That's the only phrase my wandering brain could coin after I tried – and failed – to embark on a work of officialdom that was supposed to be a simple one, such as the small matter of renwing my car's registration. If we were to concede the bureaucracy in and of itself is a necessary evil, then I guess it's safe to assume that the sorry state of public services in Saudi Arabia are not poor bureaucracy's fault, but the fault of the bureaucratic overdose Arab governments administer to their general public. In this day and age of digital everything, such a routine task as renewing a car's registration should be done through the Internet or, in a worst-case scenario, by visiting a single window at a single government building – in this case, the Saudi Department of Motor Vehicle Licensing and Registation – and talking to a single public servant with a single computer terminal connected to a networked database. What actually happened, however, couldn't be more starkly different. I got all my paperwork in order, which included a technical checklist that showed the car was roadworthy (and a photocopy of it), the expired registation and ownership cards (and their photocopies), the insurance certificate (and a photocopy), my valid driver's license (and – you guessed it – a photocopy) and my valid residence permit – more fondly known as the “iqama” (did I mention a photocopy?) and I shouldn't forget, of course, that glorious symbol of officialdom that we all know, love can can never do without: the green suspension file. So far, so good, you might think, and I've got everything I'd ever need to get my car to hit the road with the law on its side. but all that paperwork turned out to be not worth the ink on it, according to the frowning, technology-starved traffic officer who greeted me – or rather didn't – at the licensing department. “Where's your sponsor's letter of identification?” he snapped at me. “Why would you need that?” I naiively asked. “Go get it and come back,” he tersely replied. My sponsor, in my case, is none other than this very grand media institution that publishes this, your favorite newspaper, on the pages of which you're reading these humble words. What the officer's odd instruction practically means is that the law that governs the renewal of vehicle registations acknowledges neither a valid, legal iqama, nor a valid, legal registration, nor a valid, legal ownership card, all of which should've been enough to renew a registation. for these to be of any value in the eyes of officialdom, there has to be a piece of paper in which my sponsor (in this case the organization I work for) approves and “permits” me to do something that's both my right and my duty, and that is to renew the registration of the car which, by law, is my very own. In a perfect world, the mere fact that my name, identically typed both on my driver's license and my ownership card – which in turn is identical to the way it's inked down on my iqama – should be enough to renew my car's registration. otherwise, how is it possible to get a driver's license, or even buy a car, without having a valid, legal iqama in the first place? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't see any need for this so-called letter of identification to legalize documents that have been originally issued by official government entities that have absolutely nothing to do with my sponsoring organization. The other thing that's even more alarming – not to mention insulting – to any expatriate who lives on the soil of this great country, the second home of millions, is that my personal presence, correct paperwork in hand and all, means absolutely nothing to officialdom. my physical presence at the concerned government department to do my rightful duty has absolutely no legal value unless i had a paper from my esteemed sponsor that gives me permission to practice my right in following the law! The question has come up a lot in so many of the Saudi media outlets of which we are so proud: Why is it that Saudis and expatriates balk at the mere mention of official work, and go out of their way to avoid entangling themselves into officialdom? The experience I just described is one of many ways to answer that question. it's a life-size depiction of rampant, runaway bureaucracy and blatant disregard for the rule of law. as an ordinary member of the public, neither your time nor your person has any value without that piece of paper. Of course, the motor vehicle department will not compensate me for my lost time, nor will it apologize to me about not being able to use my car for days. and all this for a paper that validates my existence. Come time to renew my driver's license... God help me! – Saudi Gazette __
