This is not a fleeting temporal characterization, but a social custom deeply embedded in the collective Jordanian memory, historically associated with the implementation of the Jalwa custom, where this length of time is given to the offender's family to leave their residence, as a precursor to obtaining a security pledge, during which they are supposed to be free from any attack or threat from the victim's relatives.
It is plausible that this temporal designation was inspired by the authentic Arab traditions of hospitality, where traditionally Arabs would host a guest for three days and a third.
What intrigues me here is not the numerical or temporal calculation itself, but the deeper significance of this timing.
When it is decided that the holiday should last for three days (Friday, Saturday, and Sunday), days that hold religious sanctity for Muslims, Christians, and Jews, and then we look at a holiday that starts on Thursday at three in the afternoon and ends on Monday morning at eight-thirty, we find that this period actually matches the period of grace granted in the Jalwa tradition.
From here, I metaphorically went to a deeper reading, beyond the holiday and social Jalwa, to what might be termed "governmental Jalwa."
That is: What should be the length of time granted to the government before political parties start evaluating or criticizing it—constructively and responsibly—not impulsively or populistically?
Today, we must acknowledge a real gap between the executive (government) and legislative - parties (parliament). A gap that is widening, not narrowing, in the absence of a clear definition of the political identity and economic policies of successive governments.
I once posed a very important question to myself, and then revisited it a few days ago during a workshop for the Independent Election Commission about "the political color of Jordanian parties."
I was very pleased to find that Azm Party was among the few that clearly defined its political identity.
But the fundamental question remains:
What is the political color of the government?
What are its clear and announced economic policies?
And how can parties cooperate with it genuinely and substantially, not merely formally or mediatically, if such an identity is not determined?
More importantly:
When parties return to their grassroots and electoral bases in 2028, what will they say to the people?
How will they face their audience?
What did they promise? And what have they accomplished, in the absence of real and effective party representation in the executive power that enables them to turn their visions into tangible achievements?
How can we persuade supporters and voters that these parties are sincere, not only in their intentions but also in their ability to think, plan, and achieve?
And that they indeed have a clear political and economic vision, and are not merely campaigning with deferred slogans?
And here we arrive at the open question, perhaps the most sensitive:
Should we wait?
And is it assumed that we should grant the government three years and a third—a political Jalwa, or hospitality—before serious accountability, genuine evaluation, and responsible criticism begin?
A question that cannot tolerate complaisance,
And should not be further postponed
