will of the people

Just about six years ago, I was between jobs. Or, rather, I would have been between jobs, had I had a job or the prospect of one. As it is, I'm still shooting for my first job. To state it more accurately: Just about six years ago, I was between being a student and being a post-doc. Being a student isn't much and being a post-doc is even less. So you would think that being between the two is the nadir of one's life.

Not at all. I just had graduated and was waiting for my next boss to say, "Hello, I'm ready for you. Come over when you're ready." Until that happened, I was on vacation. I stayed at my mom's apartment in Germany, chillaxing for the most part. But soon enough the roof threatened to collapse on my head that's so used to the wide skies of freedom. Sitting there all day making corrections to my thesis, no, make this dissertation, that the thesis editor in her assiduousness and zealous attention to detail had required, drove me nuts after a few days. I needed a break, a break from the break that I was already on.

The internet came to my help. Browsing some last-minute travel sites, I found a trip to Malta: flights, a week in a hotel and two meals a day for less than 200 euros. I locked it in without thinking. It was truly last minute: Departure was the next morning at six. I didn't have a clear idea where Malta was exactly, or what there was to see. At three in the afternoon, right after the booking, I strolled to the one bookseller in town and bought the one guide to the island they had. I read it on the plane the next morning.

The trip was great. Malta is an amazing mix of Arabic and European culture, with medieval urbanity, rusty shipbuilding and mighty fortifications. The Knights of St. John have their headquarters there, on a fortress that the intrepid tourist can explore with impunity. Only the central structures, the inhabited part, are off-limits. I also had a blast on a 125cc motorcycle, which I rented for a pittance and without showing a license that I didn't have. My first brush with left-hand traffic almost cost me my life.

Back in Germany, my post-doc had still not been sorted out. Money was supposed to gush in from the European Union but dark forces deep inside the administration conspired to muddle the source. My new boss sounded desperate. I went back to the same last-minute travel site and booked a trip to Tunisia. It was a bit more expensive but the deal was still hard to beat, such a steal that I almost felt bad for taking advantage. Departure was the next morning at six. Just like two weeks earlier, I went down to the only bookseller in town and bought the only guide on the country.

Were it not for this filler sentence, the paragraph would start just like the one earlier. The trip was great. My sister was with me and we had a blast, almost unqualified, traveling from Sousse to all towns within easy reach by public transport, meeting locals, getting lost in the souqs and awed by the history. One day we rented a car, and the first thing I did was drive into a one-way street the wrong way around. I've never thrown a faster youee.

But not everything was sweet in Tunisia. I my travel piece, I observed that

not everything is fine and dandy. As the Economist put it bluntly: "It's easy for Tunisia to look good between Libya and Algeria." The press is far from free, and political opposition barely exists and is hardly tolerated. The president for the past 15 years puts more nines into election results than communist regimes used to. He had sacked the president for the 30 years prior and founder of the nation, Habib Bourguiba, when that guy showed increasingly self-aggrandizing tendencies. Now the current president is accused of the same sin. Tunisia has an ever-present police force of 130000. Vehicles can be stopped and searched on any roundabout, which keeps the population under tight control.

Tunisia was certainly not a free country, but it seemed content. Signs of nascent prosperity were everywhere: little French cars abounded in the streets, large French supermarkets brought western wares and values, and parents sent their kids to colleges and universities in the hope they would one day go to France and get a good job. The country was calm and appeared settled in its ways.

It came as a bit of a surprise when, on my way to Manchester last week, I read in Le Monde about street protests and clashes between demonstrators. Front page news in France but all but ignored in England. This evening, everyone's talking about Tunisia. Zine El Abidine Ben Ali, dictator for the past twenty-three years, has been given the boot and has left the country. It was the first time that an Arab leader has been ousted by the will of the people. It took less than one month.

I find this amazing for two reasons. One is the sheer impotence of the dictator. Ben Ali has been oppressing Tunisia for almost a quarter century, but the first time the pressure builds from below, he just bolts. Maybe he diverted billions of aid dollars into Swiss accounts and just can't be bothered to do crisis, but maybe he's just a mouse. This was no military coup. Students with rocks in their hands and fire in their hearts sent the strongman packing.

The other is the power of the street. It's not only that they kicked out the dictator. More important is that no one dared to stand in their way. The authorities must have felt a high level of discontent in the population that was probably extending deep into the ubiquitous police forces and decided it was wise to watch from the sidelines. Ben Ali had to go. There should be a lesson in this for other peoples who feel the whip of authority a bit too strongly. Last Sunday's Le Monde also reported about riots in Algeria. Is President Bouteflika shopping for a little chalet in Switzerland already?