The Socioeconomics Of Bad Weather In Jordan

We’ve grown used to injustice in this country. We’ve grown accustomed to remaining relatively silent for the sake of not rocking the boat. From bad laws, policies, scandals, whatever – we’ve become anesthetized; satisfied with living out our lives in this Kingdom as best we can, taking small steps forward as we move with our backs to the wall.

We’ve grown used to bad politicians, a worse political processes, unaccounted for corruption, and an economy struggling for air. When the going gets tough, we swallow anger and frustration for a meal. Because in the turbulent seas around us, no one wants to rock the boat and fall into unknown waters. And with that national consensus in mind, it’s perhaps ironic that despite this population’s best intentions and interests, the water came for us anyway.

What happened last Thursday was nothing short of a catastrophe. The city drowned and amidst all the damage and destruction it caused, it also took four lives with it. Imagine, a father breaking down on video while he stares down into a flooded apartment basement where his two children drowned. He calls out to God for explanation. Alas, only the rain is in God’s hands; everything else is in ours.

And as most of us watched from the comfort of homes or offices, the city drowned. Because when a car is turned into a submarine on the roads and tunnels it trusts its government will keep maintained – at least up to a standard that can withstand 45 minutes of rain – then that is nothing short of a city drowning. Because when this happens every year, and when the only explanations the people get is that our Capital’s infrastructure is archaic – outdated for 21st century weather – or that Amman’s hilly geography is to blame, or that climate change is to blame, or that our situation is unique that no other country in the entire world faces it, or that the people are to blame for being litterbugs  – when this is the reasoning public officials give us, well, then, there’s nothing left to do but watch helplessly as your city drowns. And then wait for it to happen again.

[aesop_quote type=”pull” background=”#282828″ text=”#cfb836″ width=”35%” align=”right” size=”2″ quote=”Once you start to peel away at the layers, what reveals itself behind the lack of empathy, is a socioeconomic class problem.” parallax=”off” direction=”left”]



But when the water clears and the aftermath is left exposed, what’s left in the debris is an understanding that while this may very well be an engineering problem, and subsequently, perhaps, a financial problem as well (both of which are a topic for another day), it is also an empathy problem. Once you start to peel away at the layers, what reveals itself behind the lack of empathy, is a socioeconomic class problem.

Here’s our situation as I see it: the country’s political elite are also, for the most part, the country’s economic elite, and when they examine these problems they look at them through a personal lens; through a personal context of which they are familiar with. How ‘the other’ lives is impalpable.

So let me pose this essential question, as cautiously as I can: If the Prime Minister, or any cabinet member, or any former cabinet member, or the Mayor of Amman, all made so little income that they lived in your average basement of your average apartment building, and, God forbid, another catastrophe of this proportion occurred (which it is destined to) – what would the reaction be? Would a public official callously say “who told you to live in a basement apartment?” or perhaps when being interviewed on a national news programme, say, unsympathetically, “who leaves their children in a basement apartment?”

Many expressed shock that such statements were made by public officials. Yet, there’s nothing shocking about it. Does it sound callous? Of course it does. But is it to be expected? Of course it is. Because these officials are operating in a completely different context than the majority of this population, and it’s a context that cannot possibly yield the empathy required.

I am not speaking of the empathy that comes after the political elites discover that this catastrophe actually affected people to the extent that they might be quite angry with them. I am not speaking of the kind of empathy that arrives after the fact; the kind of empathy where the power structures hand out money to the lower class as compensation for losses and in exchange for silence. Rather, I am speaking of the kind of empathy that drives policy from the ground up. The kind that is institutionalized; embedded deep within the political culture – a total understanding of how the overwhelming majority of people in this country actually live and the realities they face on a daily basis. That empathy is non-existent.

[aesop_quote type=”pull” background=”#282828″ text=”#cfb836″ width=”35%” align=”left” size=”2″ quote=”Due to the significant social class divide in this country, these officials are simply not privy to the realities faced by others. It’s a context that isn’t relatable to them. ” parallax=”off” direction=”left”]

Because when public officials speak to average citizens, or talk about average citizens, they do so as if they’re referring to another species of people they’ve only read about in books. When they meet with them and shake their hands – it’s a transient moment, to be forgotten about the minute that official lays their head down to sleep at night. When they visit them because political theater demands it, they are tourists in an alien environment; just visiting.

This is not to say all public officials are callous or uncaring. I’m not trying to paint a picture of sinister intent, but rather one of outright ignorance (in the literal sense of the word: lacking knowledge or information). Due to the significant social class divide in this country, these officials are simply not privy to the realities faced by others. It’s a context that isn’t relatable to them. And because this isn’t a democracy where we get to choose people from amongst the crowd and hold them accountable, we are stuck with an appointed, top-down power structure that is disconnected from the majority, and inevitably views them as ‘the other’.

This lack of operating context can’t help but reveal itself in times of crises, like the emperor with no clothes. From the lifting of fuel subsidies and the continuous tax hikes to their city outright drowning, sweeping away their possessions or family members – people are pushed to the brink, and react. How the political elite view or deal with this reaction is usually dismissively, due to the critical knowledge gap they operate under. There might be some awareness, but little understanding – and the difference between the two is all the difference. Because you’d have to walk a mile in those wet, wet shoes.

[aesop_image imgwidth=”1000px” img=”” credit=”MazajFM” align=”center” lightbox=”off” caption=”Wadi Seer, Amman.” captionposition=”left”]

Of course, this divide is a two-way street.

In this specific context, while officials wonder who on Earth would live in a basement apartment, the average citizen cannot fathom how the political elite have been unable to resolve the problem of their city drowning, over and over again. Alexa, Bushra, Huda – the storm names of just the past five years have been piling up, and in their wake they remind us of the conditions average people live under, and the fact that this erratic weather is a new normal. With every storm, people do what they have to do to prepare for the worst. The elite look at this and wonder disapprovingly why the lines at the bakeries are so long when a snow storm approaches. They, and their social strata, will chastise them on Twitter.

Survival means something completely different to the haves and have nots.

So when you have this strata of society of which political officials are drawn from, you inevitably have the top-down policymaking and lack of accountability that has bred the injustices this population has grown accustomed to being silent about. Subsequently, public officials do not “serve” the people that elected them, they are appointed to “help” the people. We are ‘given’, and we ‘receive’ and we are told to be grateful. But when a black swan emerges, and push comes to shove, and officials are forced to defend their institutions or roles – they do so with the same top-down attitude. A vernacular of condescension, where, between the lines, you’re essentially told that you, as an average citizen, cannot possibly grasp the political reality. And maybe that’s true, but there’s an actual day-to-day, socio-economic reality that the appointed political elite cannot possibly fathom either.

Take for instance deaths by asphyxiation – an annual, winter occurrence. Every winter, people are found suffocated in a room with a rusty red, Aladdin gas heater, with the windows closed and maybe even a towel under the door to trap the heat. Sometimes, it’s even an entire family. In the past few years, we’ve all read headlines like, “Family Dies in Mafraq gas heater accident” or “Gas leak kills family of seven” or “Newlyweds die of gas heater fumes” or “6 suffer from Asphyxia in Karak”, and so on.

What the headline don’t tell you, what they cannot possibly portray, are the conditions that these families lived in. The fact that the room they were found in likely reeked of mold – wallpapering the cold concrete all year long – and was likely the only room in the “house” to begin with. The fact that that gas-powered heater is the only source of heat for a family of six, the fact that to stay warm they sleep next to each other on cheap sponge mattresses, that there is no central heating or no heated floors or a fireplace demanding costly wood – none of this comes across in the headlines. Knowledge gap.

So every year, despite awareness raising campaigns, another handful of victims are claimed to asphyxiation. I used to wonder, how is it possible that this happens every year? How is it possible that people haven’t been heeding the warnings or learning from example? When it happens every winter, there can’t possibly be a father that closes the bedroom door at night without realizing that the gathering fumes are deadly. But the reality is likely that this father is thinking about how his family is going to survive another cold night, and they take a deadly, but rather calculated risk. Freeze to death, die silently of gas fumes, or manage to make it through the night and live another day. When you’re not a member of the elite, your options become drastically limited.


However, these prevailing realities are not something officials are constantly conscious of enough to factor in when policies are designed, or when a reaction to an unexpected event is demanded. Being unelected, they do not come from these communities, and more importantly, they do not view themselves as accountable except to the King and, on the rare occasion, to the court of public opinion – a storm they can confidently maneuver given that the public has temporarily taken the road of silence. They view poverty as theoretical and hypothetical, rather than a tangible reality.

Subsequently, they look at these storms as mere passing weather, and indeed, even the middle class (and I include myself in this category) will tend to see it the same way. We don’t see it as a catastrophe because for many of us, our belongings weren’t swept away, or our loved ones didn’t have to be rescued from basements or ground floor windows. Our jobs do not demand we be on the streets, and so we outsource that reality to the policemen, to the army, to the sanitation workers, to the unsung heroes whose photos populate our social networks to the praise of those who sacrificed nothing.

“The city was flooded; it didn’t drown,” insisted the Mayor recently, correcting a journalist’s question on TV. But it did my dear Mayor, you just operate in a very different context. For many, that’s exactly what happened – the city drowned.

And beyond there are four drowned bodies to prove it.


  • Naseem, I wish this “post” did not end. Not for getting a source of “personal” gratification of some sort by agreeing and feeling raged about all this and then,, just go-by the remainder of the day, no. Rather, I really think, like many others, that you pinpoint what is really at play (isn’t it a play actually what we are seeing/suffering!!) on certain issue we face, and more importantly, the linkages between matters that give a direction into the how & why something occurs along with the “what next”.

    It is this “what next” which I wish you (we) start tackling, seriously tackling, down in operational, in-depth and explicit manner. One that gives sense, as opposed to making sense!, to another, more realistic and subtle context of what is going on.
    A reactive mode of operating is -simply- ineffective in and by its own. Enough!
    In a way the after-math “practices” & “compensations” are what most of us have (I am talking about the top-down; the many efforts of the other have-nots are heroic and can never be fully appreciated). The problem is, as you wrote, when this is the only “practice” which is rudely, to say the least, charity-flavoured, when it is painted with a false comparisons with other areas, regions, and countries then all this shall have a continuation element, a plain deadly one! (
    “…there’s nothing shocking about it” – ??????! ?? ????? ????? ??????. ?? ????? ????? ??? ?????? ????? ?? ?? ?? ?????? ?? ??? ???????? ????? ???


    I believe anyone who witnessed what happened lately can feel the sadness in your words. I hope it is ok to say this; I cannot imagine, how you were feeling whilst typing this

    • the “what next” is inherently difficult. speaking for myself – i’m a writer. our job is to point things out and bring attention to them, and at best, attempt to inspire a different narrative; a different way of seeing and talking about the issues. but it’s really people who need to take these words (and those of many, many others) and make something tangible out of them. community organizing and advocacy are extremely limited in jordan – especially on matters that hurt when you poke them.

      p.s. i wrote the first draft in anger and then slept on it, which is the advisable thing to do. woke up and still felt angry, but at least it made more sense to me.

  • Well, I’m from Holland, where we have battled water for centuries. Still, disasters happen, even while we have spent billions to prevent/contain damage. You simply cannot plan for excesses like this. Who can predict that the capital of the second poorest water country in the world will drown? NO ONE! However, you can help by at least keeping garbage of the streets and not blocking essential pipes!

    • I think there’s a difference between Dutch water-related disasters and what happened in Amman.
      When the Netherlands has a water-related disaster, it’s the literal motherfucking ocean that suddenly decides to stop in and say hello.
      This was 45 minutes of rain.

      • have to agree with Ammani, here.

        we’re calling it a catastrophe simply because of the outcome, but the fact is, the city did not have the capacity to deal 45 minutes of constant rain. this was the real disaster.

  • Brilliant !!!!! Im a Malaysian in Irbid….i wonder why don`t you guys at least ask for drainage system…the government should fear the citizens not otherwise…btw….your ideas are really superbbbb

  • Unfortunately, Jordanians are made to live in an age where any questioning of the government actions or mishaps is immediately seen as an aggressive act of anarchy! I was expecting more people to show their anger, but it seems everyone just moved on like nothing has happened. Not one government official was blamed for anything as usual! It’s such events and more that keep me from ever thinking of returning home. I don’t think I can stand to stay silent while my country is being abused by corrupt elites! Wait for the next wave of rain to flood the city again. Hopefully this time it will affect the Western Amman rather than the poorest parts of the city

Your Two Piasters: