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Middle East & North Africa
Breaking What Remains of Intermediation: Saïedism in Late 2025
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Middle East & North Africa
Saied and Meloni: Does Gaza Weigh at All?
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Middle East & North Africa
Scarcity by Design: The Political Economy of Water in Jordan
At first glance, Tunisia looks to have had a quiet political summer. No elections were held. Cabinet members retained their ministerial portfolios. And the opposition, enfeebled from years of repression, made little public noise. But politics never truly come to a stop. And beneath the surface, a great many contests for power were waged amidst the summer heat. Significantly, the UGTT trade union federation entered into a standoff with the Saïed regime. Also of note, Tunisia’s mainstream media accelerated its drift into depoliticization. Finally, with an eye toward closing the book on transparency, Carthage “unplugged” the National Authority for Access to Information.
Though the three developments look unrelated, each follows from the logic of Saïed’s populist project. Across the board, what we see is an attempt at weakening or eliminating the intermediate layers connecting state and society.
The hour of confrontation for the UGTT
After Ben Ali\’s fall, the Tunisian General Labor Union (UGTT) famously became a major player in Tunisian political life. The Federation’s interventions during 2013’s national dialogue earned it the Nobel Peace Prize two years later. Lifting and sinking governments across the 2010s, the unionists were kingmakers and breakers, growing into (arguably) the leading force in the country.
With the election of Kaïs Saïed in 2019, the UGTT initially tried to (again) position itself in the role of mediator. For two years, leadership did what could be done to resolve a deepening political crisis pitting the president against Parliament. When Saïed executed his coup d\’état of July 25, 2021, however, the union hierarchy made the choice of backing the President. The decision was justified in light of Saïed taking the fight to Ennahda and the wider Islamist current, for whom the UGTT had developed a healthy level of animosity.
Despite the UGTT’s initial show of support, with time, Saïed worked to tame the union and to reduce its autonomy. (In this manner, he operated much like Ennahda and the Islamist-populist coalition Al Karama before him.) In December 2021, the President had Najla Bouden\’s government publish Circular 20, which required all public administrations and companies to refrain from entering into any discussions with trade unions without the prior agreement of the government\’s general secretariat. Next, he moved to undermine the UGTT’s status as arbiter and key societal interlocutor: Principally, this was done through refusing to engage with the UGTT General Secretary’s proposals for a national dialogue after Carthage suffered a setback in the legislative elections of 2022. Starting in 2023, Saïed also began deploying the law to discipline more recalcitrant members of the union’s leadership, arresting and detaining a number of top officials.
After the tense days of 2023, a stalemate of sort set in between Carthage and the UGTT.1 Alas, as intimated, the calm gave way this past summer. On August 7, dozens of protesters claiming to support the President gathered at Place Mohamed Ali in Tunis in front of the UGTT headquarters. Under the slogan “The people want the purification of the Union,” the protesters demanded the departure of the UGTT’s current leadership. For the secretariat, the demonstration was an affront, one made all the more threatening by the fact that the slogans chanted bore a close resemblance to those promoted by pro-Carthage influencers in the months prior. For the UGTT’s leaders, this all had the looks of a “militia operation” reminiscent of the attack on December 4, 2012, when groups close to Ennahda attempted to storm the UGTT headquarters, injuring union members in the process.
With the hope of preventing any intensification of the conflict, parties close to both the regime and the UGTT—such as Mongi Rahoui\’s Watad and the Popular Current—have asserted that there is no link between the August protesters and the government. The credibility of such claims has been undermined by Kaïs Saïed himself, however, who has taken to defending the protesters against any accusation of wrongdoing. In Saïed’s words, the crowd gathered in August 7 “had no intention of attacking or breaking into the building, as malicious rumors claim.” Furthermore, a few days after the incidents at Place Mohamed Ali, the head of government, Sarra Zenzri, issued a circular ending the secondment of trade unionists from the civil service.2
Seeking a display of strength in response to the perceived agitation from the President’s office, an extraordinary meeting of the UGTT’s National Council called for a large gathering to be held in front of the union headquarters on August 11. And yet, despite the support of major NGOs and opposition parties, the event drew only around 3,500 people. This figure can be viewed in two ways. In the current context, it is above average for large opposition rallies. Set against recent history, contrarily, it is undeniably low, the poor turnout even more disappointing in view of the UGTT’s estimated 800,000 members. On balance, this speaks to the effects of a number of factors, the general climate of fear that has consolidated in Tunisia and the poor regard in which the federation’s current leadership is held above all.
Seen in full, the maneuvers of Carthage have served to diminish the strength and legitimacy of the UGTT. They also served to nudge the federation outside the domain of politics. For Saïed, this is part and parcel of a political project seeking to bring the Presidency into direct, unmediated communion with the Tunisian people.
Certainly, the UGTT does not make an easy target: Different from institutional bodies such as the High Judicial Council, which Saïed could just dissolve by fiat, the UGTT retains a grounding in the national social fabric. Nevertheless, with the President taking up much of the federation’s socioeconomic mantle—championing an anti-liberal discourse, showing distrust of the IMF, and rejecting privatization, amongst other things—the UGTT too has proven vulnerable to a war of attrition. Looking ahead, it should be expected that Saïed will try either to bring the UGTT’s leadership fully to heel or to continue undermining the union’s standing through legal, political, and economic means.
Media forced to toe the line
The schism opening between the government and the UGTT offers a good opportunity to discuss the second development touched on in the introduction: the mainstream media’s depoliticization. Indeed, it is instructive that the August stand-off between the Federation and Carthage was hardly even mentioned by leading print, television, and radio outlets. The contrast to the 2011-2019 period could be no more stark.
Over the past three years, most television and radio stations have either taken their political programming off the air or brought the shows in question into line with Carthage’s line. This follows after their general deplatforming of political actors: In the days after the coup of July 2021, national television stopped inviting political parties—including those that support the regime—to its talk shows. Various public radio stations followed suit. With time, television stations largely stopped broadcasting political debate shows, too, leaving only openly pro-regime ones running.
What got the ball rolling here was Kais Saïed’s promulgation of Decree-Law 54 in September 2022. As soon as it was published, Article 24 caught the eye of many concerned onlookers. Under the heading “Rumors and fake news,” the article states: “Anyone who knowingly uses information and communication systems and networks to produce, spread, disseminate, send, or write false news, false data, rumors, false or falsified documents, or documents falsely attributed to others, with the aim of infringing on the rights of others, undermining public safety or national defense, or spreading terror among the population.” The same penalties apply to “any person who uses information systems to publish or disseminate false or falsified news or documents or information containing personal data, or to attribute unfounded data with the aim of defaming others, damaging their reputation, harming them financially or morally, inciting attacks against them, or inciting hate speech.” Finally, the penalty is doubled when “the person targeted is a public official or equivalent.”
Journalists and activists recognized from the outset that Article 35 could be used to roll back what was the main, lasting achievement of the Tunisian revolution: the freedom of expression. And very quickly, it was. The judicial authorities initially targeted individuals—persons with powerful voices and a following—while allowing some critical content and commentary from the mainstream media to be issued forth. This regime of selective censorship then gave way to something more resembling total censorship and repression starting in May 2024. The pivot began with the police raid of the Tunis Bar Association and the arrest Sonia Dahmani. The lawyer and columnist had barricaded herself inside the bar association\’s headquarters to protest the case prosecutors had just decided to bring against her. Charges derived from comments Dahmani made earlier in the week on a television program. Reflecting on a Saïedian conspiracy theory claiming that sub-Saharan migrants were seeking to colonize Tunisia, she said: “What a wonderful country for migrants to steal from us!” For this remark, Dahmani was to face trial for having violated Decree-Law 54. On the same day Dahmani was taken in, moreover, police also arrested journalists Mourad Zeghidi and Borhen Bsaiess, who had appeared on the same morning radio show where Dahmani had made the aforementioned joke. These second two arrests were made on Saturday evening, a time when security and justice services are only supposed to act in cases of in flagrante delicto or imminent danger.3 While in detention, the lawyers of Zeghidi and Bsaiess claim they were questioned extensively about their political analyses.
Not seeking to waste any time, the judicial authorities pushed the trials of Zeghidi and Bsaiess to the top of the docket. Convicted for offenses dating back to publications from 2019, they would each be sentenced to one year in prison. In being forced to serve time for what amounts to crimes of opinion, the fates of Zeghidi and Bsaiess, like that of Dahmani, had a significant chilling effect on the wider community of journalists. As mentioned, most mainstream media outlets adapted to the new climate by reducing or even canceling their political programs. Where they do venture into the subject matter, they do so with kid gloves and a non-critical eye.
State of Talk Radio 2024-2026
The start of the 2024-2025 television and radio season coincided with the presidential election campaign. At that time, the three biggest political talk shows (Midi Show on Mosaïque FM, Houna Tounes on Diwan FM, and Politica on Jawhara FM) were still on the air, though each took an increasingly conciliatory tone toward the government. A year later, only Houna Tounes remains on the air on Diwan FM. Politica has been canceled outright, “by mutual agreement” according to its star presenter Zouhaier Eljiss. Midi Show has become Midi Mag, a kind of infotainment program purged of commentators critical of the regime.
In some ways, Saïed’s crackdown was a function of his asphyxiation of the institution meant to oversee and protect the audiovisual media industry: La Haute Autorité Indépendante de la Communication Audiovisuelle (HAICA). Created in 2011 and established as a provisional body in 2013, HAICA was meant to evolve into a permanent regulator. However, with Saïed’s coup d\’état and repeal of the 2014 Constitution, this progression was halted. Over the course of 2022 and 2023, its administrative officials retired and were not replaced. Then, in February 2024, the state stopped paying its members\’ allowances.
Like with the UGTT, Carthage’s crackdown on the media can and should be seen in light of his intention to remove all intermediating institutions between state and society. Since his election, Kaïs Saïed has given only one interview to a national media outlet.4 Otherwise, communication goes directly through the Facebook page of the Presidency of the Republic.
The end of access to information
Saïed’s de facto abolition of the National Authority for Access to Information (INAI) represents his final summer salvo against intermediation.
The INAI was set up in 2016. Building off measures first established via decree laws issued in 2011 by Béji Caïd Essebsi, the INAI’s fundamental purpose was to maintain trust between citizen and elected officials. It served this purpose by requiring that various public bodies publish information about their operations and decision-making processes. The INAI also stipulated that public authorities must provide, upon request, any document requested by a citizen, within the usual limits (classified documents, protection of privacy, etc.).
For more than a decade, the INAI served civil society well. Critically, it allowed for the flourishing of the Al Bawsala association, which launched a number of projects for monitoring the activities of decision-making bodies such as the National Constituent Assembly, Assembly of People\’s Representatives, and municipal governments. At the end of the day, despite its legal standing, the INAI’s ability to fulfill its mandate hinged on the goodwill of those in power.5 So long as a culture of transparency held amongst the political classes, civil society was able to use the institution to hold those in power to account. Alas, in fits and starts, that culture of transparency gave away in the aftermath of July 25, 2021. Thereafter, some associations still attempted to use the INAI to demand accountability. However, their requests for information generally wound up stonewalled by Carthage. This was notably the case with Al Bawsala, whose demands for the results of the audit Saïed ordered on foreign aid—which he alleged had been embezzled by those in power during the post-revolutionary decade—was rebuffed.6 Even though the 2022 Constitution reiterated the right to transparency in Article 38, in practice, the government does not honor it. For all effects and purposes, the INAI is at this stage an empty husk.
Conclusions
The attacks on the UGTT, the state’s increasing control over the mainstream media, and the de facto dissolution of the INAI are all part of the Tunisian government\’s strategy to weaken intermediary bodies and to eliminate countervailing institutional powers. Flipside of the same coin, these moves have functioned to centralize power and render its administration more vertical.
If this all gives reason for fear, it should be noted that resistance to Saïed’s project remains. The election of Boubaker Bethabet as head of the Bar Association on September 13, 2025 illustrates this dynamic. Elected in the first round, Bethabet seems to want to break with his two predecessors, who were close to the government. His example shows that, despite increasing restrictions, part of civil society continues to take up the issue of the rights and freedoms that emerged from the revolution.
Photo Credit: Mouhatatou, “Siège UGTT, Tunis, 2019-2” (2019)
1The UGTT\’s executive board reflects the balance of power among the country\’s progressive forces. As such, the board’s positions on the current political situation in Tunisia give insights into the vacillating fortunes of different left factions. At the time of writing—with the government becoming increasingly clear on its plans to do away with all intermediary bodies—the UGTT shows itself divided between two broad camps: one that seeks to remain loyal to Carthage, one that seeks to break from it.
2For what it is worth, the union\’s leadership stated that this practice had been marginalized since 2022.
3For those familiar with the workings of the Saïedian justice system, the element of surprise allows investigators to seize electronic devices with a view to building other cases. The almost simultaneous arrests of Dahmani, Bsaiess, and Zeghidi and the content of the investigation files send a clear signal from the authorities that they will no longer tolerate any dissent.
4Journalists who wish to interview him must take advantage of public appearances to hope to obtain a statement.
5The legal status of the INAI was affirmed at a number of stages across the 2010s. The 2014 Constitution enshrined the right to information in Article 32. Decree-Law No. 2011-41, meanwhile, was made into proper legislation via Organic Law No. 2016-22 of March 24, 2016. The Organic Law in question uplifted the INAI as a key intermediary/mediator between citizens and the state.
6This claim, repeated many times by the president, was a pillar of the demonization campaign that helped justify the President’s coup. Given that the report has not been published and that, to our knowledge, no prosecutions for embezzlement have been brought, it is likely that the audit was inconclusive.
‘, ‘post_title’ => ‘Breaking What Remains of Intermediation: Saïedism in Late 2025’, ‘post_excerpt’ => ”, ‘post_status’ => ‘publish’, ‘comment_status’ => ‘closed’, ‘ping_status’ => ‘closed’, ‘post_password’ => ”, ‘post_name’ => ‘breaking-what-remains-of-intermediation-saiedism-in-late-2025’, ‘to_ping’ => ”, ‘pinged’ => ”, ‘post_modified’ => ‘2025-09-26 15:14:25’, ‘post_modified_gmt’ => ‘2025-09-26 13:14:25’, ‘post_content_filtered’ => ”, ‘post_parent’ => 0, ‘guid’ => ‘https://noria-research.com/mena/?p=810’, ‘menu_order’ => 0, ‘post_type’ => ‘post’, ‘post_mime_type’ => ”, ‘comment_count’ => ‘0’, ‘filter’ => ‘raw’, )Since October 7, 2023, Kais Saied\’s rhetorical stances on developments in Palestine have been as radical as any Arab head of state. Explicitly rejecting the two-state solution, the Tunisian president has called for a Palestine “from the river to the sea”, amongst other things. Alas, if Saied’s words have been bold, his actions have not. The exceptional closeness he has maintained to Meloni\’s Italy throughout the genocide—a government whose support for Netanyahu is beyond dispute—speaks to this well.
Meloni, Netanyahu\’s friend
Giorgia Meloni was most recently received at the Palace of Carthage on July 31. The visit was announced only a few hours before it took place, raising a flood of questions about its purpose. The official statement put out by the Tunisian president vaguely refers to discussions on strengthening bilateral cooperation in areas such as “transport, health, agriculture, and energy.” However, the primary focus of the get-together appears to have centered on two concerns: migration (particularly the repatriation of irregular migrants from sub-Saharan Africa) and the ongoing genocide in Gaza. On migration, the two Presidents hold a great deal in common. On Gaza, contrarily, where the current Italian government maintains the country’s traditional Atlanticist position (one non-reflexively backing Israel), a discordance would seem to exist.
Consider, after all, that two weeks before Meloni\’s visit to Tunis, Italy voted against the proposal to suspend the European Union’s association agreement with Israel. In doing so, Rome caucused with a number of far-right governments, including Viktor Orban’s Hungary. Italy has also hedged against enforcing arrest warrants issued by the International Criminal Court against Netanyahu and former Defense Minister Yoav Gallant. While Italian Defense Minister Guido Crosett said his country would enforce the warrant, Deputy Prime Minister Matteo Salvini said the accused officials were welcome in Italy. For his part, Foreign Minister Antonio Tajani has intimated that “immunities (will) be respected.”1 Questions remain as to whether Italy has been exporting weapons to Israel throughout the genocide as well.2 Minimally, Italy has allowed the United States to use air bases located on Italian territory to convey weapons onto Israel.
And throughout the past two years, Giorgia Meloni has offered constant public backing for Israel’s campaign. On October 8, 2023, Meloni called Netanyahu and assured him that “Italy stands with Israel.” Less than two weeks later, she traveled to Tel Aviv to meet with Netanyahu at the headquarters of the Israeli army. There, she declared that Hamas has “the will to eliminate the Jews” and has committed “an anti-Semitic act.” During the December 12, 2023, vote in the UN General Assembly for a ceasefire in Gaza, Italy abstained, too. Nor has much changed since. As mentioned, in July 2025, Rome mobilized against those trying to suspend the EU\’s association agreement with Israel. Italian leadership explained this by saying it favors dialogue; the reality is that they recognize ideological affinity in Netanyahu’s coalition and act of solidarity. While Europe’s far-right was historically known for its virulent anti-Semitism, Netanyahu\’s strategy for years has been to absolve past crimes in exchange for unconditional support for Israel, as Sarra Grira lays out.3 Recently, Meloni has joined the chorus of European voices denouncing the current situation in Gaza, particularly as pertains to the killing of journalists. However, she remains opposed to the recognition of a Palestinian state, which she calls a “counterproductive” move, in her words.
Saied for a Palestine “from the river to the sea”
One might have thought that Meloni’s unceasing support for Israel as it conducted genocide would present a problem for Kais Saied. After all, the Tunisian President has long cast himself as a champion of the Palestinian cause. While running for President in 2019, Saied said that normalization with Israel would constitute “high treason!”. The assertion made headlines across the Arab world. Saied also stood firmly in solidarity with Palestine amidst the condemnations ringing out on October 7, 2023. The official communiqué released by Carthage that evening stated that ““Tunisia stands unconditionally with the Palestinian people…who have the right to reclaim all their land and create a state with Al Quds as its capital.” At Arab and Muslim summits, Saied has regularly expressed reservations about the so-called two-state solution, too. (Certainly, Tunis’ refusal to join South Africa\’s complaint against Israel before the International Court of Justice points to the hollowness in the President’s words.)
If clearly discordant on Palestine, however, all available evidence suggests that Saied prioritizes other issues in dealing with Meloni. During Meloni’s July visit to Tunis, for instance, though the Tunisian President did not drop the topic of Palestine from the agenda, he did not place it front and center. Indeed, where Gaza was discussed with great intensity during the visit of Mossaad Boulos—diplomatic advisor of Donald Trump—it was touched on lightly enough with Meloni that the Italian Presidency’s official statement on the visit made no mention of it at all (For the record, Carthage’s press release from the visit records that Saied “reiterated Tunisia\’s consistent position in favor of the Palestinian people\’s right to establish a fully sovereign state on the entire land of Palestine.”).
At the end of the day, Carthage recognizes that Rome is one of its most important diplomatic allies. Meloni helped Saied through the storm created by his racist remarks on sub-Saharan migrants in February 2023. It is through the leader of (post-fascist) Fratelli d\’Italia party efforts that a comprehensive memorandum of understanding was reached between Brussels and Tunis in July 2023, too. And Meloni undoubtedly plays a central role in western capitals staying relatively quiet on Carthage’s judicial campaign against the domestic opposition. Flipside of this, Saied’s attendance of the Italy-Africa Summit in January of 2024 lent some credibility to Meloni’s attempts at refashioning Europe’s (colonial) relations with Africa. Herein lies the brass tacks of the partnership between Saied and Meloni. Given their shared interests, nothing that happens in Gaza will be capable of driving the pair apart.
Photo credit: European Commission (Dati Bendo), “Mark Rutte, Ursula von der Leyen, Kais Saied, and Giorgia Meloni, 2023, P061638-976557”.
1 Staff writer, “L’italie n\’arrêtera pas Benjamin Netanyahu malgré le mandat de la Cour pénale internationale” RTBF Actus (January 15, 2025).
2 On January 20, 2024, Antonio Tajani declared that Italy had not sent any weapons to Israel since October 7, 2023, refuting an accusation from the left-wing opposition. The government rebuffed journalists who sought to verify this claim, however, citing national security concerns.
3 Sarra Grira, “Nétanyahou bénit le soutien à Israël des fascistes européens”, Orient XXI (March 31, 2025)
‘, ‘post_title’ => ‘Saied and Meloni: Does Gaza Weigh at All?’, ‘post_excerpt’ => ”, ‘post_status’ => ‘publish’, ‘comment_status’ => ‘closed’, ‘ping_status’ => ‘closed’, ‘post_password’ => ”, ‘post_name’ => ‘saied-and-meloni-does-gaza-weigh-at-all’, ‘to_ping’ => ”, ‘pinged’ => ”, ‘post_modified’ => ‘2025-09-22 10:54:31’, ‘post_modified_gmt’ => ‘2025-09-22 08:54:31’, ‘post_content_filtered’ => ”, ‘post_parent’ => 0, ‘guid’ => ‘https://noria-research.com/mena/?p=801’, ‘menu_order’ => 0, ‘post_type’ => ‘post’, ‘post_mime_type’ => ”, ‘comment_count’ => ‘0’, ‘filter’ => ‘raw’, )Introduction
Water scarcity is perhaps the most enduring feature attached to Jordan. From policy reports to media coverage, the framing is familiar: Jordan is one of the most water-stressed countries in the world, with renewable freshwater supplies far below the threshold of absolute scarcity.[i]
This description is factually correct, but it risks reducing a complex reality to an environmental inevitability. Scarcity in Jordan is not simply the result of climate, geography, or demography. It is equally the product of political choices, institutional arrangements, and economic structures.[ii] To understand why Jordanian households still receive water only once or twice a week, why agriculture consumes such a disproportionate share of national resources (almost 50%), and why desalination projects dominate policy agendas and the suggested solutions, we must examine the political economy of water.
This essay traces how water has been governed in Jordan since statehood, situating today’s crisis within a longer trajectory of allocation bargains, donor dependence, and regional geopolitics. It argues that water scarcity in Jordan has been shaped—sometimes even manufactured—by political decisions that privilege stability and patronage over efficiency and equity. The result is what might be called “scarcity by design”: a system in which scarcity is managed and distributed in ways that reinforce existing power structures.
Scarcity and the State
Jordan became independent in 1946. Thereafter, the state emerged and consolidated under conditions of chronic water scarcity. From its earliest years, water played a dual role: as a material necessity for survival and as a political resource for buttressing authority.[iii]
Development projects in the 1950s and 1960s centred on irrigation schemes in the Jordan Valley, which were justified as engines of modernisation but also functioned as instruments of state control.[iv] By providing access to water and land, the Jordanian leadership bound key tribal and rural constituencies to the Jordanian project, reinforcing loyalty through patronage.[v] The licensing of highland wells further reinforced water as a political currency.[vi] As agriculture expanded into the uplands, often with heavy subsidies and weak enforcement of groundwater abstraction limits, politically connected families and landowners secured enduring entitlements. These entitlements created structural imbalances that persist until today: agriculture consumes more than half of Jordan’s freshwater while contributing only a small fraction of GDP and employment (even when considering the whole supply chain of the agricultural sector).[vii]
Urbanisation, which accelerated at pace across the 1970s, brought a different form of water politics. As Amman and other cities expanded, municipal networks were extended but operated under a rationing model. By the 1980s, the practice of intermittent supply had become institutionalised. Piped water would reach households only once or twice a week, requiring families to store water in rooftop tanks and cisterns.[viii] This system normalised scarcity in everyday life, while shifting the burden of coping on to households themselves. It also generated new markets: tanker deliveries, private filtration systems, and storage technologies became integral parts of the urban water economy. Scarcity, in other words, not only endured but was commodified.
Throughout, refugee flows have reinforced these dynamics. The arrival of successive waves – Palestinians in 1948 and 1967, Iraqis in the 1990s and 2000s, Syrians after 2011 – magnified demand pressures and accentuated the language of crisis. Refugees were often provided with donor-financed infrastructure, especially in camps, but their presence strained municipal systems and deepened perceptions of scarcity. Water thus became a site where questions of national identity, fairness, and resource allocation intersected.[ix] The refugees / water scarcity link was expressly emphasised at COP27, when King Abdullah II launched the Climate/Refugees Nexus Initiative, which highlighted the interconnected challenges of climate change and refugees, especially for countries like Jordan which host a large amount of refugees and displaced people.[x]
The Politics of Allocation
At the heart of Jordan’s water economy lies a fundamental allocation dilemma: how to divide the water supply among competing sectors?
Agriculture has historically enjoyed privileged access to water, even as its economic contribution has declined. Irrigation in the Jordan Valley and the highlands remains politically sensitive; attempts to reallocate water to cities often encounter resistance from farmers who invoke both economic necessity and historical entitlement. Likewise, enforcement against illegal wells has repeatedly faltered when it confronts politically influential constituencies.[xi] Urban consumers, by contrast, have had few successes in contesting rationing. Intermittent supply has become part of the social contract, producing a peculiar form of collective adaptation. Wealthier households mitigate scarcity through private investments in storage and tanker purchases, while lower-income families bear disproportionate burdens, spending a larger share of their income on coping strategies: For instance, in Amman, wealthier households often install large rooftop tanks and can afford tanker deliveries costing 25–40 JOD each, while poorer families with only small 1,000-liter tanks may exhaust their supply within days and end up spending as much as a fifth of their monthly income just to secure water. The very persistence of intermittency reflects a political compromise: it allows the state to stretch limited supplies without confronting powerful irrigation interests or raising tariffs to cost-recovery levels.[xii]
Non-revenue water (NRW) illustrates the political (and economic) character of scarcity. Officially defined as water lost through leakage, metering errors, or theft, NRW represents around half of the total water supply. While often portrayed as a technical issue, high NRW is in fact sustained by political realities—fear of antagonising particular communities most of all. Indeed, illegal connections are in many cases tolerated because they offer a mechanism for avoiding social unrest. So long as political costs outweigh prospective gains, failures to reduce NRW should be expected to continue.[xiii]
Zooming out, then, it can be appreciated that baked into the political economy of water in Jordan is increasing inequality amongst the population. Farmers with access to subsidised irrigation water enjoy privileges unavailable to urban households. Wealthier families can purchase tanker water to bridge supply gaps, while poorer households cannot. Refugees often find themselves caught between humanitarian provision and municipal rationing, amplifying tensions in host communities. Scarcity, in short, is not distributed evenly; it is mediated through power relations.
Regional Dependence and the Diplomacy of Water
Naturally, Jordan’s water economy cannot be understood without reference to the regional environment. The kingdom’s rivers and aquifers are shared with neighbouring countries, making transboundary politics a central aspect of domestic water supply.
The 1994 peace treaty with Israel institutionalised water sharing arrangements between the two countries, granting Jordan fixed allocations from the Jordan (Photo 1) and Yarmouk Rivers and committing Israel to transfer specified volumes annually.[xiv] Over time, Jordan has also purchased additional water from Israel, particularly during drought years. These transactions underscore Jordan’s dependence on its neighbour, tying domestic water security to the state of bilateral relations. While technically successful, this arrangement is politically fragile, as water cooperation is often unpopular among the Jordanian public.
Comparatively speaking, Jordan’s water relations with Syria have been less stable than those with Israel. The 1987 Syria-Jordan agreement on the Yarmouk River envisioned cooperative arrangements. However, the river has long since been heavily dammed and diverted upstream, reducing flows into Jordan.[xv] Moreover, political tensions and conflict in Syria has limited until recently possible prospects for cooperative management.[xvi]
In recent decades, megaprojects have embodied the kingdom’s search for sovereign solutions. The Red Sea–Dead Sea conveyance plan, once promoted as a trilateral cooperation scheme linking Jordan, Israel, and Palestine, was ultimately abandoned due to financial, technical, and political obstacles. Its successor, the Aqaba-Amman desalination and conveyance project – commonly known as the National Carrier – represented a more unilateral strategy. By desalinating Red Sea water and pumping it hundreds of kilometres north to Amman, Jordan aimed to secure a large, independent supply. However, the project relies on external financing and international contractors, reminding us that sovereignty in water is always partial. Moreover, due to political reasons, this project too is yet to advance beyond the drawing board.[xvii]
In 2021, a UAE-brokered water-for-energy deal was announced between Israel and Jordan. Per the terms of the deal, Jordan was to export renewable electricity (solar energy) to Israel in exchange for desalinated water: a classic example of the ways water and climate diplomacy can come together. Alas, this venture too has stumbled under the weight of a fraught geopolitical moment. In late 2023, amid regional conflict and domestic backlash, Amman paused discussions altogether. The episode illustrates how regional turbulence can upend the development of critical infrastructure. It also shows that matters of justice, equity, and public opinion cannot be sidestepped forever, even where policymakers consider themselves traversing technical and apolitical domains.[xviii]
Donors, Finance, and Structural Dependence
If regional geopolitics shape Jordan’s water supplies, donor politics shape its water governance. Indeed, the sector has long been relying on international aid, with bilateral donors, multilateral development banks, and UN agencies financing infrastructures, reform programs, and emergency responses.[xix]
Donor presence reflects both humanitarian concern and geopolitical interest: supporting Jordan is seen as a way of ensuring the stability of an ally in a conflict region.[xx] Aid has been key in financing building wastewater treatment plants (like the As-Samra Plant), rehabilitating networks, and subsidising emergency supply during refugee influxes. Yet reliance on aid also constrains domestic autonomy. Donor priorities – whether promoting privatisation, cost-recovery tariffs, or digital metering – often set the reform agenda. National strategies are written with donor audiences in mind, ensuring continued flows of finance.[xxi]
The fiscal fragility of Jordan’s water utilities reinforces this dependence. Tariffs are set below cost-recovery levels for both political and social reasons. Raising prices risks unrest, especially when service quality is poor. As a result, utilities accumulate debts, and the government must step in with subsidies. This cycle leaves little room for independent investment, making major projects dependent on loans and grants. In this sense, water governance in Jordan is donor-governed: local actors often have to operate within parameters set by international financiers.[xxii]
Reform, Resistance, and the Politics of Efficiency
When it comes to reforms, policies, and strategies, Jordan has been quite successful in drafting and approving strong and comprehensive documents.[xxiii] National water strategies and master plans have regularly outlined ambitious goals and furnished well-conceived operational plans. Recently, the focus has been on reducing non-revenue water, modernising metering, expanding wastewater reuse, and improving institutional performance. The latest strategies also incorporate and discuss issues around the Water-Energy-Food Nexus, climate change, and gender. On paper, these reforms promise efficiency and sustainability. The challenge, however, is in implementation. And here again it is politics rather than technical feasibility which abides.
Shutting down illegal wells or prosecuting water theft means undermining and challenging existing interests, risking social backlash. Reallocating water from agriculture may result in opposition from farmers and their allies. Moreover, tariff reforms would result in public discontent, especially when framed as donor-imposed austerity. In each of these cases, the state has to balance the need for reform against the priority of maintaining stability.[xxiv]
As mentioned, NRW exemplifies these dynamics. Engineers often emphasise that reducing NRW is the cheapest way to create new water supply. Nevertheless, every attempt at sharp enforcement runs into obstacles: metering fraud, collusion between officials and offenders, and the political calculus of tolerating illegal connections in marginalised areas or where influential people live. As a result, targets are rarely met.
The persistence of intermittent supply also reflects these politics. Technically, continuous water supply could be achieved in parts of the network if losses were reduced and tariffs adjusted. But the political risks of imposing stricter enforcement and higher prices outweigh the potential benefits. Thus, intermittent supply continues as a mechanism of managed scarcity.
Conclusion
Jordan’s water crisis is real, but it is not a naturally occurring phenomenon. It is also the outcome of decades of political and economic decisions which have structured scarcity in ways that serve certain interests while disadvantaging others. By protecting irrigation entitlements, tolerating over-abstraction, under-pricing water, and relying heavily on donor finance, successive governments have created a system where scarcity is inevitable and its effects unevenly distributed.
Looking forward, the National Carrier project offers the promise of a more secure and sovereign water supply. The technical merits of the project, however, do not offer a workaround for deeper political economy dilemmas. Desalination will raise costs, posing new challenges for tariff design and social equity. Donor dependence will persist, as external financing remains important. Regional geopolitics will continue to shape flows and options, reminding Jordan of the limits of water sovereignty.
True water security for Jordan therefore requires more than new infrastructure. It demands confronting the political bargains that underpin allocation: focusing on reducing NRW, prioritising demand side solutions, balancing urban and agricultural demands, enforcing rules on groundwater use, reforming tariffs while protecting vulnerable households, and managing donor relationships without surrendering autonomy. These are not technical challenges but political ones.
Water scarcity in Jordan is best conceived as scarcity by design. It is a condition sustained by political choices as much as by hydrological constraints. Recognising this fact is the first step toward imagining solutions that go beyond managing shortages to addressing the deeper structures that produce them.
This publication has been supported by the Rosa-Luxemburg-Stiftung. The positions expressed herein do not necessarily reflect the views of Rosa-Luxemburg-Stiftung.
[i]https://www.mwi.gov.jo/EBV4.0/Root_Storage/AR/EB_Ticker/National_Water_Strategy_2023-2040_Summary-English_-ver2.pdf
[ii] Hussein, H. (2018). Lifting the veil: Unpacking the discourse of water scarcity in Jordan. Environmental science & policy, 89, 385-392; Hussein, H. (2018). Tomatoes, tribes, bananas, and businessmen: An analysis of the shadow state and of the politics of water in Jordan. Environmental Science & Policy, 84, 170-176; Yorke, V. (2016). Jordan’s shadow state and water management: prospects for water security will depend on politics and regional cooperation. In Society-Water-Technology: A Critical Appraisal of Major Water Engineering Projects (pp. 227-251). Cham: Springer International Publishing.
[iii] Massad, J. A. (2001). Colonial effects: The making of national identity in Jordan. Columbia Univ. Press.
[iv] Molle, F. (2005). Historical transformations of the Lower Jordan River Basin in Jordan: changes in water use and projections (1950-2025). IWMI Books, Reports
[v] Massad, J. A. (2001). Colonial effects: The making of national identity in Jordan. Columbia University Press; Hussein, H. (2018). Tomatoes, tribes, bananas, and businessmen: An analysis of the shadow state and of the politics of water in Jordan. Environmental Science & Policy, 84, 170-176
[vi] Wojnarowski, F. (2025). Contested flows: An ethnographic contribution to narratives of groundwater over abstraction in the central Jordanian highlands. Environment and Planning E: Nature and Space, 25148486251321331; Al Naber, M., & Molle, F. (2017). Controlling groundwater over abstraction: state policies vs local practices in the Jordan highlands. Water policy, 19(4), 692-708.
[vii] Hussein, H. (2018). Lifting the veil: Unpacking the discourse of water scarcity in Jordan. Environmental science & policy, 89, 385-392; Hussein, H. (2018). Tomatoes, tribes, bananas, and businessmen: An analysis of the shadow state and of the politics of water in Jordan. Environmental Science & Policy, 84, 170-176; Yorke, V. (2016). Jordan’s shadow state and water management: prospects for water security will depend on politics and regional cooperation. In Society-Water-Technology: A Critical Appraisal of Major Water Engineering Projects (pp. 227-251). Cham: Springer International Publishing.
[viii] Rosenberg, D. E., Talozi, S., & Lund, J. R. (2016). Intermittent water supplies: Challenges and opportunities for residential water users in Jordan. The Private Sector and Water Pricing in Efficient Urban Water Management, 166-182; Sigel, K., Klassert, C., Zozmann, H., Talozi, S., Klauer, B., & Gawel, E. (2017). Urban water supply through private tanker water markets: An empirical market analysis of Amman, Jordan (No. 02/2017). UFZ-Bericht; Mustafa, D., & Talozi, S. (2018). Tankers, Wells, Pipes and Pumps: Agents and Mediators of Water Geographies in Amman, Jordan. Water Alternatives, 11(3).
[ix] Hussein, H., Natta, A., Yehya, A. A. K., & Hamadna, B. (2020). Syrian refugees, water scarcity, and dynamic policies: how do the new refugee discourses impact water governance debates in Lebanon and Jordan?. Water, 12(2), 325; Farishta, A. (2014). The impact of Syrian refugees on Jordan’s water resources and water management planning (Doctoral dissertation, Columbia University); Alshoubaki, W. E., & Harris, M. (2018). The impact of Syrian refugees on Jordan: A framework for analysis. Journal of International Studies (2071-8330), 11(2).
[x] https://jordantimes.com/news/local/kingdom-takes-‘holistic-approach’-climate-refugee-nexus-initiative
[xi] Hussein, H. (2016). An analysis of the discourse of water scarcity and hydropolitical dynamics in the case of Jordan (Doctoral dissertation, University of East Anglia).
[xii] Rosenberg, D. E., Talozi, S., & Lund, J. R. (2016). Intermittent water supplies: Challenges and opportunities for residential water users in Jordan. The Private Sector and Water Pricing in Efficient Urban Water Management, 166-182.
[xiii] Al-Addous, M., Bdour, M., Alnaief, M., Rabaiah, S., & Schweimanns, N. (2023). Water resources in Jordan: A review of current challenges and future opportunities. Water, 15(21), 3729; Hussein, H. (2016). An analysis of the discourse of water scarcity and hydropolitical dynamics in the case of Jordan (Doctoral dissertation, University of East Anglia).
[xiv] Haddadin. (2000). Negotiated resolution of the Jordan-Israel water conflict. International Negotiation, 5(2), 263-288; Haddadin, M. J. (2012). Diplomacy on the Jordan: International conflict and negotiated resolution (Vol. 21). Springer Science & Business Media.
[xv] Haddadin, M. (2009). Cooperation and lack thereof on management of the Yarmouk River. Water International, 34(4), 420-431; Hussein, H. (2017). Whose ‘reality’? Discourses and hydropolitics along the Yarmouk River. Contemporary Levant, 2(2), 103-115; Zeitoun, M., Abdallah, C., Dajani, M., Khresat, S. E., Elaydi, H., & Alfarra, A. (2019). The Yarmouk tributary to the Jordan River I: Agreements impeding equitable transboundary water arrangements; Zeitoun, M., Dajani, M., Abdallah, C., Khresat, S. E., & Elaydi, H. (2019). The Yarmouk tributary to the Jordan River II: Infrastructure impeding the transformation of equitable transboundary water arrangements. Water Alternatives, 12(3), 1095-1122.
[xvi] Hussein, H. (2025). Yarmouk Treaty could ease Jordan’s water crisis. Science, 389(6762), 789-789.
[xvii] Hussein, H. (2017). Politics of the Dead Sea Canal: A historical review of the evolving discourses, interests, and plans. Water International, 42(5), 527-542; Mansour, H., & Reiffenstuel, A. (2022). The Jordan, Israel, and UAE Water-for-energy Deal: Potential and Pitfalls of Energy and Water Sharing-Agreements in the Middle East. Konrad Adenauer Stiftung.
[xviii] Abu Zreig, M. et al., (forthcoming).
[xix] AbuHussein, R. (2024). The impact of donor support on public financial management and fiscal reform in developing countries: the case of Jordan (Doctoral dissertation, Heriot-Watt University).
[xx] McBride, M. (2023). Motives Behind US Foreign Aid Projects: The Case of Jordan (Doctoral dissertation, Master’s thesis. Central European University—Private University, Department of International Relations. Vienna, Austria); Schuetze, B. (2019). Promoting democracy, reinforcing authoritarianism: US and European policy in Jordan (Vol. 57). Cambridge University Press.
[xxi] Bonn, T. (2013). On the political sideline? The institutional isolation of donor organizations in Jordanian hydropolitics. Water Policy, 15(5), 728-737.
[xxii] Abdel-Hadi, G. (2024). The Impacts of Corporatisation on the Efficiency of Water Utilities: An Analysis of Water Supply in Jordan (Doctoral dissertation, University of London).
[xxiii] Hussein, H. (2019). An analysis of the framings of water scarcity in the Jordanian national water strategy. Water international, 44(1), 6-13.
[xxiv] Hussein, H. (2018). Tomatoes, tribes, bananas, and businessmen: An analysis of the shadow state and of the politics of water in Jordan. Environmental Science & Policy, 84, 170-176
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