Within just a couple minutes of talking, we had found so many shared interests. We were both seasoned concert go-ers and enjoyed the same films. He was wearing a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, and we took turns alternating the music on aux for the full 45 minute car ride. He would put on rock music, and I would put on some rap/R&B music. When I disclosed I was from America, he excitedly told me he wished to go soon for a Metallica concert. A couple months ago, he traveled to Thailand to see Guns N’ Roses in concert. I expressed my fascination in all of the different places he has traveled to. He seemed to live such a fun, carefree lifestyle as a freelance videographer, traveling the world to attend rock music festivals.

We finally arrived at the Souf Camp for the focus group discussion session. The hall was full of heightened emotions of frustration and anger, as each participant shared stories of the personal barriers they’ve faced, lamenting their jinsia (citizenship status/nationality) as Palestinians in Jordan–how institutions, policies, and society treat them as third-rate citizens. On the car ride back to Amman, we reflected on the different stories and the upsetting reality of displaced Palestinian communities. As he divulged more about himself and his plans for the future, the more my heart broke for him. He has traveled to so many parts of the world, but couldn’t go to the place he longed for the most. He is originally Palestinian, but cannot visit Palestine. He had a long term partner from Palestine, but the relationship had to end, even though the love persisted. His partner could visit him in Jordan, but he couldn’t cross the border into Palestine. Once again, I was overcome with resentment–resentment towards some arbitrary political demarcation that put lives on hold, severed relationships, and dispirited a people. I cannot even begin to fathom the feelings of the Palestinian diaspora.

Over these past three weeks, I’ve deliberated my role in Jordan and ILearn quite a bit. I’ve considered my role quantitatively and qualitatively, weighing the money and effort put in to have me working in Jordan against my own outputs in work. Especially, after learning about the concerns of ILearn’s longevity, I’ve had a burgeoning awareness of my own placement here in Jordan. Reconciling with my role and work has been something everpresent for me in this past week. Could the money and effort spent into having me in Jordan have been better spent directly to the organization? How can my work have a legacy that is worthwhile to the organization? Grappling with these questions, I’ve been increasingly motivated. I’ve learned I’ve grown very attached to the organization and its people within these past weeks. As a student from America, it is so easy to just complete my work and return home; however, it is our coworkers and the organization who must live with the impacts of our work, and I want to make sure my work can make the sustainability of ILearn a little more certain.

In the different conversations I’ve had, from Abu Faras to the women at the hostel, I’ve learned a lot about my privilege. It is one of uninvolvement. My American citizenship and student status gives me the privilege of being a detached, third party visitor to Jordan and its rich history. I benefit from the hospitality of strangers. I benefit from the ability to travel freely as a third country national–something many Palestinian-Jordanians have lamented to me. I am able to work everyday without regard to its permanence. I think immersing myself both physically and mentally in Jordan, interacting and working from a long-term perspective, where we can become involved and attached to our work and the people, is key to bridging the gaps our privilege creates.

I like my job. I like my job a lot, in fact. Whenever else could I do research, meet those communities, and coordinate with people across six countries? I came to Jordan, expecting my job to be about social enterprise mapping and statistical evaluations of nonprofits in Amman, but what I got was even better. While my work consists of a lot of scouring the internet about domestic refugee policies in the MENA region, in moments where this data meets my education from conversations with people is what I believe to be the greatest virtue in my work. Sometimes my off-the-job learning can bring so much more depth and nuance into my work. Going into the “Refugees: Priorities vs. Reality” project, we had set up a timeline for everything–a comprehensive, smooth sailing plan. All the numbers added up and the plan was clear, but learning that political refugee projects were not permitted in Egypt brought us a step back in our preliminary research, as we had to pivot on to Libya instead. In another instance, we were calling a Tunisian social entrepreneur who expressed worries about the uncertainty of getting focus group interviews with Tunisian refugees–another hitch in the plan. He explained he had taught in Tunisian camps and never learned a single student’s name, but that was the culture there. They did not disclose personal information or thoughts on their circumstances, perhaps out of protection for themselves. This would mean major changes in our interview style.

While my PubPol 155: Intro to Public Policy class couldn’t have ever prepared me for this work, I feel I’ve already learned leaps and bounds about professional writing and the balance of office and fieldwork with ILearn. When the “Refugees: Priorities vs. Reality” project slows or is waiting for approval from our partner organizations, I can count on the Masahati or Thaki projects to have some reporting for me to do. My supervisor, Saif, has taught me so much from his enthusiasm. Listening to his excitement on the way to Soof Camp about how he loves to see the Soof people eager to work reminds me that his role of helping them find employment is larger than just a job. He is helping people self advocate.

The project I’m working on “Refugees: Priorities vs. Reality” is a work that aligns very closely with my values of efficacy and researching with both my head and heart. The project is a three-pronged case study across six countries in the MENA region with partner organizations American Near East Refugee Aid (ANERA) and the Friedrich Naumann Foundation for Freedom (FNF). We will be conducting focus group interviews and producing six deliverable reports and videos, comparing the economic and social aspirations of refugee youth with current refugee policy. This project will be presented in a regional closing event in Jordan that brings together decision-makers, stakeholders, and our collaborators to facilitate networking and showcase the results of the consolidated, regional report. While the timeline suggests the project will be completed by September at the latest, if I’ve learned anything from working so far, it’s that the plan doesn’t always run smoothly. We leave on August 10th, but I would love to keep offering my skills to this project until the very end.

Throughout these past weeks, I’ve contemplated on the different perspectives and voices we’ve interacted with, bringing forth the question of Palestinian justice and the various means of achieving such justice. Some offer a rational, political answer of one-state or two-state–a justice that demands compromise. Others turn to immediate mitigation through nonprofit work, while maybe waiting for a justice that means fairness and rightful entitlement. Hearing these diverging stances on Palestinian justice, I began to attempt mentally classifying our own work here with ILearn. Would our work be long lasting? Is grassroots civic engagement trivial against deep seated, political action? From my own deliberation, I believe the virtue of our nonprofit work to be one that forgoes the institutional, bureaucratic, and partisan barriers that often come with political action. At the fundamental level, anyone can help improve another person’s life despite their ideologies. In a way, the marriage of groundwork and political action is so imperative, and both are equally valuable.

I think back to before I started learning about the Israel/Palestine dilemma and how intimidating and daunting this geopolitical issue was to me. Words like “complex,” “polarized,” and “controversial” turn many people away from denaturing it and building their own understanding. When both the messengers of information and the audience are unwilling to piece together the problem, there’s no progress. My education on Israel/Palestine has consisted of readings from think tanks, academic journals, and Israeli

and Palestinian documentary films, but coming to Jordan and listening to different Palestinian stories has added a different dimension to my understanding. From Palestinian activists to regular Palestinian-Jordanians, these people tell a story of something larger than land. Abu Faras sits outside and stare at his childhood home in Jericho across the Jordan-Palestine border everyday. These stories remind me of Kanafani’s Land of the Sad Orange that conveys a message of spiritual and material dispossession that the Palestinian people have endured through the figurative decaying of an orange. Before, I had such a technical grasp of the land and numbers involved with Palestinian justice, but learning with both my head and heart about Palestinian loss and displacement at the policy and community level is something so incredibly meaningful. Beyond the loss of land, there is loss of culture and community, and despite the conflicting approaches to justice, even just learning about Israel/Palestine and listening to stories of the people involved is a step towards finding justice.