There’s a common saying about representing your country when you travel abroad. In Amman, Jordan, this feeling is amplified for me. It’s as if my American identity is visibly stamped on me, influencing every interaction and perception as I walk through the city streets. I am acutely aware of how much I stand out and how my nationality shapes the way I am seen and treated here.
On my very first day in Amman, this reality was immediately apparent. A man driving by whistled and shouted a “welcome to Jordan” that felt more like a catcall than a genuine greeting. This kind of attention was something I had been warned about before my arrival. Reactions from friends and family when I announced my study abroad plans in Jordan were often filled with concern: furrowed brows, wide eyes, and questions like, “Is it safe?” and “Isn’t it really hard to be a woman there?” I anticipated that street harassment would be a persistent aspect of life in Jordan, a frustrating undercurrent to what I hoped would be an otherwise enriching cultural and academic experience.
Alexandra Bauman ‘21, another American woman studying in Amman, shared a similar experience of preemptive warnings. Her father, who had spent considerable time in Jordan for work, advised her that “no matter how you dress, you’re going to face street harassment there more than in places you’ve been before.”
This prediction has proven accurate. The frequency of street harassment in Amman is significantly higher than anything I’ve encountered in the US or other places I’ve traveled. It’s rare for me to walk to my 8 a.m. class without enduring some form of objectifying comment. The unwanted attention escalates in the evenings when cafes and restaurants become predominantly male spaces. This constant commentary is not just irritating; it’s emotionally draining and makes it harder to develop a sense of belonging in a city I am genuinely trying to understand and appreciate.
Alexandra echoed this sentiment, noting the inescapable nature of being perceived as a foreigner. “I’m going to be a foreigner no matter how many years I live here just because I don’t look like the people here and I don’t dress like them and I don’t wear a hijab,” she observed.
Despite the pervasive street harassment, a surprising consensus among the women in my program is that we often feel safer walking in Amman than in many cities back in the United States. Alexandra elaborated on this paradox, “I’m never worried that anybody’s gonna reach out and touch me or harass me in any way physically.”
While my American identity draws unwanted attention that manifests as street harassment, it paradoxically also shields me from more severe forms of harassment. I have never felt physically threatened in Amman. Part of this sense of security stems from a greater comfort in responding to harassing comments here than I feel in the United States. A firm, quick retort in Arabic can effectively embarrass the offender and end the interaction. This is a level of assertiveness I don’t always feel safe exercising in the US, where I often worry that any response could escalate the situation and potentially lead to physical danger. Even if my Arabic isn’t perfect, the implied threat of calling the police here is usually enough to deter further harassment.
It’s crucial to acknowledge that this sense of privilege and protection is also intertwined with my identity as a white American. Saman Haider, a Pakistani-American student in Amman, shared a contrasting experience that highlights this nuance. “As soon as I get into a taxi and I’m with a bunch of friends who are white, [the driver] will be like, ‘Where are you all from?’ and someone will say ‘America,’ but then he’ll look at me specifically and be like, ‘No, where are you from?’” This assumption that non-white Americans are not “real” Americans complicates the experience of American privilege, making it less accessible to individuals like Saman.
This feeling of relative safety is not accidental; it is rooted in structural and historical factors. Jordan’s economy is significantly dependent on tourism, making the Jordanian government keen to avoid negative incidents involving American travelers that could deter future tourism. Furthermore, the United States is a crucial economic and diplomatic ally for Jordan, which, lacking substantial natural resources, relies on aid from countries like the US. These macro-level political and economic dynamics filter down into my daily life in Amman, creating a context where local authorities are more likely to be supportive of American visitors.
Historical power dynamics also contribute to this American privilege. A significant portion of Jordan’s population is of Palestinian origin, and I am constantly aware that I carry the weight of US foreign policy in this region in every interaction, particularly given the US’s strong alignment with Israel under recent administrations. While I am a guest in Jordan and expected to respect local customs during my stay, Jordan exists within a global order largely shaped by the United States’ political and economic influence.
My Americanness also affords me a degree of agency in dealing with street harassment that is not equally available to Jordanian women. Anecdotally, it appears that American women may experience street harassment more frequently than Jordanian women, possibly due to prevalent stereotypes about Western women being more sexually permissive. However, Jordanian women also face persistent harassment in public spaces. It is important to note that there is a significant gap in official research on the prevalence of sexual harassment in Jordan. The Jordanian Department of Statistics does not collect official data on sexual harassment, reflecting the deeply ingrained taboo surrounding this issue even within academic circles. This lack of data itself contributes to a culture of silence, potentially making it less likely for women’s experiences to be acknowledged and addressed.
In contrast to American women, Jordanian women are often bound by cultural expectations of female submissiveness, which can make it socially unacceptable for them to respond assertively to unwanted attention or comments. When Jordanian women do report harassment, they are less likely to be believed, and reporting such incidents can even reflect negatively on the woman herself. The victim-blaming questions – “How was she dressed?” “What did she say or do to provoke him?” – are disturbingly similar to those often raised in discussions of sexual harassment and assault in the US, highlighting a global pattern of societal attitudes towards women and harassment.
Despite these challenges, there are nascent domestic efforts to confront street harassment in Jordan. Rula Quawas, a professor at the University of Jordan, worked with students to create a viral video campaign addressing street harassment. However, the public response to the video was largely negative, and some of the young women involved faced repercussions from their own families, underscoring the deeply sensitive and controversial nature of this issue within Jordanian society.
In the United States, my identity is largely shaped by my gender. I am constantly aware of how being a woman influences my experiences in social, academic, and professional environments. However, in Jordan, my experience as a woman is further complicated and layered by my American nationality. The way people interact with me, the comments shouted from car windows, and my perceived ability to respond are all inextricably linked to my Americanness. While being a woman can put me at a disadvantage in Amman, being an American simultaneously grants me a degree of privilege. Discussing the challenges of being an American woman in Amman needs to acknowledge that my “American” identity is arguably the more dominant factor shaping my experiences here.
Conveying the complexity of this intersectional experience is often lost in brief conversations or hurried explanations. Alexandra articulated this challenge, “It’s complicated because not enough people come here to get their own picture of it and fully understand it. I’m hesitant to say many things about this place just because I’m worried about oversimplifying it because I might not even understand why this is happening.”
Furthermore, sharing stories about street harassment can inadvertently reinforce existing stereotypes about Jordan and the broader Middle East – stereotypes that wrongly depict women as universally oppressed due to religious clothing or Middle Eastern cultures as inherently uncivilized. These harmful stereotypes have historically been used to justify damaging military interventions in the Middle East. While street harassment is undeniably a part of my experience in Amman, I am wary of allowing it to overshadow the rich cultural exchange and profound academic growth I am also experiencing.
In Jordan, my American identity throws my foreignness into sharp relief against my surroundings. It is in this context that I have come to understand how my intersecting identities as an American woman both subject me to cat-calling and simultaneously afford me certain privileges in Amman. While these specific dynamics are tied to my time abroad, the broader effects of American policy and global power dynamics in the region are enduring and far-reaching.
Ella Fanger is a student at Saybrook College. You can reach her at [email protected].
