"The Help"

One of the most striking differences between life in Amman and the United States is the presence of "the help"--the approximately 40,000 legal and 30,000 illegal women from the Philippines, Indonesia, Sri Lanka and other countries who serve as maids, cooks, nannies, and everything in between. Most upper class and many middle class families have help. Walk down any street in Deyr Ghbar or Abdoun, Amman's wealthiest neighborhoods, and you'll see these women on balconies washing windows or shaking out rugs, or on the street pushing strollers and herding gaggles of squealing children. You'll also find them out in town buying groceries, taking the children to the park while mom goes to the gym, or even babysitting the kids in a back room during church. Salaries are attractive enough to these women to draw them from the farthest reaches of the world, but a pittance by Western standards; I'm told the going rate for full-time live-in help is around 250 JD per month (about $350 US). The presence of "help" is so deeply ingrained in the culture that an American who doesn't utilize it is a paradox that will leave most people scratching their heads. When my wife and I tried to explain the reasons we did not want help, people looked at us like we were from Mars.

These migrant workers are frequently exploited and abused in Jordan and across the Middle East. In its report Isolated and Abused, Amnesty International reports that these women are frequently not paid or are paid reduced wages, often work 16-19 hours a day with no time off, are often abused physically, emotionally and sexually, and are often trapped in their situation. Legal protection for these women is poor. In Jordan a maid requires sponsorship by the family that employs her, giving the employer immense power over her life. The employer is responsible to maintain her annual work and residency permits, but if he fails to so, expensive daily fines accrue and the maid is liable to be arrested or held in the country. An estimated 14,000 women are trapped in Jordan because of these fines. Hundreds of women escaping abusive situations are sheltered in the Filipono, Sri Lankan, and Indonesian embassies, trapped in legal purgatory. In Saudi Arabia (the subject of this 2008 Human Rights Watch report) employers must sign an exit visa before a maid can leave the country. Not only can abusive employers withhold wages and exploit their workers, they hold these workers under legal lock and key. Reform is creeping along in the Arab countries, but at an unsatisfying pace. Bahrain recently announced one of the most promising reforms, setting a precedent for the region: ending the kafala sponsorship system. Women will no longer be chained to their employer. Instead, they will be sponsored directly by the Labor Authority.

I am proud that Americans have a reputation for being among the fairest and kindest employers of maids in Jordan, but I worry that the widespread acceptance of "help" nonetheless has an insidious corrosive effect. There is no question that having help in the home makes good economic sense for both parties, but my question as someone who is not-quite-a-utilitarian is this: are there values that trump economic prosperity? All employee-employer relationships involve a disparity in power, but what happens when that power disparity becomes part of the fabric of our regular, day-to-day lives? Is that healthy? When we look back at history, these arrangements always look nasty. Today we have little regard for historical cliches like the British colonial administrator with his walled palace and retinue of servants, the American missionary with a standard of living far above the locals he is supposedly serving, and the white landowner with black servants long after the slavery era. I'm sure all these arrangements made perfect logical sense in their day; they probably still do. But are they right? A lot of people tell me I'm too sensitive about this. Maybe I'm just a product of my American education with its highly-attuned sensitivity to racial issues, but I will never be totally comfortable with the idea of sitting back with a newspaper while a Filipino woman who hasn't seen her children in three years scrubs my toilet. I also worry about the consequences when a society decides raising that its own children is undesirable, unskilled work best outsourced to others--something I plan to write more about soon.

Even among well-intentioned Westerners, racism can also creep in. This is the exception to the rule among the Americans I know here, but I've heard anecdotes. One friend told us about an American playgroup she visited. Instead of staying to play with their children, most of the mothers just dropped the kids off with their nannies. While her child played, our American friend struck up a conversation with one of the nannies. Another American woman quickly pulled her aside and said, "We don't talk with the help." Most American families we know have close, warm relations with their maids, but I think one has to constantly be on guard for the most subtle forms of dehumanization.

In the end, despite my wife's and I firm desire not to have help in the home, we ended up hiring a Filipino woman 3-4 hours a day to babysit. The only way we could both take Arabic language classes--something very important to us--was if we found childcare for our son, and because of the prevalence of "help", daycares and nurseries are not what they are in the United States. Hiring a babysitter was our only option. Our babysitter recently escaped the kind of situation described in the Amnesty International and HRW reports; she'd worked for a family for two years that forced her to work virtually all the time, including in a factory the father owned. Her full-time, live-in wages were less than we pay her for three hours a day, and her employer stopped paying her wages for the last two months. Even now, the family is refusing to sign the paperwork to transfer her sponsorship, so she may be forced to leave Jordan. We feel a little queasy participating in an institution so riddled with injustice, but at least we are providing our babysitter with good work, dignity, and fair wages. Is that good enough? Are we compromising our values? Is our dislike for the institution of "help" self-righteous and hypocritical? These are hard questions in a very gray area, but we are doing the best we can to live wisely and compassionately within an unfortunate system that prevails here.

New Template

I finally got around to fixing my blog template. The page should now display correctly on smaller screens, and the kaleidoscope of colors and styles on my weblinks should finally be standardized. I also updated my weblinks and reading list.

If anyone encounters problems with the new template, please let me know.

On Riskless War

Particularly for the Air Force officers out there, this article at Small Wars Journal might be of interest. Riskless War: Technology, Coercive Diplomacy, and the Lure of Limited War by Douglas Peifer, a professor at the Air War College, warns that the growing use of UAVs and robots may be resurrecting the dangerous myth of "riskless war." Advocates say that robotic technological dominance will allow the United States to quickly and effectively coerce an enemy to do our will, with little risk to our own forces. Peifer quotes one writer in Harper's, who writes, "Within our lifetime, robots will give us the ability to wage war without committing ourselves to the human cost of actually fighting a war."

Not so fast, Peifer warns. He writes at length about the history of technocentric coercive diplomacy and "air policing" and concludes that "even when technological dominance enables advanced states to use force against others with minimal risk to their militaries or public, coercive diplomacy and limited war is often less effective and more costly than anticipated." Also, when the political objective is important enough, efforts at coercion fail and often lead to protracted interventions, occupations, and small wars.

I don't think many officers these days believe in "riskless wars"--Afghanistan and Iraq have killed that idea for at least a decade--but I enjoyed the article for its analysis of coercive airpower. I was surprised and pleased to see such a sober analysis of airpower's effectiveness coming out of Air University. I was also pleased that the author published on Small Wars Journal; I've long believed that the Air Force needs to make a deliberate effort to join the excellent intellectual community online pioneered by the Army.

While on the subject... another excellent article about the myth of riskless war and the enduring presence of uncertainty is H.R. McMaster's 2003 Crack in the Foundation: Defense Transformation and the Underlying Assumption of Dominant Knowledge in Future War.

International Assistance and Jordanian Dignity

Thanks to Abu Muqawama for drawing my attention to this article by David Ignatius. Here's a quote:

Indeed, a recurring theme in these many contacts [in the Middle East] over 29 years is "dignity"--in Arabic, the word is karama. That is what Israeli and U.S. actions have offended, even when the two countries thought they were being generous and just. People in the Middle East want to write their own story; they don't want to submit to outside pressure, even when they know America is right. They prefer their own bad leaders to the "good" ones the United States would impose.

I don't begin my graduate studies in Jordan until next fall, but this past week I sat it on a political science class at the local university to see what I'm in for. The topic of the day was international assistance as a form of power. The evening's class consisted of the professor, two visiting professors from a local think tank, and around ten Jordanian graduate students of diverse ages and backgrounds. This small sample hardly represents the broader Middle East, and I'm too new at this game (er, a few weeks) to make sweeping observations, but the classroom discussion was illuminating in its own right.

Some facts about US assistance to Jordan should set the stage. According to USAID's Jordan website, the US has sent $3.3 billion worth of economic and humanitarian assistance to Jordan since 1997. The humanitarian assistance currently targets five sectors: 1) Water resources management 2) Economic opportunities 3) Health care services 4) Educational opportunities to meet market needs and 5) Good governance and civic participation. The US also provides Jordan with military assistance and direct cash transfers to pay down debt, which must be matched by an equal amount of spending by the Jordanian government on reform programs tied to US reform objectives.

Classroom opinion was divided, but I was surprised how much of the class resented this international assistance. A few students believed that the aid was good and that the US and Jordan have common interests. One or two students were almost hysterical in their convictions that the US has nefarious intentions--although when the professors pressed them to clearly articulate the interests the US is pursuing, they could not. Other students believed that US assistance isn't necessarily bad, but they resent how much control the US exercises over how the money is spent. They believe the aid is allocated to the wrong sectors and find the idea of Washington bureaucrats telling them how to develop their country patronizing. The devils-advocate professor silenced them when he explained that the allocation of US aid is not simply handed down from the US, but negotiated between American and Jordanian officials. In any case, I sensed that many of the students feel US assistance is an affront to their personal and national dignity--particularly when aid moves from the realm of bridges and wells into the realm of moral and cultural values like educating Jordan on how to treat women. The women in our class were the most resentful of this particular cultural intrusion.

I personally have a high view of the US relationship with Jordan and believe the two countries have much to gain from a strong partnership, but my views are not the norm here.

This leads to my most interesting observation from the class: these students were acutely aware that the US provides economic assistance not out of mere charity, but out of national interest. The power imbalance between the US and Jordan overshadowed the entire discussion. Some students believed that by accepting US aid they are wedding themselves (or selling themselves) to US interests, and then they are forced to hang on for the ride; indeed, the very process of offering and receiving aid may be coercive. These students (and professors) were also very aware that interests can change. The US is courting Jordan now, but what if its interests change? What if the window for a two-state deal in Israel and Palestine closes forever, or regional events put American and Jordanian interests into opposition? I sensed a lot of fear about that.

I will reiterate that I believe the US and Jordan have a strong relationship and much to gain from each other. I believe the classroom fears were overblown. But did these students have valid points? They're absolutely right that international assistance stems from national interests. I'll close with this graph of economic assistance from the US to Jordan between 1997 and 2007. See if you can spot the national interest.

More on the Air Force Academy

Now that Tom Ricks picked up my post about the Air Force Academy, I feel I should add a few remarks.

First, I'm pleased to see that at least a couple Air Force Academy cadets/graduates have commented on Ricks' blog. That lets me know that Air Force officers are out there reading and listening and learning, even if the Air Force presence isn't always visible in strategic discussions.

Second, I graduated from USAFA a number of years ago, so it is possible my perspective is out of date. For that reason I'd like to cite in its entirety a comment on Ricks' blog by a current firstie (senior) at the Academy. He agrees with me on some things, but feels the Academy has made improvements in the way it teaches strategic studies. It's worth noting, though, that this cadet is actually majoring in Military Strategic Studies. He is getting a strategic education far above the baseline. My critique is primarily with the baseline education that every cadet/officer receives: the core strategic studies classes, the PME, the Squadron Officer School curriculum, and the informal but extremely important service culture that permeates day-to-day life in the Air Force. Anyway, on to the cadet:

There is now a lot more talk about winning wars at the Air Force Academy. In twenty days I will graduate with a degree in Military Strategic Studies. I have read Nagl. I have read Corum and Johnson's Airpower in Small Wars. I have read Barnett, Gray, and Rosen. Some of us are getting an education in contemporary theory. The Department of Military Strategic Studies now has two courses in the core curriculum, with talk of expanding that. Gone are the days of the MAS degree (Military Arts and Science, or "Movies And Stories"). John Boyd was considered as an option for the class of 2012's exemplar, a deceased officer to serve as a role model for the class as it proceeds.

But I must admit that Captain Reach's assessment of the Air Force culture and the disappointment at having to go to the other services for innovative thought still echoes my own experience. Boyd was discouraged as an exemplar by the permanent party, perhaps because of his maverick persona.

And to Mr. (Captain?) Boyea: the mission of the Air Force as a whole is to "fly, fight and win...". Perhaps USAFA's mission could use an update, but educating, training, and inspiring seems more in line with its actual goals than winning wars directly.

Again, as with my previous comments, this is only meant to add another perspective. My friends and fellow MSS majors have filled four walls of whiteboard with our ideas on how the Academy could be more effective. I cannot agree more with Captain Reach on the point that reform of some sort is needed. I hope to come back as an instructor as soon as I can get a postgrad and help continue the process.

DoD Limiting Internet Access

Wired's Danger Room has a link today to William Lind's article Limiting Internet access for U.S. troops plays into enemy hands. Lind asks why DoD blocks "useful sources of information from many reputable institutions, including from some Washington-based think tanks." He writes, "The goal of the Web site blockers, it seems, is to cut American military men off from any views except those of the Department of Defense."

I have written about the DoD's draconian firewalls before, but usually in the context of blogs. Lind is right, though; the DoD bans many reputable organizations as well. When I was flying C-17s I shuttled from base to base around the CENTCOM area of operations, so I had the opportunity to see and compare policies at each base. It was hit or miss whether or not my favorite sites would work. I remember visiting one base where I could not access a single one of my normal news/analysis sites. Even CNN was blocked. God help us if American soldiers have to rely on the Pentagon channel on the Armed Forces Network to get their news.

Responding to Tom Ricks: A Zoomie's Take

Almost three weeks have passed since the Washington Post printed Tom Ricks' article Why We Should Get Rid of West Point (which is really about all the service academies and PME schools). I've enjoyed watching the blood fly. I've read dozens of responses to Ricks, but have yet to see a single mention of the Air Force Academy.

It's important to differentiate between the different service academies, because the strengths and weaknesses in each institution may not be the same. Consider institutional culture. Many people argue that the academies are important vehicles for preserving the institutional culture in the armed forces. I believe this is true, but what if the institutional culture is itself flawed and in need of reform? I believe this is the case in the Air Force today, and it was definitely the case when I attended USAFA.

West Point's strength, Robert Kaplan argues in a quote Tom Ricks repeated on his blog, is the wartime experience of its professors and their deep thoughtfulness about war. He writes, "their intense experience in war zones had caused them to mature into voracious readers of the classics of war: Thucydides, Clausewitz, Mahan, and the like. To listen to a war veteran react to the literature of the Peloponnesian War is not something necessarily common to community colleges. I think the combination of fine civilian academics and battle-hardened and well-read junior officers made for a stellar combination in the department where I taught." If this is indeed the case at West Point, that is a culture worth preserving.

The service culture I encountered at USAFA and in follow-on PME schools was different. At no point in my career so far has the Air Force prepared me to fight and win the nation's wars at the operational or strategic levels; instead, it has trained me over and over to fight Desert Storm. The numerous PME courses I've taken are all built on the same canon: a cursory introduction to Jomini and Clausewitz, overviews of historical airpower theories, then discussions of how airpower was used and misused in World War I, World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. The saga culminates with John Warden and his strategic airpower theory which was successfully employed in Desert Storm. This is the holy grail of airpower. Airpower post-Desert Storm is treated only briefly. When I attended Squadron Officer School I had 1.5 hours of instruction on airpower in the current wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. All these lessons focus exclusively on airpower and are missing any broader strategic context. The service culture at USAFA--at least when I attended--was a top-notch aviation and engineering school where graduates can look forward to flying kick-ass fighter jets. There was a lot of talk about a "warrior ethos", but mostly in the context of tactical accomplishments like putting bombs on target or successfully passing fuel from a tanker. With one notable exception--a fantastic political science instructor who opened my eyes to the world and set my life on a new path--the institution did not teach me to think critically about war.

Consequently, my military education has come from unlikely sources. Thucydides? I can thank my first professor in my online master's degree program, who was not a soldier but a Hungarian economist. Half his course was built around The Peloponnesian War. Homer? I tried and gave up on several translations before my wife--who studied humanities and philosophy in a small liberal arts school--introduced me to the masterful translations by Robert Fagles, which I fell in love with. Conflict resolution and management? Another professor in my online degree program, this one a Baha'i pacifist. Class dynamics, poverty, race relations? I can thank my wife again, who worked at an alternative, inner city high school. Other shaping influences include NGOs like International Crisis Group and journalists like Bob Woodward and Tom Ricks. Most importantly, I've learned from the United States Army. It's embarrassing that a captain in the United States Air Force has to turn to the Army for an education about war, but that is exactly the situation I've found myself in. While the Air Force was sitting out the FM 3-24 development process, I was on Small Wars Journal every morning and working through reading lists by top Army thinkers.

Should the Air Force Academy be closed? I have no idea. My gut instinct is no, but I'm not prepared to back that up with data. It's a good school and a public symbol that draws a lot of talent. The character shaping, stress inoculation, and confidence-building changed me in ways I never would have experienced at a civilian university. My education was top-notch, the flying programs were a superb foundation for Undergraduate Pilot Training, and I made a lifelong community of friends. But I believe the service culture--both within USAFA and the Air Force at large--is a liability, not an asset. USAFA and the Air Force PME schools may not need to be closed, but they need to be reformed.

The Two Universes of Amman, Jordan

The recent weeks have been a whirlwind, but I'm finally settled in my new life in Amman and back online. I could write about any number of recent experiences and impressions, but I'll start with a crucial discovery that is framing my new life here: I simultaneously live in two different universes.

The first universe is high-class, Westernized, and English-speaking. I had my first glimpse of this universe when the embassy e-mailed me photographs of my assigned apartment before I arrived. My jaw dropped when I saw the marble floors, the chandeliers, the plasma screen and surround-sound stereo, the five bathrooms, and the sweeping view. When I tell Jordanians the general area I live, they are shocked. What kind of graduate student can afford to live there? Gleaming SUVs line the streets, a Ferrari is parked nearby, and during the workday I frequently spot Filipino or Sri Lankan maids cleaning neighboring apartments or helping my Western neighbors carry up their groceries. This universe also includes the US Embassy, where I can take my family to the pool, eat steak and drink beer in the overlooking restaurant, and participate in a variety of social activities with other Americans. When I want to go shopping, this universe offers everything I need. It's a quick trip to Cozmo, a sparkling multi-story building that is something like Whole Foods, Best Buy, and Target mashed together. If they don't have what I'm looking for, I can go down the street to Safeway. On weekends, what better way to unwind than go to Starbucks? So many Americans frequent the coffee shop that it's known as "embassy lite." If I wanted, I could spend the next two years of my life within a three-mile radius of my home, speak only English, and enjoy a higher standard of living than I do in the US. If I chose to travel, I could find similar bubbles of comfort and familiarity around all of Jordan's tourist hotspots like Petra and Aqaba.

The second universe is... well, much of the rest of Jordan. It's the Jordan you see when you turn down a winding side street in downtown, and dozens of young men and children are milling around in front of shops the size of self-storage units that seem to sell nothing except Pepsi and bubble gum. It's the taxi cabs, where drivers who speak no English listen to talk shows about Islam while they weave through every back alley. It's the roadside vegetable vendors who--if you can negotiate for the local price--will fill up your entire trunk for $10 or $20. It's the roadside stands of warped wood and peeling paint where for twenty or thirty cents you can buy a cup of Arabic coffee (the local "Starbucks", my Palestinian friend jokes). Most importantly, this Jordan is the homes and the families. It is my friend's house in a rural Palestinian area, where the grandfather keeps adding floors to his home to house his children and grandchildren. It is my friend's uncle's house, where we dropped in virtually unannounced and spent three hours sipping tea and feasting on a magnificent dinner.

It would be a mistake to say either of these is the "real" Jordan, because Jordan reflects all the diversity and tension of globalization in progress; there is no "authentic" Jordanian culture in this diversity, any more than there is an "authentic" US culture. But I am extremely wary of what is lost when a Western visitor to this country only lives in the high-class, Westernized universe. Unfortunately--especially for those attached to the embassy and living nearby--this first universe has a powerful gravitational attraction. It takes time, energy, and tremendous intentionality to break out. I suspect many embassy employees and their families never really do. I'm fortunate that I have a scholarship for the express purpose of cultural immersion, and that I have few responsibilities tying me to the embassy each day. I have an opportunity that others might not. Still, balancing my involvement in these two universes is extremely difficult. My wife and I have been here less than two weeks, but we've already had to turn down several invitations to social functions with other Americans because we have prior engagements with the host culture. We are grateful for the warmth and hospitality we've received from the embassy and certainly want to keep up good relations, but we also know we are--well--a little odd. We are not conforming to expected norms.

My brief experience so far has broader ramifications. In posts here and here I discussed how many Americans who try to learn about other cultures prefer a "guided" experience. We want other Westerners to guide us and interpret for us, which impedes genuine cultural contact. US government institutions like the Department of Defense and Department of State actually institutionalize this process. A constant security mindset actively discourages engagement with the host culture. Also, as a convenience to servicemembers and their families, overseas posts offer a full range of services, activities, and tours. This brings plenty of benefits, but it makes cultural immersion extremely difficult for those who want or need it. I'm curious how other Foreign Area Officers and Foreign Service Officers cope with these challenges. I met one FSO who, after a year of Arabic training in the US, has forgotten most of the language since coming here. She told me that many FSOs are simply too busy doing their daily jobs to spend much time in the local culture using the language. I've also met embassy employees who--despite full-time jobs--continue to take language classes, study in local universities, and make local friends. It seems that the experience here is largely what one makes it.