do not like when my choices and lifestyle are judged, so I do my best to show respect for others' choices and not make comments about how my fellow humans live. "To each his own," is a proverb that I say out loud several times each week to remind myself about this. Having said this, however, I do encourage others to become more cognizant of the choices that make up the lives in which we lead. After all, life is but a matter of individual choices that together dictate the path in which our lives take us. Making choices that involve more cogitation will ultimately lead to a more positive and fulfilling life experience. 

My next blog post will focus on my third tattoo, which did not come for a year and a half from this one. The story behind that one involves a much different inspiration and narrative.......

Tattoo Ruminations…….Part One: He'h Qiao or my Chinese name

One quick glance at me makes glaringly obvious my infatuation for tattoos. Ever since I got my first tattoos in January 2010, I have had a strong affinity for them and the ability they allow me to express very deep held beliefs that strike straight to the core of my being. My tattoos are a source of self expression, love for artwork and something that I continue to be interested in, especially considering I still have a lot of blank canvas…... though my mother disagrees with that!

As a way for me to both share with others what my tattoos mean to me and also for myself to reflect on them and remember the things that I treasure and value in this life, I am going to be writing a series of blog posts about the meaning/story behind each of my tattoos, as well as the experience that led to me getting each one done. It seems natural for me to do this in chronological order, which will also likely prove to be an interesting practice in self reflection. I welcome any and all comments that my writing may elicit and hope it can provide some insight into why people like myself enjoy tattoos. Additionally, it is my sincere hope that they can be a source of inspiration due to the beliefs that live behind them.

He’h Qiao or my Chinese name

The beginning of the tattoos for me. When I got this one done, I took my travel notebook into the tattoo shop as I had a handwritten version of this in it from my time in China. I had met a Chinese land army soldier on a twenty four hour train journey from Guilin to Beijing and during our long talks during this journey he wrote this for me and we talked about its meaning. This was done in Minot, North Dakota by Devin Billings. 

The first tattoo I had done was in January 2010. At this time I was in my second year teaching on the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation in Northwest North Dakota and in a much different place, both geographically and developmentally, than life currently finds me in. Between my first and second years teaching there I had a life changing three week trip to China that very directly altered the course my life has taken. This trip was my first venture outside of North America and completely altered my worldview and idea of what life is about. While in China I discovered a love for experiencing new cultures; meeting people and sharing life experiences, stories and philosophies; learning and travel; and cultivated an intense love for life and its possibilities. I actually started looking for work in China while I was there and did not stop looking for work overseas until I was finally offered a job to teach in Sana’a, Yemen six months later, which I immediately accepted, and both started my life abroad as well as continued my adventures in travel and learning about different cultures, peoples and ways of living.

While in China I, like many other foreigners who visit that mystical land, was given a Chinese name that is phonetically based on my own name, Joseph (Joe) Harr. At the time I almost solely went by Joe, so the name that was phonetically translated was Joe Harr. Names in China, and other Far East cultures, however, are the opposite of names in the Western world in that they begin with one’s family name, thereby rendering my name Harr Joe, which phonetically translates to ‘He’h qiao (it is a very strong ‘H’ at the start and is followed by a slightly guttural sound; the ‘q’ is pronounced ‘ch’ and the ‘iao’ like ‘ow’). The word ‘He’h’ means celebration in Chinese, while ‘Qiao’ means bridge; therefore, when combined my Chinese name can be translated to ‘Bridge Celebration.’ For me this embodies my approach to how I choose to interact with fellow humans in this world in that I enjoy forging bridges between people of different cultural, ethnic, philosophical, etc. backgrounds and celebrating the diversity to be discovered within. It is this overall philosophy that my Chinese name creates that inspired me to get this permanently written onto my body and start an affaire de cœur for tattoo art.

Since having this written on my arms, I have met many other Chinese people who have not only confirmed for me the accuracy of its writing, but also insisted on calling me He'h Qiao. Recently I even hosted a couchsurfing couple from China who showed appreciation for it. Experiences like these, such as hosting travelers and continuing to roam this planet and interact with fellow earthlings have helped me reaffirm this philosophy for myself. At the actual time I had this done I was also living amongst a culture different from my own despite being in my home country, and it was this initial experience of living on an Indian Reservation that inspired me to live outside my comfort zone and embrace diversity more. Life just has too much diverse beauty to discover and, for me at least, it seems best experienced through direct interaction with different people and environments. It is also a constant reminder for me of the wonderful time I spent teaching on ‘the rez’ and the connections I made there.

The next installment in this will be the tattoo that followed this initial one, which was all of one week later. Anyone who knows me would not be surprised by the ‘addictive’ way in which I approached this newfound interest and have continued to do so……...

Returning To My Rural Roots

The beautiful Harr family barn, my roots, stock full of fresh straw bales.
FYI: I painted the cupelos on top a shining coat of silver last summer, a great memory with Dad. 

Over the last several years I have had many opportunities to travel, experience cultures drastically different from my own, behold a plethora of diverse landscapes and meet scores of people.  Throughout my traveling and living abroad I have begun to identify more and more with my rural, farm bred roots. Regardless of where it is I travel to or live in, I find myself most comfortable when I am in wide open spaces, and a far cry from the hubbub of cities. It is in these settings that I have spent the majority of my life dwelling in, and recently I have had many experiences that have affirmed this; even more recently I have become actively became aware of this. Perhaps my recent awareness is due to me being far enough removed from my Dakota farm roots to be able to make this observation, or maybe it is just me becoming more comfortable with myself in general. This particular blog post is the first of a small series that will highlight some of the travel/living experiences I have had in recent times that show my natural draw to rural areas. I start with my current country of residence: Jordan…….

The gorgeous Jordan Valley.

From the very first week I arrived in Jordan nearly two years ago, I have consistently spent a great deal of my time outdoors, specifically in areas far from major thoroughfares and surrounded by farmland. One of these such areas is a wadi that is a mere twenty minutes hike from my apartment. This wadi has served as a quick escape for me from the hustle and bustle of the freeway that runs between it and my apartment. It is also in this wadi that I met my friend Ibrahim. At first glance Ibrahim looks like most of the sheep/goatherders one sees throughout Jordan, but after getting to know him I realized he has quite a story behind his keffiyeh, as do most all people. There have been numerous instances when hiking in this wadi that I have heard “Yousef! Yousef!”, and after scanning the surroundings have seen Ibrahim beckoning me over for a chat.

Ibrahim and I during one of our chats. Unfortunately it has
been quite a while since I have seen him.

Through visiting with Ibrahim, I have gotten to know quite a bit about him, including that he was an officer in the Jordanian Air Force and worked for several years at the Jordanian Embassy in Madrid, Spain. Because of his time spent in Spain, Ibrahim initially tried communicating with me in Spanish. I obviously told him I do not speak much Spanish; therefore, we communicate in Arabic, which is great practice for me. Ibrahim has told me about his brother who lives in Ohio and works as an engineer. I have also learned that he owns a small supermarket near the beginning of this wadi that I had frequented several times. Just as Ibrahim has shared personal information with me, I too have shared things about myself, including my rural roots and that my father also has sheep on his farm. 

My wonderful parents and I at the Farm.

An interesting side note about when I have spent time with Ibrahim is that I often find myself being reminded of my own dad. Not only does Ibrahim look somewhat like my father, albeit an Arab version, he is nearly the same age and has similar work. Making this connection with Ibrahim, like so many other personal connections I have made in Jordan and elsewhere in the world, has allowed me to more honestly relate to and feel connected to people in general. As soon as there is a story behind what was previously another random face, it becomes harder to simply pass by someone, anyone, and not wonder who the person is behind that face and what hopes, dreams and experiences have been lived or thought. Additionally, these kinds of experiences help me realize how myself and my own family members might be perceived by total strangers looking in from the outside. As I have met and interacted with rural folk in various parts of the world, I am now better able to understand how city dwellers can think it strange that people choose to live in such remote and small places. Ultimately these experiences have helped me feel more proud of my rural roots and take pride in where I sprouted from.

Shabab or some young boys I met while hiking in the
countryside in Jordan. Real friendly kids. 

It is not just when I am in areas completely removed from civilization that I find myself drawn. I also feel more innately comfortable in villages and other small towns. Again to use Jordan as an example, I spend a considerable amount of time walking through villages on the outskirts of Amman and find people in these areas, as I find of rural folk in general, often more amiable, open and unassuming than are people in larger urban areas. I am not proposing the axiom that ‘people in rural areas are more friendly and kind than people in urban areas,’  but from my own experience I have found the former group to be more likely to speak truthfully and without hidden motives than the latter. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule, but I have had far more experiences that support my belief than refute it. (I will add more to this in my upcoming post(s) about my travels in Morocco and Egypt.

I would like to close this particular post by commenting on how smells can easily take me back to my family’s farm on the Dakota prairie. Quite often when I spend time hiking or exploring countryside, whether it is in Jordan, Sri Lanka or the States, I find smells to be very personal, as they have the ability to evoke strong memories associated with different scents. One example of this happened today, not even four hours ago from the time that I write this, while I was making my way up a wadi at the end of an afternoon hike. As I was trudging up this last stretch on my way home, I was greeted with the familiar smell of rotting flesh. Although I do not necessarily enjoy this smell a lot, I cannot help but be taken back to my farm and the countless experiences I have had catching a whiff of some dear departed creature(s). Each time I happen to take in this smell, I am specifically reminded of the ‘dead lamb’ pile that we have each winter/early spring while my dad is lambing, which invariably involves the early exit of life by at least a small portion of the new crop of sheep. In the instance today it happened to be a dead goat and two dead dogs that greeted me with their aroma, but experience teaches one quickly that all animals (humans included) end up smelling about the same after lying dead al fresco, especially under a hot sun.

The beautiful landscape to behold just on the periphery of Amman. 

Other smells that I find myself transported by include: the smell of manure, which takes me back to fall and spring days, specifically spring days right after the thaw has begun and the smell of once frozen manure emanates off the ground like a gratuitous layer of perfume trailing a tony woman; the scent of wet grain, which reminds me of summertime rains on the prairie; the aroma of flowers in bloom, which, regardless of their kind or type, always make me think of my mom’s lilac bushes on the farm in the early part of spring; and lastly the smell of sweat, which despite commonly being considered undesirable, reminds me of long days spent working outdoors and being around farmers such as my dad and my uncles after a day’s work (this is a compliment, believe it or not!).

There is much more I could write about why I enjoy rural areas, but this much will suffice for now. In my next post I plan to describe some of my wanderings in the world’s countryside from my last year of travel. I will especially focus on Egypt, Sri Lanka and Morocoo.

Contentment in Jordan or Hiking, Foraging and Tea with Locals

One of my favorite things to do as of late is spend as much time outdoors as possible, exploring the world around me and taking in as many of the sights, sounds, smells, and fellow human beings around me. Today after work I had another great adventure trekking around a favorite area of mine between Amman and Wadi Al Seer. I would like to share some of the highlights to help spread some positive cheer in the world from the somewhat tumultuous Middle East.

 As soon as I had finished up at work, I headed off for the countryside and within twenty minutes of walking was descending into a wadi with the noise of traffic quickly fading behind me. I should note that on my way down into the wadi I took a few sidestreets to avoid a group of neighborhood boys I always run into and who I knew were going to ask me, yet again, if I had bought them switchblade knives like the one I own and have shown them several times. They are sweet kids, but I just didn't feel like repeating that conversation again for the tenth time (literally!).

 After I had descended into the wadi I found myself alone and surrounded only by rocks, shrub brush, and fig trees teeming with ripe, juicy figs. I took the opportunity to replenish my fig supply by filling my empty tupperware container and a Ziploc bag, while at the same time getting in a tasty, fresh snack. I then soldiered on, and when I reached the end of this section of the wadi I scrambled up the side, using whatever I could find for grips to get myself to a beautiful vantage point. After taking in the view for a bit and enjoying the moment, I kept on as I had big plans at this point for where I planned to hike to.

Not long after I had been walking through this area of the village, however, I walked by a friendly man surrounded by his children who, after exchanging greetings with, insisted I come sit with him for a moment. At first I tried politely declining several times, as I had planned to hike a route that was going to require a couple more hours of sunlight, but after I realized he was not going to take no for an answer, I accepted his invite and had a seat. Very quickly I learned my new friend's name, Akef Sandooka, and began a very fruitful and mutual exchange of ideas about life, beliefs, and the world around us. Akef spoke very clear and mostly modern standard Arabic to me, which made it very easy for me to understand him. Akef was also very excited to talk to me about Islam, which I respectfully listened to, and share with me the beautiful experience of life that this religious framework provides for him. Despite my own reluctance toward religion, I find inidividuals with religious convictions like Akef to be very beautiful spirits, as he just wants to share what is beautiful to himself with other people. I also found his analogy to describe why women should cover up to be very interesting. The analogy is the following (paraphrased): imagine two bananas, one unpeeled and the other kept in its peel. Now leave both bananas laying out and tell me which is better after some time has passed. The point he was trying to make is that the banana that is kept in its peel (a woman covered up) is better because it is cleaner and stays more pure than the one left out of its peel. I don't quite agree with this, but it was interesting nonetheless.

After drinking two cups of tea with Akef and meeting two of his ten children, I explained that it was necessary to go. When Akef apologized to me for keeping me so long, I made a point to tell him that I was the one who was actually sorry for not accepting his invite more readily and sitting down immediately. I then explained that it is through experiences like the one I had just shared with him that a person is truly able to understand and know a place, such as me getting to know Jordan better. I further told him that if I always was rushing through life and never took the time to stop and have tea with someone like himself that I would never get to know the real Jordan or understand the people of this country. He fully understood my point and thanked me for my words. I then thanked him for this opportunity and we parted in the hope that we will see one another soon.

 In the next bit of walking I again found myself talking with groups of people, mostly older women who were curious about what I thought of their country and about what I happened to be doing in their neighborhood. One of these groups I met while I stood by a grove of pomegranate trees, scanning the trees for pomegranates that looked ripe enough to eat. They, of course, also wanted to know what I was doing, and when I explained they ushered me into their gated area to give me some pomegranates that they could guarantee would be sweet. I then told them that it was necessary for me to get walking as I had some distance to cover yet with no daylight remaining at that point. I found it quite humorous how these women kept insisting that I walk straight home and not talk to anyone because there may be 'bad' people out. It was very sweet of them to think of my well-being, but I walk in this area all the time and know for a fact it is very safe. Nonetheless, I appreciated their kindness and thanked them for their wonderful gifts of fruit.

As I then made my way through the last stretch of wadi in the darkness, I found myself feeling very content, not only at this particular part of my day, but also about where exactly I am at in life in general. Over the last two years Jordan has slowly become home to me and it is largely because of experiences like these. The more that I find myself interacting with the world around me, whether it is with people, exploring new and old terrain, or just being out in the outdoors, the more I feel at home and comfortable here. If the outdoors naturally call to you, answer that call and give this part of yourself the time it deserves. I know it does wonders for my well-being and makes me feel complete. In any case, I hope this story of contentment and peace from the Middle East can help people realize this area is a much different world than what is typically portrayed in the media.

Un Ultra Mondo: Another World Inside Me

It is interesting how memories can be triggered and brought to the surface of our consciousness at times. Frequently these experiences happen when least expected, and also when a certain sense of vulnerability is present. This happened to be the case for me a few nights ago while I was attending a film screening for an Italian movie at the Hussein Cultural Centre in Amman. The film being shown, Un Ultra Mondo (in English Another World), followed a recently turned twenty-eight year old Italian man, Andrea, as he travels to Africa to visit his dying father, whom he had not seen since he was eight years old. Upon his arrival in Nairobi, Kenya, Andrea finds his father in a coma and is greeted with the news that he has a brother, the product of a marriage his father had with an African woman who had passed away a few years prior. Not long after this, Andrea’s father dies, leaving Andrea as the only next of kin to his eight year old brother. Andrea is then shocked to find out that he is the boy’s legal guardian and is legally and financially responsible for him.

As the movie continues to show Andrea and Charlie’s story being played out, it reveals the difficulties the two have bonding with one another and in coming to terms with the reality of their situation. One of the first instances in which they are able to bond and solidify their relationship is when the Land Cruiser Andrea had rented breaks down on the two of them in the middle of the savanna outside Nairobi in southern Kenya. It is nightfall when this happens, and as a result they are forced to spend the night sleeping inside the vehicle, which makes for a somewhat frightening experience for young Charlie. To help appease Charlie’s fears and unease, Andrea tells him they should pretend they are hunters and explains they will do things ‘that only hunters would do.’ Almost immediately Charlie begins to feel better and is suddenly excited at the prospect of sleeping in the vehicle in the wild. He then thinks he is ‘going to become a man’ and no longer feels paralyzed by his boyish fears.

There is another scene later in the movie that revisits this memory for Andrea and Charlie. It is once they have returned to Italy and are living in the city, but again the two of them (at Charlie’s request) sleep in their vehicle and pretend to be hunters. Despite being surrounded by only an urban jungle, they fully imagine hyenas and lions lurking about the dark surrounding their vehicle, and dare not leave its safety. It was at this precise moment in the movie when I was reminded of experiences playing with my younger sister, Emily, and her friends when she was around eight years old. Many of these memories involved playing ‘explorers’ in the pasture surrounding our farm in South Dakota, and almost always saw me emoting the role of a foreign explorer (frequently with a heavy Australian or British accent) and fully immersing myself in the ‘play’ that we were engaged in. I did this not only to make it more enjoyable for Emily and her friends, most notably Zoe, but also because it allowed me to lose myself in the moment and relive the childhood joys of imaginary play. In our time as explorers we also had to deal with potentially dangerous beasts skulking around us the same as Andrea and Charlie did.

This flood of memories brought with it several waves of emotions too, and as I sat in the theater at the Cultural Centre, the waves turned into real tears in celebration of these fond remembrances. No matter how many thousands of miles/kilometres I am from the FARM in South Dakota or my darling sister Emily, these memories bridge the gap to bring me right there. From my new home in Amman, all of those memories and the experiences they contain seem like ‘Another World’ for me, though one that is very dear and always at hand in my thoughts and heart. Just like Andrea in Un Ultra Mondo, I also have a completely new set of life circumstances I must adapt to, but this does not mean that I must leave behind these memories and certainly does not mean I should forget what it is to feel uninhibited by life’s responsibilities from time to time.

I knew I had to write about this experience as soon as I was able to, lest the intensity of it should wane and I forget to do so. In sum, this post is dedicated to Emily and the wonderful memories I have of you. Thanks for helping me remember what it is like to really be a kid and for inspiring me to be myself. I encourage all of you to find the ‘kid’ in you and to really let loose in life, get lost in the moment, and not take yourself too seriously.

Is there such thing as a Humanitarian Superpower?

I have recently watched several documentaries about the United States’ military invasions in Iraq and Afghanistan, and have read many articles and opinion pieces on the subject as well. I have made efforts to watch and read things from both sides of the situation: those honoring and celebrating the efforts as well as those in opposition to the involvements and any further military actions in the world. My own personal views regarding these wars has remain mostly unchanged, but I do believe I am much more accurately informed regarding these occupations. In the end, I do not agree with the invasions and consider myself a pacifist who prefers things truly done in the name of peace, which I believe is impossible to do under the guises of war, though George W. Bush would argue otherwise. An example of his contrary views were given in a nationally televised address on the 2003 invasion of Iraq when he said, “America will seize every opportunity in pursuit of peace, and the end of the present regime in Iraq would create such an opportunity.” A glance at any daily newspaper would raise questions about any such ‘peace’ having been achieved in Iraq as a result of the US invasion and subsequent war there. It could even be argued that the situations in both Afghanistan and Iraq are worse since the US began their operations there in 2001 and 2003, respectively.

I am not trying to argue that the regime of Saddam Hussein was respectable or that it was not oppressive, nor am I trying to praise the efforts of the Taliban in Afghanistan. I simply do not agree with war and believe it is counterproductive to human relations and all efforts to improve the overall human condition on our planet. I also believe far too much money is spent, or perhaps more accurately ‘wasted’, on much of the military engagements the US has become involved in. While it is true that terrible violence has been inflicted as a result of terrorist activities, the events of September 11, 2001 being no exception, it just does not seem to make sense, at least to me, to return violence with violence. A quote I came across by a Jordanian woman who lost her husband, a reporter for Al-Jazeera, when the Baghdad hotel he was staying in was fired upon by US military in 2003, adequately sums up my feelings about this. She said, “Hate breeds hate. Who is engaged in terrorism now?” Indeed, it seems much of the world’s governing powers have forgotten one of the central teachings at the heart of nearly all the world’s religions. It is commonly known as the Golden Rule and can be found in various forms in no less than twelve of the world’s major religions, including Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, and Buddhism. In some ways this rule is playing itself out in its exact opposite form: various groups apparently want others to attack them, so they first attack them to show that that is how they wish to be treated. It seems strange, but apparently it works, as there are plenty of examples to see as evidence each day.

Rather than return hatred with more hatred, or violence with continued violence, would it not be better to instead focus on what good can be done in the world by focusing on meeting the needs of our seven billion fellow human beings? Right now, a host of central African countries, including Niger, Burkina Faso, and Mali, are experiencing one of the worst droughts in years and are in danger of facing a terrible famine that could become a major humanitarian crisis. At the same time, the public education system in Pakistan, if it can be called that, is perhaps the worst in the world, and millions of Pakistani children are forced to attend schools that are essentially outdoors and have one chalkboard which must be shared by all classes. Without serious intervention or humanitarian assistance, these Pakistani children will grow up to be the next generation of Pakistanis and will be largely uneducated, which makes them equally easily influenced to join a jihadist path. And those starving African children will either succumb to the effects of malnutrition and not grow up, or will face severe and permanent damage to their health as a result of it, unless something is done by those holding the power cards in the world.

This all brings me to my main point, which is why the United States should transform itself from being a military superpower to a humanitarian superpower. This idea was inspired by a quote I heard from Howard Zinn, the famous American historian who shed light on the sometimes ugly truths of American history and its foreign policy throughout his life’s work. His quote also challenges the idea that America’s current foreign policy does not value the lives of other countries, specifcally those America invades, as much as it does its own citizens. His quote is the following:

“If we believe that people all over the world have the same right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as us, we would be taking these billions and billions of dollars for war and we would be using it for medicine and for food and we would no longer be a military superpower, which is a really disgusting thing to be, but we would be a humanitarian superpower.”

I certainly like the idea of coming from a country that can claim to be a humanitarian superpower as opposed to one of military might, and imagine that the majority of Americans would as well. In order for this to be achieved, I believe it takes a very strong and informed public, as well as one that will not stand for the injustices that are being done in the name of ‘American’ peace. I encourage all of you to also become informed and at least reconsider some of the actions our country takes instead of simply accepting it as the gospel. I do not mean to discredit everything American, and assure you that there are many things about the United States I am proud of. There are just some that I can not be silent about. Here is to a brighter future and one where (hopefully) the humanitarian budget can surpass the military one.

Arabic Theatre Weekend- A Review of Amman's Arts

During my first true weekend after moving to Amman, I took advantage of some of the many opportunities to experience the arts in Jordan. Soon after arriving here I became aware of several cultural centers and art galleries while reading The Jordan Times, a daily English newspaper I have been picking up from time to time, and made a pledge to myself to take some of the exhibits and productions in when it worked with my schedule. Among the various offerings I came across was a play called Mariam and the Story Returns, a Saudi Arabian production being put on at the Hussein Cultural Center in downtown Amman. After doing a bit of research on this center, I was impressed to see it was ranked the third best option for theatre entertainment in the Middle East by Lonely Planet.

Despite extremely overcast weather and almost constant rain throughout the weekend, I set out from my apartment to navigate the vast public transportation system available in Amman. I was very pleased to discover a bus hub only a few hundred meters from my apartment building that has regular buses going to the downtown area. Even better is that the bus fee is a mere thirty pastries, equivalent to roughly forty cents. The ride to the downtown area was brief and I soon found myself in an area of Amman I first visited as a tourist six months ago. Amman’s city center is the heart of the Old City and like this area of most cities it retains more of the original culture and true character of its home country. For this reason and many others, especially the greater prevalence of non-English speaking Jordanians, I have an intense affection for this area and in the future may try to relocate closer to it.

After leaving the bus I then made my way to the Hussein Cultural Center and took a few minutes to walk around the complex.The center is a modern and beautifully constructed building that, along with all other structures throughout Amman, is faced with local white stone, which is a requirement of a local municipal law. I believe this ordinance has helped give Amman an alluring and charming atmosphere and has prevented it from becoming too modernly homogeneous. I made my way to the theatre area a few minutes before the doors opened and found myself waiting in the company of local arts aficionados, the likes of which can be found in all regions of the world. I wish more people in the western world knew it is these same kinds of people and other ‘normal’ types also found in the west who truly make up the population of the Middle East, and not the radicals that unfortunately garner all the attention in the media. Were language not a barrier, these similar groups from opposite ends of the world would likely enjoy great conversation and sharing of ideas. Regardless, I was happy to be in the company of other like-minded people who appreciate the arts.

When the doors opened I entered into the auditorium area and found a seat in the fourth row. One thing I noticed here that I have not seen elsewhere was that a program and a small basket containing dates had been placed on each of the seats throughout the auditorium, which has a capacity between 150 - 200 people. Being hungry anyway, I enjoyed the delicious dates, which were among the freshest I have ever had, while I tried to decipher the Arabic on the program. It contained all the typical information one would expect to find on a playbill, including the names of the musicians, cast members, director, producer, and others associated with the production.

Not long after sitting, the lights dimmed and the show began. Despite recently feeling pleased with myself and how well my Arabic has come back to me relatively quickly since returning to the Middle East, I soon found myself mostly lost in the quick dialogue of the actors onstage. I was able to follow certain parts by catching various words, but I must be honest and say that I was not able to follow the majority of the speaking. This did not prevent me from appreciating the show, however, as I thoroughly enjoyed the music, overall visual presentation, and the high caliber of the acting. In terms of the size and scope of the production, it was relatively small; there were about eleven total cast members of which all but one were adult men between perhaps twenty and forty-five years old. The only female player was the young girl who played Mariam, who appeared to be about eleven years old. She was absolutely fantastic in this role, and easily won over the entire audience, something I gathered from the reception she received at the end.

The cast members wore almost only white clothing, which created a stark contrast to the overall dim lighting that was employed throughout the play. The lighting that was used had an overall red-orange feel and when coupled with the fog/steam that was also used, created a somewhat eerie and otherworldly feel. This was intensified even more by some of the visual imagery that that the cast members generated through their movements using a large white sheet that was prevalent through most of the show. This sheet, which was probably the equivalent of 100 square meters, had several head-sized holes cut into it in which the actors, in more than one instance, stuck their heads through and then wrapped the sheet around their bodies. While doing this, they also at times moved their arms, hands, and legs underneath the sheet in ways that created unique imagery along with the aforementioned lighting. The movements were superbly choreographed and well executed, and together made for a very entertaining display.

The music that went along with all of this was provided by a group of only three musicians, one was a classical guitarist/vocalist and two were percussionists, including one who played tabla. The overall mood of the music paired perfectly with the visual imagery and helped add to the mystique and sometimes tense atmosphere of the show. In terms of its form, I thought it was similar to much classical Middle Eastern music and was done quite well.

(Author’s Note: The following section was written after the previous excerpt and in a different writing session).

The day after my first play at the Hussein Cultural Center, I again had an opportunity to take in a free theatrical production and am very glad I did so. This performance, put on by a Libyan troupe, was in stark contrast to Mariam and the Story Returns in nearly all aspects. While Mariam seemed to be more of a classical/traditional play that relied heavily on implied ideas and imaginative imagery, Khararef (I am not sure of the exact translation) was a modern play that employed entirely different techniques and modes of presentation. Additionally, the Arabic being spoken in this show was much more similar to what one hears in everyday conversation and on the streets; as a result, I found the play far easier to follow and was able to surmise its overall plot more readily.

The Libyan production was in truth different in nearly all aspects from Mariam and I must say I enjoyed it considerably more. In contrast to the lighting from Mariam, Khararef had an overall bright stage display that made the characters much more easy to see and readily discriminate. The music and sounds employed throughout it were provided not by live musicians, but rather from prerecorded audio that was fed through the in-house audio system at the cultural center. The acting troupe was much different also, and included a wide variety of characters who were very different from one another. In Mariam, the characters were all very similar, almost to the point that they seemed homogenous to one another, with the exception of Mariam. Khararef's characters were different not just in their physical attributes, including ages, sizes, and clothing, but also in their unique personality traits. Some were very serious and intense, while others were more comedic and did not seem to take themselves seriously at all.

It is at this point that I feel it is necessary to explain the nature of the plot of Khararef, which in my opinion is perhaps the most fascinating aspect of it in general. As I said previously, I was able to follow this play more easily on my own and speculate on what it was about. I knew that it had definite political implications because I continually heard the Arabic word for government (hukuma) being spoken, and started to suspect that it was about the Libyan revolution when I began to hear hukuma being uttered in tandem with the words kalab (dogs) and haiwanat (animals). My suspicions about it being inspired by the revolution were confirmed when I then heard an all to familiar phrase to me from my time in Yemen - al shab yureed isqat alnitham (The people want a new regime). This is a phrase that has become synonymous with the Arab Spring and is somewhat of a motto of the various youth oppositions in the Arab world.

Despite feeling confident about the play’s inspiration and overall message, I felt it was necessary to ask someone afterwards to confirm my intuition and to gain a more complete understanding of it. The man I asked appeared to be a photographer and was very knowledgeable about the play, providing me more information than I had even expected. He was from Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates, and spoke very good English. Not only did he confirm for me that the play was about the Libyan revolution, but also explained that the central female character in the play, who had a very key role throughout it, represented Libya. He further explained that in one scene her character was shown to give birth to the character representing Muammar Gaddafi; then at the end sher was shown snuffing out/killing Gaddafi’s character. This was meant to show that Gaddafi both came from and was extinguished by Libya (by the 'rebels' as they were denoted in the media). My Emirati friend also told me that all the actors in the production were Libyan and had been specifically picked to represent all the main geographic areas of Libya. Additionally, he mentioned that the character who acted as Gaddafi had actually fought as part of the opposition against Gaddafi in the recent fighting.

How entirely fascinating it was to see a play inspired by such recent and relevant events, especially given my current living situation. The reception this play received was very positive, and the audience was fully engaged throughout the course of its single, exciting act. There was much laughter throughout it, as I imagine many jokes were made about the character that Gaddafi was throughout his tenure as Libya’s leader. In sum, a great weekend of Arabic theatre and a fine start to my time living in Amman.