jordan pulse -

​By Rima Al-Ma'aitah
​There are cities whose size is measured in kilometers, and cities whose magnitude is measured by the men they have brought into the world. Karak is of the second kind.
​This is the city that birthed Hazza' and Habis Al-Majali, Imran Al-Ma'aitah, Abdelsalam Al-Majali, Abdelhadi Al-Majali, Abdeljaleel Al-Ma'aitah, Khalid Al-Karaki, and Atef Al-Tarawneh. In Jordanian history, the memory of Karak overflows with the names of statesmen such as Ali Al-Suhaimat, Qasim Al-Ma'aitah, Awda Al-Qassous, Hussein Al-Tarawneh, Daoud Al-Majali, Ibrahim Al-Habashneh, and many other leaders whose presence transcended the borders of Karak to encompass the entire nation.
​But the question today is not about the past. The question is: What have we done to Karak after all this history?
​Its youth carry degrees but hold no jobs. They possess competence yet find no one to open doors for them. They carry ideas and projects, yet find no one to lend them a hand. And then we blame them when they think of leaving!
​What kind of state asks its youth to remain in their cities, yet fails to give them a single reason to stay?
​The government today is required to provide answers, not issue slogans. Where is the economic masterplan for Karak? Where is the investment? Where is youth employment? Where is the development of tourism? Where are the industries that could be built around the governorate's resources, location, and history? Where are the plans that would turn Karak into a productive province, instead of remaining a governorate that exports its sons and daughters to Amman and elsewhere in search of a living?
​We do not want another conference on unemployment. We do not want another new committee. Nor do we want a strategy archived away in drawers. We want a decision. And we want to know: What will the government do for Karak right now?
​As for Karak’s members of parliament, the question is even harsher: What have you done? You are not expected to present a ledger of individual personal favors. You are expected to present an account of a city’s future. How many economic projects have you brought? How many job opportunities have you created? How many times have you placed Karak’s file on the government’s table? And how many times have you told the government: This is not enough?
​A member of parliament is not an agent for processing personal transactions. Parliamentary office is not social prestige. Winning an election is not the end of the mission; it is merely its beginning. Whoever enters the House of Representatives in Karak’s name must realize that behind their vote stands an unemployed youth, a waiting family, and a city demanding to know: What have its representatives done for it?
​And a minister hailing from Karak is not asked to be a minister strictly for Karak—he is a minister for all of Jordan. But when development files are opened, investment is discussed, and state priorities are drawn, Karak has every right to ask its sons in positions of authority: Was Karak present?
​The goal is not to bring back the era of Abdelsalam Al-Majali, Abdelhadi Al-Majali, Khalid Al-Karaki, or others. Time does not turn back. But what must return is the true sense of responsibility. Reaching a position of power should be an opportunity to serve the nation, not the end of caring for the city from which the official came.
​Karak does not want favoritism. It does not want royal hand-outs. Nor does it want favors from anyone. It wants its right to development. It wants its youth to be viewed as a national treasure, not merely numbers in unemployment tables.
​Mr. Prime Minister… Karak is not a security issue to be managed with a containment mindset. It is not an electoral ballot box to be summoned only when needed. Nor is it merely a pretty picture in a speech about history. Karak is an open development file. If the government is truly serious about confronting unemployment and poverty, let it start in the governorates where the state can make a real difference. Let it start with Karak.
​As for silence, it has gone on too long. Promises have been exhausted. The youth are waiting. And the city is falling behind.
​Therefore, I say it without equivocation: I grieve for you, O Karak. Not because you are without men, but because you brought forth statesmen, and yet today we are searching for a single man to rise up for your youth.
​And the question that will remain hanging over every parliamentary chair and every ministerial desk is: When Karak needed you… where were you? For positions fade. Members of parliament leave. Ministers change. But Karak remains. And history does not judge intentions… history judges impact.