Extraordinary headlines, ordinary lives

On some weather forecast websites, estimated temperatures for any given day are accompanied by a secondary estimate that tells you how warm or cold it feels, rather than how warm or cold it is. Hence, while the temperature for today may be 28 degrees Celsius, the forecast may also add that it “feels like 24 degrees Celsius” – the disparity may be attributed to the wind, cloud cover or rain.

In the same spirit, political news reports should also, perhaps, be accompanied by grassroots-level commentaries, in order to furnish the reading public with a more nuanced picture of news events. This potential parallel came to me when I arrived in Tunis last weekend, only to find the weather colder than I had expected, and the city calmer than I had expected – the result of naïve overreliance on media services.

By default, mainstream news singles out the extraordinary and the abnormal, and when the reading public knows little else about the society being reported on, it is easy to generalise from these exceptional aspects.

In the already-turbulent wake of the Arab Spring, the Feb 6, 2013 assassination of Chokri Belaid, an opposition leader in Tunisia, had unleashed a new wave of protests and violence in parts of the country, and most media verdicts on Tunisia since then have affirmed the instability of its society.

Nevertheless, the Tunis that greets a simple traveller plying conventional routes is vastly different from those volatile depictions. During the time I was there, the main streets in Tunis were calm, free music performances were being staged along Habib Bourguiba Avenue, and preparations for the 12th World Social Forum, an annual meeting of international civil society organisations, were underway.

The Tunisians I had encountered on the streets had all been gracious and welcoming, and repeatedly reminded me to be cautious – but of pickpockets and thieves, and not protests and revolutions.

Such was the advice I received from a young Tunisian woman I met at the Tunis-Carthage International Airport. After chatting for almost an hour about her previous job at an NGO in Libya, her recent marriage and return to Tunis, and her love for Shah Rukh Khan, she firmly advised me, upon our parting, to be careful when handling my wallet and cash in public. Unemployment was bad, she said, and there could be thieves around.

I remember thinking— wasn’t I supposed to be wary of revolutions and revolutionaries instead?

On another occasion, my American travel companion and I were looking for a restaurant and approached a random woman on the street to ask for directions. Monia, a plump, middle-aged woman who made a living making embroidery, gripped my arm firmly and instructed us to follow her.

Conversing with us in French, Monia walked with us all the way to our destination, constantly warning us of passing cars, and to avoid thieves – again, nothing about protestors or revolutionaries.

On the long train rides to the Carthaginian ruins, there were rowdy groups of young teenage boys clustering at each train station – were these the proverbial, unemployed and potentially criminal shabaab? It soon became clear, though, that they were more interested in performing daredevil stunts on the moving trains, dangling their bodies outside to impress their friends.

The Tunis I encountered during my short stay there jarred greatly with the Tunis I had encountered in the media coverage. Neither disproves the other, however; my anecdotes are not meant to dismiss the real existence of unrest and volatility in the country and the region. Rather, they are meant to supplement news reports and overwhelming media attention on the extraordinary, so much so that from a distance we are inclined to forget the ‘ordinary’.

Indeed, the two coexist; the grind of everyday life persists through these extraordinary times in the Arab world, and conversely, traces of turmoil surface in oases of calm.

While transiting in Jordan’s brand new airport terminal, for example, I noted many Syrians, probably refugees though with some financial means. Their presence in the large, posh, air-conditioned waiting halls was an uncanny reminder of a not-so-distant war, and an ever-exacerbating refugee situation.

At the end of my trip, I returned from Tunis to a Lebanon without a government; the Miqati-cabinet had resigned due to a political stalemate, which analysts have been quick to link to events in Syria. My family in Singapore was worried when they heard the news; in a Singapore where we are used to a strong, all-pervasive government, it is hard to imagine a country without one.

I asked my Lebanese friends how I should explain the situation to my family.

One said, with a dismissive wave of the hand, “Tell them it’s normal, and don’t worry.”

A pause.

“I mean it’s not normal, but you know, it’s not like how the news says it is.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Koh Choon Hwee is pursuing graduate studies in History at the American University in Beirut, Lebanon.