AMMAN, Jordan (AP) — A recent addition to the royal portraits adorning highways and hospitals in Jordan caught the attention of visitors this month. Crown Prince Hussein, aged 28, and his elegant Saudi wife, Rajwa Alseif, now grace the view of motorists stuck in Amman traffic.
The royal wedding served as a symbol of the monarchy’s ambition to position Hussein as the embodiment of Jordan’s next generation—a future king capable of modernizing the nation, cutting bureaucratic red tape, and unleashing the potential of its large population of young individuals. With nearly two-thirds of Jordan’s population of almost 10 million under the age of 30, it is crucial to address their aspirations.
Unfortunately, in the rundown streets of impoverished neighborhoods in the capital city, Amman, and in the dusty villages of the countryside, the prospects for change appear bleak. Almost half of Jordan’s youth are unemployed, leaving many with the desire to seek opportunities abroad. While discontent exists, few dare to voice their concerns, as the government swiftly suppresses any signs of dissent.
The narrative of economic hardships and political oppression echoes throughout the Middle East, and Jordan is no exception. Similar to countries like Egypt, Iraq, and Tunisia, Jordan’s bloated public sector has drained its resources, leaving little for crucial sectors like healthcare and education. Attempts to curtail public employment and reduce subsidies have undermined the social contract that once kept the population complacent. Many attribute their suffering to corrupt officials and, increasingly, to the palace.
“The support base is deteriorating,” noted Tariq Tell, a Jordanian professor of political science at the American University of Beirut. “Hussein faces a daunting challenge.”
While the royal wedding in June briefly sparked excitement in Jordan, its opulent setting and distinguished guests only accentuated the stark divide between the prince’s privileged life and the daily struggles faced by most young Jordanians.
Let us now delve into the lives of some of these young individuals, who embody Jordan’s crucial role in shaping the future of the Middle East.
THE ENTREPRENEUR
Jaser Alharasis, a 28-year-old, found public schooling to be a letdown. Insufficient teachers and aimless students were the norm. Alharasis admits that he, too, would have been adrift if not for a scholarship that afforded him training in artificial intelligence.
Alharasis was taken aback by the absurdity of Jordanian schools relying on rote learning, stifling the curiosity of young minds in an era of rapid technological advancements. Recognizing the pressing need for change, he and a group of like-minded friends embarked on a mission to introduce robotics education into the struggling public schools of Jordan.
Their goal was to provide students with the tools and knowledge to navigate the world of robotics, fostering creativity, critical thinking, and problem-solving skills. They believed that by embracing emerging technologies, they could empower the younger generation to thrive in the evolving landscape.
Driven by their passion and determination, Alharasis and his friends set out to develop a comprehensive program that would integrate robotics into the existing curriculum of Jordanian public schools. Their vision was to transform these educational institutions into vibrant hubs of innovation, where students could explore and experiment with robotics, unlocking their potential and preparing them for the challenges of the future.
Despite the numerous hurdles and limited resources, Alharasis and his team remained undeterred, fueled by the belief that every child in Jordan deserved an education that nurtured their curiosity and equipped them with the skills needed to succeed in an ever-changing world.
Their company, known as “Robotna,” has now successfully trained thousands of students across Jordan. In order to finance their free high-tech classes in underprivileged areas, Robotna also provides the same courses to prestigious private schools for a fee, earning them the nickname “Robothood.”
“Jordan is already lagging behind, and if we don’t catch up, we will continue to lose more job opportunities,” Alharasis expressed passionately from the Robotna office situated in the working-class neighborhood of east Amman. Inside, a dedicated team of over a dozen staff members diligently worked on computers, developing an advanced curriculum that they would soon propose to the Ministry of Education. “I aspire for a different reality for people like me, for the future generation,” he added.
However, numerous obstacles impede their progress. In a country lacking bankruptcy laws, failure can lead to imprisonment if debts remain unpaid. Moreover, Jordanian tax authorities treat social enterprises like major corporations, resulting in Robotna losing 36% of its revenue to taxes each year, according to Alharasis.
Traditional-minded officials frequently hinder Alharasis and his colleagues from accessing schools, struggling to grasp the significance of robotics and the importance of technology in shaping the future, as he explained.
Confronted with the hurdles of innovation in Jordan, many of Alharasis’ peers are opting to study German and apply to universities in Germany or relocate to Dubai in the United Arab Emirates. However, Alharasis remains steadfast in his commitment to staying in Jordan and finding creative solutions.
He firmly believes that if one can establish a successful company in Jordan, they possess the resilience and adaptability necessary to thrive anywhere in the world. “If you can start a company in Jordan, you can start one anywhere,” he confidently declares.
THE UNEMPLOYED
Saif al-Bazaiah, a 20-year-old individual, could easily be mistaken for a university student with his coffee habit and thrifted jeans. However, after witnessing his cousins invest years and fortunes in pursuing higher education, only to end up unemployed, he decided to take a different path. Immediately after finishing high school, al-Bazaiah dove into the workforce, as his father’s income from a steel factory barely covered the family’s expenses.
“You see all these people studying to become engineers and doctors, but in the end, they have nothing,” al-Bazaiah expressed, reflecting on the situation from his hometown of Al Qatraneh, located approximately 95 kilometers (59 miles) south of Amman.
When job opportunities evaporated in his desert village, al-Bazaiah ventured to Amman, where 40% of all Jordanians reside. It proved to be an arduous endeavor. Working grueling twelve-hour shifts at gas stations, restaurants, and supermarkets, he could barely afford a few packs of cigarettes.
His former classmates faced similar hardships. Instead of confronting the country’s challenges and striving for a brighter future, al-Bazaiah observed that many sought solace in religion and conforming to social norms.
“For the average Jordanian, the greatest dream is just to buy a car, settle down, and get married,” al-Bazaiah lamented. “It’s the only way people can endure under pressure.”
The recent frenzy surrounding the royal wedding provided a brief respite from this pressure for the country. However, a week later, al-Bazaiah and others in Al Qatraneh felt left behind, worlds apart from the opulence of palace life. “It’s evident that Jordan is divided into two classes—the extremely wealthy and the very impoverished,” he remarked.
In a tribal leader’s sitting room on the outskirts of town, a photograph of the controversial Prince Hamzah, King Abdullah II’s half-brother, hung on the wall alongside the obligatory portraits of the royal family. Despite being dethroned as crown prince and placed under house arrest in 2021 after alleging high-level corruption, Hamzah still enjoys significant support from Jordan’s disillusioned tribes. In the aftermath of the palace crisis, the monarchy has intensified its efforts to enhance Hussein’s public image and solidify his position as the rightful heir.
“The main challenge to the crown prince’s future as king comes from within the family and the Jordanian tribes,” remarked Labib Kamhawi, a political analyst.
THE TEACHER
From the front porch of his home in northern Jordan, a lanky 27-year-old Arabic teacher gazed out across the valley at an imposing fortress made of concrete and steel. The view serves as a grim reminder of the threats faced by him and his colleagues, some of whom have been imprisoned in recent months.
“Teaching used to be a respected profession,” the teacher shared, requesting anonymity out of fear of reprisals. “Now, it’s terrifying. The pressures keep tightening,” he continued, clutching his throat as if struggling to breathe.
Jordan’s autocratic government has cracked down on teachers’ spirited protests for better pay, a trend that increasingly contradicts the monarchy’s image of embracing liberal, Western values.
In 2020, authorities disbanded the teachers’ union and sentenced prominent activists to prison. Now, no one dares to voice their grievances. They understand that a single misplaced word in a classroom or on social media can ruin their lives.
The newly formed government-aligned teachers’ union monitors its members, denying promotions to outspoken teachers and pushing politically active individuals into premature retirement.
Meanwhile, the struggling economy has taken its toll. The Arabic instructor appeared exhausted and disheveled after his shift at a café. His monthly salary of only 400 dinars ($564) is unable to keep up with skyrocketing prices, forcing him to take on odd jobs just to make ends meet.
“How can leaders use slogans about progress and prosperity when the country’s teachers are silenced?” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet anger. “Everything is turned upside down.”
THE HUMANITARIAN
In the coffee shops of Amman’s affluent Abdoun district, Mariam Hudaib, a 29-year-old woman, sits hunched over her laptop, meticulously collecting data on Syrian refugees. She considers herself “lucky” to have landed her dream job at an international aid organization. Meanwhile, her fellow graduates in English literature struggle to secure poorly paid teaching positions, rely on personal connections to secure positions in state-run companies, or compete fiercely for limited opportunities in Jordan’s private sector.
However, Hudaib’s job was not handed to her on a silver platter. Foreign organizations demand fluency in English and exceptional research skills, qualifications that most Jordanians fail to meet.
Hailing from a prosperous neighborhood and a close-knit family, Hudaib embodies the image of a successful Jordanian. Yet, she finds it difficult to envision a future in her homeland. The public schools and hospitals she attended during her childhood have deteriorated, and there seems to be no respite from the daily frustrations—high prices, heavy taxes, meager salaries, and a declining standard of living.
Hudaib’s sentiments are shared by many. According to Arab Barometer, a polling organization, nearly half of all young Jordanians now express a desire to leave the country, raising concerns that Jordan may be inadvertently pushing away its most valuable assets.
“I love Jordan,” Hudaib emphasized. “But I have witnessed enough.”
