Stirring Point

In November 2010, I found myself hunched over a table in Amman, Jordan, sitting across from three university professors. The location was a Pizza Hut—the last place I thought we’d be—and I did my best to feign a smile. They thought I’d be homesick after five months of traveling and that a nice taste of America might be even better than some delicious local cuisine. So here we were, selecting toppings like mushrooms, olives, and onions for our cheese lovers pizza. When in Rome, I thought, grabbing a slice when it arrived and watching the grease drip onto my plate. I probed them with questions about the Middle East while they munched on garlic knots and slurped down soda.

The contact came through my older sister, who years earlier had been living in Dublin and shared a flat with a Jordanian man named Ehab. When I arrived in Jordan, I reached out to Ehab (now a university professor), and he invited me to dinner. He brought two visiting professors along for the conversation: one from Egypt and the other from Tunisia. The exact conversation is lost somewhere in my fading memory, although I do recall discussing my prior travel experiences in Egypt and asking several questions about Tunisia—a country of which I knew virtually nothing.

A month later, after leaving Jordan to explore Israel and Palestine, I read an article about a 26-year-old street vendor named Mohamed Bouazizi from the town of Sidi Bouzid in central Tunisia. On the morning of December 17th, 2010, a police official, attempting to extort a bribe, confiscated his electronic produce scales and pushed over his small cart. She allegedly slapped him across the face and spat at him—events that he understandably took as a form of public humiliation. The reports regarding her behavior are conflicting, and eyewitness testimony is fickle at best, but one fact was clear: she confiscated his wares, rendering his tiny business hostage. His family claimed he’d been the target of this type of police harassment for more than a decade, not only from her but others in the department, with verbal abuse and bribery beginning as early as his teen years. With no money to pay the bribe, a $200 loan used to buy the produce that he was now unable to repay, and countless episodes of extortion he’d faced over the years, Bouazizi felt himself pushed to the edge of despair.

He immediately went to the governor’s office following the incident, hoping to retrieve his goods and to complain about his treatment. The governor refused to see him or hear his case, and when his efforts to regain his scales became futile, he publicly stated to the surrounding staff, “If you don’t see me, I’ll burn myself.”

They denied him once more. Bouazizi left the office and found a can of gasoline and a pack of matches. He walked in front of the governor’s building, stepped into the street, and shouted, “How do you expect me to make a living?” He poured the gasoline over his tired body, struck a match, and held it to his skin. Immediately, his body was engulfed in a ball of flames, and bystanders rushed to douse him with water. He sustained burns over 90% of his body, and although he managed to survive for a few weeks in the hospital, he eventually succumbed to his injuries. He died on January 4, 2011.

I recall being fixated on early reports of the event, although I’m unsure of exactly why. It may have been the radical nature of self-immolation that caught my attention, and as suicide is forbidden in the Qur’an, it was a rarity to see this behavior in the region. Or maybe because I was geographically adjacent to the incident and saw constant coverage on Al Jazeera and the BBC’s Middle East reporting. Or simply having dinner with a professor from Tunisia a month prior may have been enough to put it on my radar. No matter; the byproduct of this event was soon plastered on the front page of every newspaper the world over. A match had been dropped into a dry powder keg, and the explosion reached well beyond the Tunisian borders. His death became a symbol of the disenfranchised and the downtrodden throughout the region. Oppression and futility hammered the younger generations of several North African and Middle Eastern countries, and his act sent a clear message of despair to the world. It called people to the streets as a catalyst for protests and became a rebel yell for the cause célèbre of change. His death was the first shot fired in the events soon to be known as the Arab Spring.

I won’t dare attempt a summary of the Arab Spring. For those wishing for a deeper dive, I recommend reading A Rage for Order by Robert F. Worth—a masterful summation of how Tunisians, Egyptians, Libyans, Yemenis, Baharanis, and Syrians took to the streets in mass protests, aiming to overthrow their autocratic regimes. There were smaller protests in Jordan, Algeria, and Morocco as well, although these ended without major disruptions to each country’s existing power structure. In Libya, however, the overthrow and fall of Muammar al-Qaddafi sank the nation into chaos and lawlessness, where it remains to this day. The Egyptians deposed President Hosni Mubarak after nearly 30 years of rule and replaced him with Mohammed Morsi of the Muslim Brotherhood. Nearly a year to the day of his taking office, Morsi was overthrown in a military coup, which still maintains power in Egypt. Syria plunged into a full-scale civil war, with President Bashir al-Assad dropping barrel bombs and chemical weapons on his own civilians and reducing many cities to rubble in an attempt to root out opposition fighters. Early hints of a possible proxy war between Russia and the West took hold in the war-torn country, and quickly, ISIS and other rival jihadi groups found footing in its lawless regions. Yet Tunisia—originally igniting the change—appeared to be the sole success story, having deposed the autocrat Zine El Abidine Ben Ali after 23 years of ruling the nation with an iron fist. They replaced him using free and fair democratic elections, and they did so with the minimum amount of bloodshed but not without cost. For Tunisia, there was hope in the air, and change was on the horizon.

Let me start by saying that I had difficulty connecting with people in Tunisia, and a large part of it was me. My time in Algeria brought overwhelming hospitality, and as I entered Tunisia, I was riding a rocketship of travel serotonin. “Comparison is the thief of joy,” said Theodore Rosevelt, and there may be no truer words spoken. I did my best to put aside expectations and show up fresh-faced and open to whatever experiences were there for the taking. Yet connections felt difficult despite my constant attempts to engage, and my mind lept toward comparison. The teammates I encountered in the gym while training jiu jitsu were great, but our time together mostly stopped when we stepped off the mat. I tried reconnecting with the professor I’d met 13 years earlier in Jordan, and despite my best efforts, she was unable to find a time for us to meet. I’d solicited interviews but came up largely empty-handed. A Staph infection derailed my training and kept me isolated for 4 days. This left my direct information sourcing for the country thin, meaning nothing here can be held as gospel truth. The little I’ve gathered is second-hand information I gleaned while trying to peer through what felt like a dirty windowpane.

One man in particular, however, went out of his way to pull back the curtain on Tunisian life. We met while training jiu jitsu and immediately connected. Some of our conversations veered into politically sensitive territory, so I’ve changed his name here to “Ahmad” for the sake of anonymity.

Ahmad is gifted with unending charm, and his gregariousness and affability are simply infectious. He talks to everyone, everywhere, and does so with a million-dollar smile that gives him the feeling of a dear old friend. His kindness immediately disarms any surrounding tension, turning every transaction, whether in a corner store or flower shop, into a back-slapping event.

We trained jiu jitsu together, and he mentioned he’d be happy to show me around at some point during my stay. A day later, while sitting on the beach in the nearby town of La Marsa, I got a WhatsApp message from him asking if I wanted to meet up. I shot him a message back, confirming I would, and told him where I was.

“Great. Get changed, and I’ll be there in 30 minutes to pick you up,” he said. “I’ll come to the Movenpick Hotel and meet you there.”

I walked to the hotel, ducked into their changing room to freshen up, then walked out through the front lobby. Ahmad was waiting near his car and shot me a warm smile. We slapped hands, jumped in, and sped off.

We explored Carthage, Sidi Bou Said, and sections of Tunis. As we drove and swapped bios, he shared details of the changes that had taken place in the country post-revolution. I gathered a sense that for many, what they’d hoped for and what they received were two very different things. As night fell and he took me home, I asked if he’d spend more time talking with me about life before and after the revolution. “Of course!” he said. “I’d love to share more with you.”

We made a plan for the next day to visit Hammamet, a gorgeous seaside community with clean beaches and well-appointed villas about 40 minutes outside of Tunis. The following morning, he picked me up, and we ran a few errands. We bought Makloub (folded pizza-like sandwiches) for the ride as well as flowers for a friend’s mother that we’d visit when we arrived in Hammamet. It was her birthday recently, and he wanted to pay her a visit.

As we drove, I asked several questions about life under Ben Ali and how it compared to life now. The country was an early success story in the Arab Spring, and after Ben Ali fled the country, the nation held historic democratic elections. But this is when things began to change.

He explained that during Ben Ali’s reign, there was less crime, and society generally felt more organized. Breaking the law brought severe consequences, meaning most people followed the tenets of a social contract out of fear, of course, but the byproduct of this oppression was greater safety in the street. Primary and secondary education were stronger, following a French curricular system that, while imperfect, kept Tunisians competitive as industries evolved. Roads and infrastructure had more funding and were regularly maintained. There was more international trade, the currency was stronger, and multinational business contracts flourished due to Tunisia’s stability. Not bad, I thought.

On the other hand, criticizing Ben Ali or his policies might lead to losing one’s job or immediate jail time. Police corruption flourished across the nation, with bribery and extortion happening in several pockets of the country. Ben Ali’s family stuck their hands directly in the pockets of many businesses requiring kickbacks and purged government coffers for their own personal gain.

When the undercurrent of discontent found an opening on the surface, the public seized the moment. Yes, there was law and order to a degree, but what good was it without the right to speak one’s mind? I asked what he thought was the defining charge behind the beginnings of the revolution.

“People wanted the right to speak freely without the consequence of going to jail,” he shared. They thought the revolution would allow them to express themselves and grow as individuals, controlling their own fate without fear.”

“Were you in the country when the revolution started?” I asked. 

“No, I was in France studying at the time. But my family was here and experienced it all.”

“How did they feel about what was happening?” I asked.

“Well, the people that went to the streets in the beginning were very happy: protesting, celebrating, and excited for change. But my family was nervous and constantly living in fear. People began fighting with the police in the street, and many people started looting and robbing. Our family was successful and felt they might be a target at any moment. Many people took advantage of the protest movement to steal from others. They looted their own country while others were attempting to change it for what they thought would be better,” he said.

“And when Ben Ali fled the country, what happened next?”

“We held democratic elections, and the people chose an Islamic Party to run the state. We’re not really a Muslim country. I mean, we are, but we’re not. You’ve seen it. Tunisians do two things as Muslims: We don’t eat pork, and we practice Ramadan. But when Ramdan ends, we start popping champagne bottles,” he laughed.

“Yeah, I see your point. Why elect an Islamic Party when most people barely practice Islam?” I asked. 

“I’m not sure. It doesn’t make much sense. I guess they thought it would bring change, but what we really did was show our hypocrisy to each other and the world,” he said.

“So how do you think things are going now, after the revolution?” I asked.

“Well, the Islamic Party immediately released several people from prison that Ben Ali had imprisoned for one reason or another. The new government considered them allies and gave many of them jobs in the government. So now they work for the government and are proving to be extremely corrupt. We were finally given the liberty to speak our minds, but of course, it came at a cost. And we overextended on that liberty,” he added.

“What do you mean you’ve overextended?” I asked.

“People saw that they could take advantage of the system since the consequences for doing so were mostly disbanded. Under Ben Ali, striking at your job was illegal. Now, they strike all the time, and it brings the economy to a halt. Many international companies perceive our workforce as unstable and have sent their business to Morocco instead. Our lack of exports has devalued our currency by almost 60%, and our money is suffering from high rates of inflation. One problem leads to another.”

“Are they striking for good reasons?” I asked. 

“Mostly, no. I talk to friends who go on strike, and they appear to not want to work but still get paid. I’m a business guy, so I guess I’m biased here. But so many people work for the state that it’s now completely bloated. The bureaucracy is out of control. When they don’t like something, and I mean not something serious that deserves a strike, when they just don’t like something, they strike. Corruption is running rampant, and it feels more and more unstable.”

“What is the bureaucracy like here?” I asked.

“It’s terrible. If you try to complete any official task or paperwork online, everything is always ‘under construction,’ and I mean always. So you have to go in person. Then, when you show up, they note you are missing a document here or a paper there, but they can make the problem go away if you ‘help’ them out. If you have everything required, they will tell you some bullshit, like, you need two extra copies of this document. But if you ‘help’ me, I can let it slide. But no copies are actually required. They just invent reasons to extort people however they can. The police do this too, and all the time. That hasn’t changed before or after the revolution.”

I felt his particular frustration with the bureaucracy, as he embodied models of efficiency, hard work, and business acumen, that stood in direct opposition to the behavior of government tenure jockeys willing to exploit their own people to make a quick buck. I changed our course slightly.

“What are the main exports?” I asked.

“Harissa, olive oil, and traditional clothing—I mean, come on. How are we supposed to be respected in the international business community if we import exponentially more than we export? Our currency means less and less once it leaves our borders.”

“Where does that leave the revolution today?” I asked.

“The revolution has understandable difficulties. We have two or three people working for the state, doing the job of one person. Once they get a state job, they are almost guaranteed to never get fired. Our workforce is filled with waste. We need to reduce the number of people working for the state, promote and support private industry, and start competing again for international contracts with American and European companies. And the government knows this, and to their credit, they are trying to get some people to retire early and not backfill those positions, so they can reduce overall salary costs for the state.”

“Has the revolution failed?” I asked, instantly recognizing the weight of my question. “Sorry, a better way to ask it is: Is your life now better under the changes of the revolution, or was it better under Ben Ali?” I asked. He took a pause and started a sentence, then stopped to deliberately choose his words. He began again.

“Our freedom to speak is better now, and that is good. But life, earning, safety, and business—these were all better under Ben Ali. It’s unpopular to say, but our country needs strong guidance. We need to be told what to do. I’m a business guy, so how the economy functions says much about how a society functions. Our economy and society are not functioning how they should, and things are getting worse.”

We talked a bit more about modern-day Tunisia and how he questioned what type of life lay ahead for him and his family. Would they stay? Would they leave? Where would they go? There are so many questions with no easy answers.

We got to Hammamet and parked along the edge of the sand. We walked up, found two lounge chairs under a blue and white umbrella and settled in. A young boy walked past selling mint tea, and Ahmad flagged him down, ordering two cups. The boy poured water over the leaves, added some mint, and reached into a small basket, extracting a handful of peanuts. He delicately sprinkled them into each cup of tea and handed me one, then another to Ahmad. He reached into his pocket, then handed the boy a few dinars. I sat back, staring at the ocean and sipping my tea. A warm breeze skimmed across the surface of the Mediterranean before finding my skin. We looked at each other and laughed.

“Wow, this is nice,” I said.

“Right? I love this beach. Our country has plenty of problems, but it’s still pretty damn beautiful.”

*For accuracy, I called Ahmad a week after our conversation and reviewed these questions with him once more, refreshing our conversation and taking clear notes on his answers.