Fellows' Reflections: Jessica Murphy

Avenue Habib Bourgiba, the primary pedestrian street in downtown Tunis, was packed with children and adults of all ages. Strings of Tunisian flags, with their distinctive bright red color, had been strung between light poles and strewn throughout the crowd. People cried and cheered and danced as they held their own personal flags. Others wore a chechiya, a traditional hat, beaming with pride for their country. Cars honked, music blared, and streetlights glimmered. At one point, I heard a cry from above; looking up, I noticed a man crouching among the branches of a tree, cheering and dancing to the beat. Strangers kissed each other on the cheek, offering blessings for their families and friends. Tunisia had just elected President Kaïs Saïed and had taken to the streets to celebrate. The hope in the air was palpable.

I stumbled upon this celebration accidentally; though I knew it was the day of the election and eagerly anticipated the results, I had no idea they would be received with such fanfare. It was only October and it was the second of three elections I would witness within my first few months in Tunis. In the weeks leading up to the election, I had participated in and witnessed countless conversations with colleagues, friends, and strangers about their opinions and predictions. Coming from a country where electoral politics are reminiscent of a competitive sport, I am accustomed to discussing politics in public spaces. To me, and, seemingly, to others around me, these interactions felt natural, even normal. I had to remind myself that Tunisia’s democracy is still fairly young. Of the country’s sixty-plus years of independence, less than ten have passed since the 2011 revolution that ousted the country’s former dictator. The newest version of the constitution was enshrined in 2014; this past election cycle fell on the constitution’s five-year benchmark. As my friends and I pushed our way through the crowd at this impromptu, city-wide results party, it dawned on me that we were witnessing history.

Since arriving in Tunis this past August, I’ve noticed other visible signs of democracy. The weekend before the election, while driving into Tunis from a nearby town, I saw young volunteers passing out campaign flyers for various candidates at traffic stops along the highway. It was raining, and traffic was at a standstill, so by the time our car passed the intersection we had accumulated a handful of promotional material. As I struggled to read aloud campaign promises, trying to decipher the Arabic text, I realized that the men and women standing in the rain, shoving paper after paper through car windows, were children or teenagers at the time of the revolution. In their lifetime, the country had changed so much, and — as people often remind me — it is still in the process of changing.

At l’École Canadienne de Tunis, I work at the secondary school, and as an English teacher I often have the opportunity to decide on topics of conversation. As a self-proclaimed political enthusiast, I often encourage students to share their own opinions and perspectives on current events — particularly because last trimester was replete with election after election. Mixed English levels notwithstanding (it is most students' third language, after Arabic and French) we had some fascinating discussions. In one class, a student proclaimed that the revolution was bad for Tunisia, and that Ben Ali was better than any of the candidates this year. In response, another student disagreed; many of the consequences of the Ben Ali regime were hidden, she said, primarily impacting marginalized groups. In more advanced classes, we read articles profiling each of the candidates, analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of each platform.

I feel lucky to have exchanged thoughts and opinions with a wide range of people outside of the classroom as well, each person with his or her own particular perspective. One Tunisian friend told me she decided not to vote, claiming that both candidates were equally dangerous or potentially harmful for the future of the country. A coworker, fearing Saïed’s alleged conservatism, told me he opted for the other finalist, former businessman and media mogul Nabil Karoui. My neighbor at the time, convinced that Saïed’s lack of experience in politics was an asset, chose to vote for the former constitutional law professor and even volunteer for his campaign.

The morning after the election, the optimistic spirit from the previous evening remained, even as municipal employees gradually scratched off the campaign posters located at the designated spot in each neighborhood. The city buzzed with nervous energy as voters walked around with ink-covered forefingers, marking that they had participated in the election (ostensibly to prevent voter fraud). Some were gleeful, thrilled by the election results, while others were somber, worried about the future of the country. Regardless of individual opinion, there were murmurs of hope and uncertainty, and I am glad to have shared this moment of anticipation for the future of Tunisia.