Michael S. Clark, U.S. Fulbright Scholar, Tunisia 2010-2011

Institut Superieur des Sciences Humaines de Tunis, Tunisia







 

[Jan. 12 – Jan. 14, 2011]
Friday, 14 January: It’s 11pm and a helicopter is making the rounds over the darkened neighborhoods here, an army curfew in effect since 5pm, though it was moved up from 6pm, At 5.30, people were still scurrying home who got the word late (the word being that groups of 3 or more would be shot on sight). Earlier in the day, though, it was sunny out, people were filling the cafes in our neighborhood, and couples with strollers were on the boardwalk. That changed as word spread of violent clashes in central Tunis, and then rumors that the president, Ben Ali, was fleeing the country. Rumor confirmed.

Thursday, 13 January: The country is simultaneously boiling over and shutting down. Most businesses are shuttered, but others going strong, like the little pizza joint up the street from us, Andiamo’s, doing a brisk trade just opposite a beat up army truck which has been backed up across the street at the little shopping center for two days running now, with half a dozen soldiers standing around, more inside, rifles ready, and 50 or 60 feet of razor wire glistening on the corner, under some leftover pink holiday lights. By the way, we got the Roma moyenne, medium cheese tomato and turkey. And yes, to go.

One of the other stores still open was the tiny Press Internationale, near the pizza place. They sell local (Arabic) and international papers (Italian, French, English), plus magazines (like Elle, Newsweek in French, National Geo in Arabic), a few school supplies, novels, cigarettes, packs or singles. A lot of people buy one or two at a time. You see that, and you realize people don’t have much money here, and it’s far worse in the countryside to the south and west where most of the trouble is, including the town of Sidi Bouzid, where it all started, when a 26-year old was arrested and roughed up by the police for the crime of selling fruits and veggies from a cart without a permit. He died a few days later after setting himself on fire.

Wednesday, January 12:  This morning, at Café Fayrouz, which overlooks the boardwalk and the Bay of Tunis beyond, people were talking non-stop (mostly in the local mix of Arabic/French) about the ongoing disaster – just complete outrage. A Tunisian woman at the table said proudly, “I didn’t know we had such spirit!”   

Along with cell phones and Facebook, people get information from satellite TV stations like Al Jazeera, BBC, Al Arabiya and others which can't be blocked by the government. All week, as usual, I was on buses, and in and out of taxis, another source of information and rumors. Last week, one driver said to me, ‘In this country, you say anything, nobody see you again!’

[Jan. 15 – Jan. 18]

Tuesday, Jan. 18, 2011 - “Vive la Tunisie”

No gunfire in our neighborhood today, though you could hear it last night near the presidential palace – militia vs. the army.  Meanwhile, food supply trucks were coming and going outside the public market here, truckloads of produce and fresh fish arriving, artichokes, oranges sanguines (blood oranges), just in season. Across the street I bought fresh pasta from two ladies in white aprons, one bagging the pasta, the other cleaning the windows looking out to the public market, both saying to the Tunisian next me, “Thank god they’re gone”, referring to the ousted thieves who were running the country. A few minutes later, I was in the bread line at Boulangerie Bheyrout, fast and cheap. They were only selling tied-up plastic bags of 5 baguettes to keep the line going quickly. Last month, at the same bakery it would have taken 15 or 20 minutes, with a line resembling a rock slide, but not this morning.

Monday, Jan. 17- Ten at a time
The nearby Monoprix supermarket opened today from about 10 till 1pm. I noticed people walking in a side door – both main entrances were closed – so I walked in too, and saw a line of 50 or 60 people, which I immediately joined. A young French couple behind me, and a Tunisian family in front, everyone chatting away. They let 10 at a time into the market, as 10 left, supervised by the nice gentleman with an automatic rifle next to the three busy checkout stands. They’ve also resumed trash collection – but instead of the usual overflowing truck, it was a tractor pulling an overflowing wagon.

Saturday Jan. 15- The tank on the corner

At Jimmy’s café, now the neighborhood gathering spot, the tables were full all morning, although they were out of milk for cappuccinos and the like.  But everyone was looking at the newest addition to the neighborhood, a massive army tank parked in front of the traffic roundabout, just 20 meters from the shabby army truck, which now looks punier than ever. The tank arrived sometime during the night, and did nothing to dampen the upbeat mood on the street. People were lining up to take pictures of each other by the tank, adorned with bunches of white flowers, just below the main gun turret. One father hoisted up a little girl of about four in a pink dress onto the tank, while mom snapped her picture.

- Neighborhood Watch

Neighborhoods everywhere across Tunis have erected make-shift barriers at intersections to stop the militia thugs from driving around easily.  Near our corner where rue d’Amerique meets rue Belhassen ben Chaaben, both sides of the road have been blocked off with makeshift supplies, a chain attached to two tire stands, a few tree stumps, broken pieces of fountain statues, potted plants, stacks of big bricks, and a rusty gate to let trusted neighbors drive through. If they don’t know the car, they stop it and ask the driver to open the trunk, looking for weapons. 

The gathered group of men, women and teenagers are armed with whatever is handy: we saw a couple of baseball bats - one metal, one wood - lots of odd-sized sticks, a long-handled axe, a rusty pitchfork, a short axe slung over a guy’s shoulder, several good sized rocks, sections of plumbing pipe, and one diver’s trigger harpoon. A friend saw someone armed with a tennis racket in another neighborhood, maybe a John McEnroe fan.  A few people have even brought chairs to hang out in comfort, like at a kids’ football match. One old timer had his chair plopped in the shrubbery, with a deck of cards in front of him. People were in good spirits, standing around, chatting with each other or on mobile phones, smoking, primitive weapons at their sides. Two guys climbed up a lamp pole and hosted the red and white Tunisian flag. We brought water bottles out later for the night shift neighbors whose eyes were bloodshot.

  

[Jan.23 – Feb. 14]

Monday, Feb. 14, 2011 – One month after: ‘la sainte-revolution’

In Tunis, exactly one month after chasing out the Ben Ali and Leila gang, there were Valentine Day plans to hand out red roses to the soldiers on Avenue Bourguiba, just up from the glistening coils of razor wire and a few tanks here and there. Today’s French-language La Presse called it ‘la sainte-revolution’, or the holy revolution, sort of a Valentine’s Day in memory of those who’ve died. Only in Tunisia could they make that connection – a Christian martyr dating from ancient Rome and a modern Arabic democratic revolution. Around noon, I walked up the nearby rue d’angleterre, where street vendors were selling Valentine bears, chocolates and heart-tipped pencils, next to a one-story high pile of garbage, still on someone’s to-do list.

Saturday, Feb. 5 – Graffiti Tunisian style

When we arrived in August, it was common to see pop graffiti like “MJ - We love you!” – for Michael Jackson. But now, political graffiti is popping up around Tunis. One of the most common:  "RCD Dégage!", or RCD, Clear Out! That’s RCD, for Democratic Constitutional Rally, Ben Ali’s now banned and burned out political party. Equally popular on the white walls of centreville: “Laïcité (secularism), Liberté, Démocratie”. And of course: “Merci Facebook!”

Sunday, Jan. 30 – Rumor of the week

Easily the best rumor this week – that women in bikinis would greet the arrival from London of Rachid Ghannouchi, the banned ‘Islamacist’ leader, in exile since Ben Ali took power from in a bloodless coup over 20 years ago. The bikinis didn’t materialize, nor the rumored glasses of wine, but women were there, with signs in Arabic and French reading, "No Islamism, no theocracy, no Sharia, no stupidity!"

Saturday, Jan. 29 – How to scatter a crowd

On Avenue Bourguiba today, between the National Theatre, an art nouveau gem, and the byzantine French Cathedral of St. Vincent de Paul, I ran into a group of about 100 women carrying signs in Arabic and French proclaiming ‘Egalite’ (equality), and ‘Laïcité’ (secularism), and تونس تعيش طويلا (‘Tahia Tounes’, long live Tunisia), There were people holding balloons, news photographers, everything sunny and festive, until another group, all men, confronted the women, screaming at them to go back to  their kitchens. That’s when the balloons started popping – nothing like the gunfire two weeks ago, but startling.  A few more balloons went pop, and suddenly a group of plainclothes police came out of nowhere, running fast and swinging 5-foot long batons, scattering the crowd instantly, me with them. I retreated to the open door of a café where the outdoor chairs had already been neatly stacked, hours ahead of closing time. But just as suddenly as it started, it was over, the goons were gone, and the marchers reassembled and continued on – but without the balloons.

Friday Jan. 28 – Display required (or else)

There are still demonstrators camped out, sit-in style, in the square facing the ornate colonial-era Prime Minister’s office, on the edge of the medina, or the old walled city. It’s a maze of covered passages, tiny open storefronts, one after the other, spilling over on the narrow cobblestoned walkways that thread the sprawling souk, or marketplace. They sell everything from bottled perfumes, filled as you wait, to incense, leather bags, plastic shoes, wedding dresses, spicy sandwiches and pastries, fez hats and baseball caps, mint tea and maps. They used to sell framed pictures of Ben Ali, too, but those disappeared in a hurry, as they did from every shop, office and school in the country, where they were required to be on display.

Wednesday, Jan. 26 – “La cleptodame”

A headline a few days ago in one of the French-language dailies: ‘Leila: la cleptodame,’ with an article detailing the departed first lady’s corruption. People refer to her and her extended family as gangsters. At my local newsstand, a magazine featured a cover photo of her in her former life as a hairdresser, a head of hair in one hand, a blow-dryer in the other, looking a bit less glamorous than she has in the touched up pre-revolution newspaper pictures, usually at a photo-op charity event. One of those photos was recently pasted over the entrance to the red-light district near the medina.

A favorite topic of conversation is how much money and gold the presidential family got away with when they fled the country. Yesterday, a woman said to me, “We knew they were low, but we didn’t know how low.” 

Tuesday, Jan. 25 – Hero’s welcome

Meanwhile, the reclusive head of the army, Gen. Rachid Ammar, who reportedly refused Ben Ali’s orders to fire on demonstrators, finally appeared in public this week, cheered by a large crowd. A magazine cover story lauded ‘L’homme qui a dit non’ (‘The man who said no’).

Sunday, Jan. 23 – Crunch of broken glass

Had coffee today on the terrace at Café Journal in Gammarth with a couple of Americans and a Tunisian who spent 2008 in Seattle, and was photographed during one of the first Tunis demonstrations hoisting a sign in English, “Yes We Can”.  On the way back, we pulled over at the latest tourist attraction: a burned out house near the main road, another Ben & Leila presidential property, now reduced to an empty shell with shattered glass and mirrors everywhere, so much that you heard the crunch of glass constantly. Entire families were walking in and out, taking pictures, checking out the debris in the swimming pool, a discarded Gucci wrapper near the entrance gate, the whole place thoroughly trashed and looted clean, and on the outside wall surrounding the gutted home, slogans in Arabic and English. One said, “Good-bye tyranny, hello Freedom”.

The same afternoon, I got text messages from two students: The first, ever cheerful: “Yup welcome new tunisiaaaaaaaa!!! See u nxt week, with God willing!”

   Then another, from a fan of American movies, and more to the point: “Hell yeah!”

Michael S. Clark

U.S.Fulbright Scholar

Institut Superieur des Sciences Humaines de Tunis, Tunisia