This month, we’re grappling with the question of Moroccan identity, a complex thing. Moroccans are Arab and Amazigh, Muslim and Jewish, Francophone and Arabophone.  The country is in some ways deeply divided–between the religious and secular, the rural and urban, the rich and the poor–but at the same time bound by a common thread of “Moroccannness.”

So, what constitutes Moroccan identity in 2010?  The answer is by no means a simple one.  This month, we’ll hear from 8 contributors who each represent various aspects of “Moroccanness.”  Some are Moroccan-born, but have left their country in search of something else.  Others have remained.  Still others are not Moroccan by nationality, but feel a part of the vast fabric that makes up Moroccan life.

Moroccan identity forces you to live between the walls of a very complex maze. You usually start by boasting about your country’s culinary delights, and refined traditional clothing. You often end up evoking the resistance that kicked the French colonists out of the country. You may also go beyond that and pride yourself of the Berber civilization, the Islamic conquests, the construction of the first mosque and the killing the first infidel; things that imply your belonging to a specific part of the world, whether you like them or not.

This affiliation or belonging was made for you, despite of you, without you. Despite all this, despite this identity’s strengths and deficiencies, you do not miss an opportunity, wherever you are, to proudly tell the world, loud and clear: I am Moroccan!

I, too, am a Moroccan and am extremely proud to belong to Morocco. Many factors have shaped my Moroccan identity of which I will only mention those left in the recent memory of my latest personal history:

First,

My grandfather was one of the first who took up arms and defended the freedom and independence of this land. But during his last years as an old man, suffering from a long illness he found no support from his country and encountered only marginalization and exclusion from the list of the honorable members of this society, while previous beneficiaries of the colonial rule benefited from preposterous privileges and were granted thousands of hectares of the very land that was once watered by the blood of the resistance and that eventually yielded thorns and weeds!

Second,

My father, unlike his own father who committed himself to the freedom of this country, he left school at the age of ten, and chose to work as an itinerant seller of drinking water. He watered the thirsty passers-by and the men of the village in their way to the souq (weekly local market), wandering in the sun and shouting “Cold water! Cold water!” Some of them drank and paid one or half a Dirham and most of them added “May God bless both of your parents!”

Third,

I still have vivid memories of the mornings when, before I left for school, I used to keep whatever leftovers of the breakfast’s bread I could find. I satisfied my self with a cup of cold mint tea. I needed the bread to buy off the wild dogs waiting for me in my way to school, so I can avoid their bites and their scary barking. I remember the dogs in the village were reproducing at an alarming rate, to the point that they eventually overpowered the police and the security forces.

Fourth,

I remember when the rain started falling or when it was snowing we (I and the five other members of my family) used to spend weeks and months together, sleeping in the same room, entwining our bodies to warm each other up and protect each other from the cold weather. And when finally the first warm sun rays appeared in the morning, I would realize I couldn’t find woolen gloves, not even an old shoe to protect my feet from blisters. I was denied access to the right to play and have fun with my peers! We would catch cold, grandma would cough, my six months old brother would die, and we would feel he was lucky because he died before he gets to the point when he would have hated life or wished to die, or even worse, fallen into the arms of a terrorist organization that would have loaded his body with explosives and convinced him to blow himself up within the Ministry of Health, for it being guilty for not having provided the much needed treatment nor built the much awaited clinic.

Fifth,

Now that I have become one of the few in the village who have successfully completed their primary education, enrolled in High School, and went to live in the city, to inhale car fumes and smoke from concrete factories, and also to enjoy the sight of the bodies of underage girls and the manifestations of pseudo-modernity, I discovered… I can not be a Moroccan! Why? Because I am not allowed to have enlightened or free thinking; I am not granted the right to just be myself; I have no right to express my faith; I have no right to break the fast during the day in Ramadan; I do not even own a single square meter in this broad land of mine! I am only Moroccan because of my national identity card and my Passport. To put it bluntly, I have no right to life, because of an Islamic constitution that encourages the extremists to kill whomever contradicts their religion.
I’m only allowed to keep saying yes a million times a day, to pray with the Muslim masses, to hold up the picture of His Majesty, Prince of “the Believers,” cheering His name and bowing at his sacred motorcade, wearing the traditional red hat!

Today, as I am writing these words, I feel I’m belonging more to the “barbaric” past. I also feel nostalgic about the day before reason was assassinated, books of philosophy and logic were burned on the banks of the Tigris and the Euphrates rivers. I try strongly to picture the morning when Galileo was hanged and the priests and monks celebrated the victory of ignorance over knowledge. Then I wake up and realize with sheer horror that I’m running away from myself. And then I find the cure and it reads: don’t be so surprised, you are Moroccan… Arab… Full stop.

3
أنا أيضا حينما أريد أن أذهب للمدرسة لابد وأن أحتفظ بكسرة خبز الفطور مكتفيا بشرب كأس الشاي البارد، لأنني لابد و أن أقوم بارشاء الكلاب الضالة وكسب صداقتها ببعض الخبز تجنبا لعضاتها ونباحها المخيف، ففي القرية تتكاثر الكلاب وتتناسل لتعوض عمل الشرطة ورجال الأمن.
4
حينما تتهاطل الأمطار وتسقط الثلوج أبقى رفقة أفراد أسرتي الخمس، أسابيعا وشهورا ننام في غرفة واحدة تلتحم أجسادنا ويدفئ بعضنا البعض برودة الطقس… أما عند شروق أشعة الشمس الدافئة فإنني لا أجد قفازين من الصوف ولا حتى حذاءا قديما يحمي قدمي من تقرحات الحصى وبالتالي أمنع من حق أللهو والمرح رفقة أقراني!
حينما نمرض بالزكام والتهاب المفاصل فإن الجدة تسعل، وأخي ابن الستة شهور يفارق الحياة فيكون محضوضا لأنه مات قبل أن يكره العيش و يتمنى الموت… أو يلقى في أحضان منظمة إرهابية تشحن أطرافه بالمتفجرات وتدفعه ليفجر جسده داخل بناء وزارة الصحة التي لم توفر علاجا ولم تبني مستوصفا كي تشخص حالات المرض وتفرق جدته بين الزكام وأنفلونزا الجراد.
5
الآن، وبعد أن أصبحت من أبناء القرية القلائل الذين نجحوا دراسيا والتحقوا بالمدرسة الثانوية، ليعيشوا بالمدينة وليستنشقوا عوادم السيارات ودخان مصانع الأسمنت المسلح، وليستمتعوا أيضا بأجساد الفتيات القاصرات ومظاهر الحداثة الزائفة، اكتشفت أنه لا يمكنني أن أكون مغربيا!
لأنه لا يحق لي أن أحمل فكرا حرا متنورا!
ولا يحق لي أن أشبه نفسي!
ولا يحق لي أن أعبر عن معتقدي!
ولا يحق لي أن أفطر نهار رمضان!
ولا أملك مترا مربع من هذا الوطن الواسع العريض!! أنا مغربي فقط ببطاقة التعريف الوطنية وجواز السفر
ببساطة، لا يحق لي الحياة! بحكم دستور وطني إسلامي يشجع المتطرفين على قتل كل من خالفهم في الدين.
يحق لي فقط أن أقول نعم مليون مرة في اليوم، وأن أصلي مع جموع المسلمين وأن أرفع صور أمير (المؤمنين) وأهتف باسم جلالته منحنيا أمام موكبه المقدس وعلى رأسي طاقية حمراء!

اليوم وأنا أرقن هذه الحروف أحس بروح الانتماء إلى بربرية التاريخ، أحس أيضا بالحنين إلى اليوم الذي أغتيل فيه العقل وأحرقت كتب الفلسفة والمنطق على ضفاف نهر دجلة والفرات، ثم أتذكر وبقوة ذات صباح عندما شنق جاليليو ومن معه واحتفل القس والراهب بنخب انتصار الجهل على العلم… فأسارع مفجوعا مهرولا هاربا من حقيقة نفسي…
إلى أن أجد دوائي يقول: لا تستغرب فأنت مغربي عربي !
انتهى…

I remember when I was young, I liked to believe that my identity was all about my humanity. The mere fact of being a human, meant we were all equal! I even dreamed of a universal language that everyone around the world could speak. I used to think that our differences were actually enriching us, that they were making us more “tolerant” (although this word always sounded supercilious and condescending to me).

Is it about ethnicity? About being Amazigh? Arab? Mediterranean? Or is it all that at once?

My identity is that of those who dream of a dignified world, suitable for everyone. That’s why every time there is injustice somewhere, I feel concerned and among those who suffer from it.

What about Morocanness?

I was born and bred and I live in Morocco. But is it reason enough for me to feel closer to fellow Moroccans merely because we share he same nationality, walk on the same soil and breathe the same air?
Do I have to feel closer to a torturer just because he is a Moroccan or rather to the child in Palestine who’s fighting for his freedom?
Does Morocanness imply that I have as much rights over my country as those who exploit and marginalize us and then shout to the nation when it suits them?
Over time, with all these attacks against the components of our humanity, against our way of being, and with all these wars that devastate our region, with all these attempts to denigrate anything that does not come from the West, I tend to feel under attack. Yes, I feel that my identity, as part of a targeted, stigmatized and disregarded population, is being atacked. I’m part of these populations who have so much in common -a common language, a shared past- yet plagued by the misfortune of being born in a region that is so rich and coveted.

This sense of rebellion is not the fact that I’m Moroccan. It is a reaction against the injustice; against the Hogra (contempt), the only word from our dialect, stronger enough to account for what I feel exactly.

As a Moroccan I surely like our traditional garments, our streets, our kindness, our friendliness, our hospitality, but I am also sure the same qualities exist within other nations. Each of us, wherever we are, by reading the history, if we think about it, will rapidly find out that many people [from many cultures] were involved in the building of what is, at the end of the day, a common heritage for all humanity.
Forgive me, but the only kind of identity that I think of pertains to dignity and respect, and everything else that has contributed to building my personality. Identity is built through the way we are treated. One can be chauvinistic, xenophobic but one becomes Human when he/she behaves respectfully.

All in all, I’m Moroccan, I am Amazigh, I am Arab, I am mediteranean… I’m Human.

identité???
dans le temps, quand j’étais plus jeune, mon identité c’était mon humanité, j’aimais à croire que le seul fait d’être humain, signifiait qu’on était tous pareils!!
j’ai même rêvé d’une langue universelle que nous parlerions tous et toutes partout dans le monde…et que nos différences nous enrichiraient, nous rendaient plus “tolérant(e)s, bien que ce mot me semble dédaigneux : tolérer n’est ce pas accepter une personne mais en la regardant d’en haut???

Amazigh???Arabe???méditerranéenne???
tout ça à la fois??
identité???
mon identité est celle de ceux et celles qui rêvent d’un monde digne pour tous et toutes et partout ou il y a injustice je me sens concernée, je sens que je fais partie d’eux

marocaine???
j’y suis née au Maroc, j’y ai grandi, j’y vis… est ce pour autant que ce sol me rend proche de tout marocain, juste parce qu’on a la même nationalité, qu’on foule le même sol et qu’on respire le même air??
suis je plus proche d’un tortionnaire parce qu’il est marocain que d’un enfant de la Palestine qui lutte pour sa liberté??
est ce le fait d’être marocaine me donne autant de droits sur mon pays que ceux qui nous exploitent, nous marginalisent et crient à la nation quand ça les arrange???

Avec le temps, avec toutes ces attaques contre une des composantes de l’humanité qu’est notre façon d’être, avec toutes ces guerres qui saccagent notre région, avec toutes ces tentatives de dénigrer tout ce qui ne vient pas de l’occident, j’ai tendance à me sentir attaquée, attaquée, oui, et je la sens cette identité, celle d’être de ces populations visées, montrées du doigt, méprisées, car elles ont eu le malheur d’être nées dans une région riche, dans une région ou tout rapproche : une langue commune, un passe commun
ce sentiment de révolte n’est pas du au fait que je sois marocaine, c’est une réaction contre l’injustice, l’Hogra, un mot de chez nous plus fort pour designer ce que je ressens

Marocaine : certes j’aime nos habits, nos ruelles, la gentillesse, l’amabilité, l’hospitalité de chez nous et je suis sure que les mêmes qualités existent chez d’autres peuples et je suis sure que chacun de nous, ou qu’il soit, en réfléchissant un peu, en relisant l’histoire saurait que beaucoup de peuples y ont participé, que c’est un héritage commun à toute l’humanité.

identité, pardonnez moi, mais la seule identité à laquelle je crois est la dignité, le respect, ce qui a fait ma personnalité fait partie de moi, certes mais peut évoluer ou au contraire…. ce qui fait nos identités c’est la façon dont on nous traite

on peut devenir chauvin, xénophobe par réaction au mépris
on devient HUMAIN quand on a du respect

je suis marocaine, je suis amazigh, je suis arabe, je suis méditerranéenne, je suis… Humaine

Three Moroccan ladies very close to my heart were gracious enough to share their views and ideas about their Moroccan identity with me. I am changing their names to keep them anonymous so allow me to introduce Habiba, Jamila, and Kenza. All three ladies live in the United States now; two of them have young daughters and the other a new bride. Their circumstances for coming to the US vary. Habiba came as a young, single woman later marrying a Moroccan husband and choosing to stay in the US to build a life. Jamila grew up in France, a Parisienne (as she identifies herself), to Moroccan parents. Kenza came to the US as a young child but as much as she does consider herself American, her roots are Moroccan.

Habiba

Entering the United States in the late 1990’s as a young, single woman, Habiba was not sure what to expect of her new country. She spoke no English and had only one extended family member to welcome her to the US. Initially, adapting to a new life was the biggest challenge she faced, and little time was spent concerning herself with maintaining her Moroccan heritage. But as she adjusted to life in the US and began to get more involved with the large Moroccan community around her, it became more important. After having a child Habiba felt that it was important to make sure her daughter knew where she came from. This is and was imparted through everyday acts such as speaking Arabic, celebrating holidays, maintaining traditions, visiting Morocco when possible and creating a solid religious foundation at home. However she also believes that it is equally important for her daughter to respect and be raised in the American culture. Habiba is very proud of her identity but expresses the need for changes to occur in Morocco. She sees that the younger generation, coming up now, as working hard to make these changes such as; setting higher standards for themselves and their country, promoting initiative, stopping the culture of complaining and working as a team to build their country up.

Jamila

Born to Moroccan immigrants in Paris, France, Jamila immigrated to the United States more than 10 years ago. She explains her childhood as a split; she was Moroccan at home but French on the street. However she stresses this was never a problem for her. Growing up at the time she did was not like the France of today and she was never harassed because of her identity. At home she learned the language, cuisine and culture of Morocco but also was Parisienne. Jamila chooses to identify herself as Parisienne vs. French because that is the city she was raised in. Due to the dichotomy in her upbringing she never felt 100% French or 100% Moroccan, but identifying as Parisienne she is able to blend these two cultural aspects of her identity. Jamila hopes that her ability to have a dual identity while growing up in France will be the same experience her daughter has growing up in the United States. During the week she’s American, attending American public school and participating in activities. On Saturdays she attends a Moroccan weekend school. During the summer her daughter visits Morocco to spend time with family. Jamila feels that it’s important for her daughter to know both aspects of her heritage, but foremost know she is as American as any other child born in the United States.

Kenza

Arriving in America at age nine (9), Kenza doesn’t have vivid memories of life in Morocco. In fact before my talking to her she never considered the importance of her identity. This she believes is mostly due to her living in the US at a young age. She doesn’t feel like maintaining her Moroccan identity is as important to her, but being Moroccan is like riding a bike, it always comes back! Growing up she credits her family as raising her with a good balance of both cultures. She appreciates the sense of family values such as respect and loyalty that come with being raised Moroccan but also her families’ ability and willingness to have a strong sense of American-ness. Kenza hopes that this will be passed on to the next generation as well. The one thing she wishes could be changed about the Moroccan culture is the nagging and gossip between each other. She wishes that Moroccans would recognize the need to be straight forward with each other and work together to build a strong community.

Both Jamila and Kenza expressed the fact that they had been accused of not being “Moroccan enough” but were never able to fully understand or define what that meant. Jamila expanded on the topic when it came to dating. For an American/European man she would be deemed too conservative. However to a Moroccan she was too “modern.” Having a dual identity has meant living up to different peoples’ definition of what they should be. This notion is something that I believe goes far beyond Morocco and can be seen in any culture.

Understanding and accepting one’s own identity is a struggle, a struggle that many deal with their entire lives. In present day Morocco this tug of war is clear on an individual and national level. Older generations have a sense of what it means to be Moroccan, while younger generations are embracing new ideas and blending together a Moroccan fusion identity. As Moroccans travel and live in every corner of the globe, the experiences, ideas and new identities they bring back to Morocco are re-defining what it means to be Moroccan.

Culture is critical in the formation of identity; it entails social processes and requires the participation of all individuals who share that particular culture. Since not all Moroccans participate in the different social processes idiosyncratic to the different cultures in the country, it is safe to say that there is no such thing as a Moroccan cultural identity. But we flaunt diversity like an Olympic flame. Our celebration of it is only aesthetic thanks to decades worth of a Hassanian campaign to infuse into the Moroccan psyche an inflated sense of national identity. Years of nationalistic epics, odes, and indoctrinating news extolling the king and glorifying our national unity. We see its manifestation today when Moroccan flags are incongruously waved on the stage of studio 2M and other venues that are supposedly apolitical.

It is, in my opinion, impossible to characterize today’s Moroccan identity without discussing the histories, cultures, and ethnicities by which it has been influenced and in which it is deeply anchored. We can not freeze a single frame of the Moroccan identity, brand it, and apply that definition to all the previous or even the future frames. The Moroccan identity has gone through significant formative phases and continues to transmogrify in response to not just the national environment, but the international one as well.

Prior to 1912, the Moroccan identity as we recognize it today did not exist. The country was host to a multitude of identities that were malignantly tribal with a predominantly exclusive imperative for cultural, linguistic and economic survival. During those benighted times, the hostilities between clans vying for regional ascendancy transcended ethnicity and religion as an individual’s circle of fealty had shrunk to the village and family levels. Diversity was not especially in vogue and brutal and long lasting clashes raged between Moroccan Arab tribes, as well as Berber ones, over wells, agricultural lots, markets, supply routes, and security. Different tribes and ethnicities did form coalitions in response to common threats – such as the Alaouite central government, France, and Spain, but they still remained separate entities.

Administering such fragmented regions proved to be a challenge to Sultan Abdelhafid. He was unable to control rebellious tribes – Berber and Arab – by whom he was never attorned. The country’s economy was sucked into a vortex of utter insolvency. It is within this context of political and ethnic division that France tightened its grip on the country. By 1905, it had control over the majority of Morocco’s institutions to include the military. Although the March 30, 1912 treaty of Fez maintained Morocco’s legal standing as a sovereign country, Sultan Abdelhafid, who a year earlier was besieged by revolting tribesmen in Fez and was rescued by an urgent deployment of French troops, abdicated and sailed off to France. His brother Moulay Youssef took over, but during his 15 year reign he was not involved in the decision making process affecting the country.

To maximize on the economic and political exploitation of Morocco, Resident-General Hubert Lyautey undertook exhaustive social, economic, and political reforms the effects of which are still visible today.

While a few tribes acquiesced in their own subordination due to a dearth of insurgency ingenuity and military means, others stood as bastions against the colonizers’ advances. The Sahraoui tribes, led by Ma Al-Aaynayn, launched relentless attacks against the French starting in the 1910s and came close to conquering Marrakesh; it took a joint French-Spanish military effort to finally subdue them in 1934, the year Smara fell. Similarly, a coalition of Jebli Tribes in northern Morocco, led by Abdelkrim Al-Khattabi and his brother Mohammad, rose with stubborn ferocity against the Spanish troops in 1921 and spectacularly defeated them in the battle of Annual. Initially, Abdelkarim’s military goal was to interdict Spanish troops from advancing into Beni Waryaghil territory. The mobilization of thousands of Sahraouis in the south and Jeblis in the north was, at first, nothing more than a tribal response to a foreign incursion. It was not triggered by militant nationalistic ideals.

A number of tribal visionaries saw in the French and Spanish presence a strategic threat to their autonomy and realized that, against such numerous and well-equipped foes, an armed union was a necessary bulwark, but a national political representation that would engage the colonizers at a diplomatic front would yield better results. The Moroccan Action Committee was created in 1934 and the publication of its Moroccan Reform Plan planted the seed of Morocco’s national identity.

Kings Mohammed V and Hassan II learned from the mistakes of Sultans Abdelhafid and Yousef. They understood that the Alaouite rule is dependent on the homogenizing quality of a national identity that emphasizes Morocco’s territorial integrity free of any foreign interference and the unifying value of the king. They had a good grasp of the principles that tie strategic politics and economy with national identity. Economists Rachel Kranton of Duke University and George Akerlof, a 2001 Nobel Laureate in Economic, explained those principles in their recently published book “Identity Economics.” They argue that when people consider themselves an integral part of a social, economic, or political group, they tend to optimize their identity utility by applying a higher level of effort to the benefit of the group.

The national identity was enforced as a strategic policy immediately after the independence when those tribesmen who engaged the French and Spanish troops in bloody armed skirmishes were massacred by Morocco’s Royal Armed Forces – an army trained and equipped by France – when they refused to integrate the ranks of the king’s military. Whole villages were annihilated and scores of tribal political leaders fled to neighboring countries or were assassinated. Others were offered unstinting political and economic incentives to reward them for their cooperation. The systematic suppression of politicized identity reclamations, Berber or Arab, that were deemed by the government to highlight cultural differences and therefore were divisive and posit a strategic threat, was more pronounced under the watch of Hassan II.

After the passing of Hassan II, the government relaxed its measures. Morocco entered a conciliatory phase that was, it was hoped, opportune to providing Moroccans with a greater sense of shared citizenship based on the mutual respect and common destiny of the different ethnicities and cultures that compose it. But despite its recognition, in 2001, of the Berber culture as an integral aspect of the Moroccan identity, the formation of the Royal Institute of the Berber Culture, and allowing Tachelhit to be taught in primary schools, the exclusive national identity policy Hassan II so fanatically imposed remains in effect. The Moroccan Civil Registry still rejects, in accordance with law 99-37, ethnically flavored names because, as Driss Bajdi once said, “they contradict the Moroccan identity.” An identity that unifies all and rejects all.

So what is “Moroccan identity”? From the above definition, it follows that there are as many Moroccan identities as there are Moroccans. There are also identities for groups of Moroccans, such as Rifians, Fassis, Soussis, Moroccans living abroad, Moroccan women, Moroccan youth, Islamists, secularists, nonbelievers, urban elites, rural poor, Moroccan artists, Moroccan entrepreneurs, and so forth. Because these definitions slice through society in various ways, any one Moroccan is likely to belong to several of these groups. Finally there is the identity of Morocco as a whole, which is itself changing, evolving over time along with its parts.

What makes a Moroccan a Moroccan? Shared history, culture and physical space, a common language (darija) and religion (Islam) — though here we must note Morocco’s Tamazight speakers and important Jewish minority. But whatever differences exist, the common cultural threads ensure that a Moroccan from Marrakech knows he is still in Morocco when visiting Nador, and a Moroccan from Figuig can go to Casablanca without leaving his country. This can’t be said for a trip to Egypt or Mali, much less to Mexico or China.

In the past, the official line spoke of Moroccan identity in political terms, and insisted on unity. This can be seen in the famous “red lines” of monarchy, religion and the Sahara. The king is the ultimate symbol of national unity, Islam is Morocco’s unifying religion, and the territorial unity of the nation is not to be questioned. The same thinking can be seen in the phrase “Allah, al-Watan, al-Malik” (“God, Nation, King”) to be seen on hillsides around Morocco. Still, this thinking is rather old school, and I think even the state realizes it. It comes from a fear that Morocco may splinter through tribal or regional rivalry, but that is no longer the case.

Moroccans today are known for their mobility, whether from the countryside to the cities, from region to region, or even to nations around the world. Casablanca is a melting pot where one in every four Moroccans lives. Most Moroccans have family living in other parts of the country. Young people, more than half the population, interact with the world through the internet and commercial media, and define their Moroccanness against that background. With all this movement and interaction, Moroccan identity today is more personal than political, and it comes from within. That makes for a stronger unity than any dogma.

Yet there are tensions, as in any nation. Some Moroccans see Islam as the center of their lives, and insist on its superiority to all other religions. Some value their Amazigh roots and traditions, and consider Arab culture to be an intruder, fourteen centuries after the fact. Some see themselves as part of an urban elite that is helping to move Morocco forward, and disdain the superstition and backwardness of simple folk. At times, these contrasting visions come into conflict and create shocks. How can the same nation that has wireless modems, have old men with donkey carts roaming the streets? How can young people express themselves freely through music and cinema, when the views of religious conservatives still dominate the debate?

Two conversations I had a week apart will help to illustrate the problem. The first was with a young man who works in an open-air restaurant in Jemaa el Fna, the famous plaza of Marrakech. It was during the Israeli invasion of Gaza, and he expressed his anger that the West was enabling that massacre. He said the West had lost its way and needed to turn to Islam. I said that Islam wasn’t the answer to everything, and there would still be injustice in the world even if everyone was a Muslim. He insisted that Islam was the answer. I told him that for me, what matters in life is to ask questions and to seek to do what’s best. I’ve studied Islam and read the Qur’an, but I see it as one of many possible paths. I’m not looking for one set of answers, because the questioning itself is what’s important. He accused me of studying Islam in bad faith, or I would have accepted its proofs and become a Muslim. “Thank God I’m a Muslim,” he said, “because I have all the answers I need. You’re twice my age and still asking questions!”

The second conversation was with a young programmer from Rabat who has turned away from Islam entirely. He mentioned that his boss, as a reward for his work, was offering him a few days’ vacation at a five-star hotel near Marrakech. The hotel featured a circus act with nude female trapeze artists. I expressed shock that such a thing was possible in Morocco (in fact I doubt that it’s true), and he asked me why. I said that in a country with such large divisions between rich and poor, those who can afford a five-star hotel shouldn’t indulge in tastes that fly in the face of what ordinary people consider common decency. I was trying to point out that by turning itself into a playground for foreign tourists and local elites, Morocco risks alienating its poor and conservative majority, who will feel excluded both economically and morally. If he wanted to show me signs of Moroccan progress, maybe he should find examples that do more to serve the common interest? He accused me of being an Islamist and cut off the conversation. (We have since made up.)

So in the space of one week, I was accused of being an Islamist by one friend, and a denier of Islam by another, all while trying to stake out what I saw as a moderate position. This shows the contrasts that exist in Morocco, as people seek to define their Moroccan identity. If my two friends ever came in contact, surely they would have nothing to say to each other. One would see the other as having strayed from his faith, while the other would see the first as a dogmatic fool. Still, both of my friends share a Moroccan identity. They are products of the same culture, the same basic reality, even though they have made different choices from there. And Morocco has room for both of them.

Having lived in Morocco for four of the past seven years, I can say without question that it is a remarkably peaceful country. Moroccans are by nature tolerant, and tend to back away from conflict. They coexist even at times when coexistence is uneasy. This is a great help when dealing with the growing pains of moving a country with ancient traditions into the global age. The shock of contrasts is real, but so is the coexistence. The old man wandering the streets with his donkey cart, the rural shepherd, the urban rapper, the Islamist doctor, the human rights crusader, the ambitious fashion designer, the painter who drinks too much, are all real — and they all share the same space.

All these individual Moroccan identities share a common identity, which is also Moroccan. Moroccan identity is diverse, and changing with the times. Celebrating this as a strength will ensure Morocco its place in a changing world.

For more on the subject of Moroccan identity, see my texts “Foreign Aristocrat” and “Loss of Identity,” and this dialogue on identity from Eatbees Blog.

This was how a young Moroccan student of mine described the United States to me.  Images from his youth: Pretty Woman, glimpsed illicitly on satellite TV as a boy, or downloaded by BitTorrent.  McDonald’s, which arrived in his hometown when he was eight, a beacon of American consumerism.  Mickey Mouse, drawn on medina walls, advertising a kindergarten down the street.  If those are his images of America, then they are too my images of Morocco, mixed with salty black olives bought from the local hanout and Amazir wine, hidden in paper bags for the journey home.

I am not Moroccan, and so my musings on Moroccan identity exist only from the perspective as an outsider.  Moroccan identity has been fetishized and orientalized by Westerners since the time of Edith Wharton, and continues to be.  In popular travel writing, Moroccans are described as mystical beings, devoutly attached to Islam but yearning for modernity, in love with everything Francophone, and confused, caught somewhere between east and west, tradition and modernity.  To them, Moroccans fit one singular, albeit complex, mold.  In my classroom, Moroccan students themselves would often refer to the “Moroccan mentality,” an intangible thing that needn’t be defined, as everyone knew quite what it was.  Everyone except me, that is.

When I first settled into my life in Morocco six years ago, I was indeed struck by certain paradoxes: How my newfound friends could pray the Maghrib prayer then go out clubbing that night, stumbling home intoxicated, just to start over again the next morning.  How a female friend would tell me she longed to wear hijab but simply couldn’t, because her parents wouldn’t allow it.  But with time, these things seem far less strange; they are small patches in the fabric of Moroccan society, things we just live with.

At the same time, I recall being frustrated with the stagnancy of discussion around certain topics.  It took almost a year for a close friend to admit to me that she was an atheist, and even then, it’s still our little secret.  And forget bringing up the Western Sahara–despite global opinion to the contrary, nearly every Moroccan I’ve ever met believes it to be wholly and unarguably part of their country.

But over time, the diversity that I at first thought was lacking made itself apparent to me, as I navigated Morocco’s tightly woven hip hop scene, met atheists and punks, lesbians, and young Sufi hopefuls.  What was nearly impossible to crack on the surface slowly revealed itself to me in my friendships, and as time passed, I found that much of what keeps these “secrets” hidden is a desire to keep up appearances…not so different from life in my own country.

Ultimately, however, there is a unifying thread amongst Moroccans that is hard to put a finger on.  It is made up of thousands of small parts: it is in the overwhelming sense of hospitality, the willingness to offer–and drink–a glass of mint tea with a stranger.  It is in the language, the darija of the streets that puzzles other Arabs but which holds the key to so many doors in Morocco.  And yes, it is in couscous, and djellabas, and tajines, things with roots across the region but that have become so quintessentially Moroccan, synonymous really, just as (for better or for worse) Julia Roberts, McDonald’s, and Mickey Mouse are to the United States.

What Morocco is not, however, is a simple place stuck in time, contrary to what many travel writers would have you believe.  It is too easy, as many travel writers have found, to stick with the same simplistic tropes: “a place stuck in time,” “a disorienting and surreal mix of old and new.”  In focusing on the contrasts, one misses out on what makes Morocco so fantastic: its people and their ability and willingness to reassess identity as time goes on.  As Morocco grows and develops, so does Moroccan identity.

The Moroccan moral majority-–so to speak–is quite diverse, just like any public opinion in the world, but they do share, for the most part, some common features that are partly the result of an imposed ignorance.

My attention has been drawn to the fact that I look up a bit too much contemporary or even ancient history to justify my own opinions, a method that is so obvious to me to understand the present world.

I still fail to understand, even after reading a bit about it, how the ‘public opinion’ quickly loses its memory, or, on the contrary, sticks to past facts, or what it was led to believe were past, definite facts. And in the case of the Moroccan conservative majority, the main argument used against any ‘too modernist’ speech is: “that’s our identity”, an explicit reference to traditions, and ergo, to a subconscious history. Perhaps that’s why Moroccans cling to traditions but have difficulties coping with factual and –shall we say- scientific history.

I don’t think the vast majority of Moroccans are ‘ideologically’ committed to the “moral revolution” (even all the al Adl activists are not wholly convinced of the Khilafa myth) and as long as there is no credible measurement of how many people are ideologically committed and ready to speak out loudly against the present system, I consider the whole thing merely as the natural result of a vicious islamization policy against a larger opposition in the 70’s and 80’s, but also, the anticipated reaction to the confusion that followed a brutal liberalization, the geopolitical changes that affected the world after the Berlin Wall came down

The second term doesn’t specifically encompass the sole Moroccan society, various studies in post-industrialized countries showed a steady rise in conservative values. Some even argued that the ideals of social progress and harmony are perhaps, out of date.

The politically-committed Islamists should be ruled out of the ‘traditional-values’ side, because their own political agenda is so much at odds with the present society that, if it wasn’t for their anti-western stand and the sneaky use of takya, could almost be part of the legal political spectrum (I am, of course, not referring to the PJD, that’s quite another matter.)

Now, let’s turn to the traditional/moral/bigots brigade: what can we make out of it? Before I start discussing their way of defining the ‘Moroccan Identity’ I wanted to venture an explanation why we, Moroccans, have so much trouble with history, as the majority of us was taught to cling to the past, because ‘it was much better then’

The traditions could be, with some extrapolation, construed as ‘Founding Myths’.

Timeline is quite out of touch here, as individuals, or rather, communities; tend to focus mainly on regenerating the ‘moment’, i.e. the founding myth time and again (no pun intended). In essence, there’s no time, or rather, any notion of time. Did you notice how people are usually longing for the pure Islamic period of Andalusia, the Arabic Peninsula, the invincible Islamic Umma etc…?

Few Islamic scholars stood up and contested this myth, save for Abdellah Ibrahim, a Sorbonne Graduate as well as an Ibn Youssef graduate Oulema, much like his colleague/classmate Yassine) And to be frank, this nostalgia for ‘spiritual uplift’ are partly the result of the policy I am ranting against (the one we are reaping its violent and intolerant fruits)

History, on the other hand, has a healthy obsession of recording, archiving and noting the facts. And as the baldy man once said: ’Facts are stubborn’.

See how little information one has on how many Muslims had a Harem or Jaryates… Do we have precise statistics and facts? Of course not.

Do we subsequently derive from it that the ancient Muslim society was pure and perfect? Of Course not. So it remains what it is: a relative truth in a relative set of truths.

One thing though: Morocco is indeed a Muslim country, or, to be precise, a majority of Muslim people. The whole business of religion and its mix with politics in Morocco is so complicated, so self-centered that the standard battle cry of Attajdid or Nini is, if not simplistic, is just pushing for a dark political agenda. I mean come on, when was it Sharia-compliant for the sultan to display his enemies’ heads on the walls of the Imperial cities? Or to enslave tribes for his army? Or to be self-serving with bayt al mal (the Islamic treasury office) ?

Let us turn now to the so-called national identity: I know, it’s the favorite right-wing theme, almost fascist, one might think.

I would like to define my terms, as one could easily get confused; even in social sciences, the concept is rather an umbrella for many close yet different subjects: what’s national identity? Red Fez and White Djellaba (considered to be our national accoutrement) are, to me for good reasons, complete alien items: the Fez is Turkish, and the Djellaba Arab. I indulge only to the Burnous to be part wholly Moroccan, if not North African.

Anyway; according to Cote & Levine (1987), “In the Social Identity Theory, a person has not one, “personal self”, but rather several selves that correspond to widening circles of group membership”. In other terms, Social Identity –a wider set that includes national identity- sort of absolves individuals, and rather glorifies the community or the bund, not very democratic, one could see.

In another paper, the authors boil down the behavior pattern in terms of individual interaction with identity, to 5 main types, among which the ‘Guardian’. It ‘Possesses clear personal values and attitudes, but also a deep fear of change’ and a ‘Sense of personal identity is almost exhausted by sense of social identity’ Oddly enough –and I can speak only for the individuals I interacted with- most Moroccans identify themselves to ‘guardians of morality and identity’

My point is, this so called national identity the Looney brigade boasts about, is basically a fear of change, my point exactly. The national identity, to sum up, is a concept waved about every time these people feel threatened when their Weltschauung is obsolete, and subsequently tend to distort the reality so that it could match their ideology. Regular anti-festival outcry every summer always summons the depravity our young people are being appealed to.

In a quite different, yet related matter, Smith (1993) talks about: ”myths of national identity typically refer to territory or ancestry (or both) as the basis of political community, and these differences furnish important, if often neglected, sources of instability and conflict in many parts of the world. It is no accident that many of the most bitter […] conflicts derive from competing claims and conceptions of national identity” Something quite similar happens in Morocco, although not so violently; The dynamic opposition between rural and urban areas, between well-to-do families and upstart individuals, between the tribe and the nuclear family, between the Makhzen and the ruled… all of them are distinct parts of our ‘identity’ and curiously enough, shunt.

It’s all political you see, as the self-promoted opinion leaders define what they perceive as ‘the right’ Moroccan identity, effectively ejecting their political rivals out of the game. As part of the ‘Umma’ ideal, the identity theme is always drawn in the religious field, a tactic well-proved in the struggle between the secularist left and the monarchy during the lead years.

Let us now turn to the facts. The only credible survey I can reasonably base my opinions is the one carried out for the 50 years independence anniversary, particularly, the ‘synthèse de l’enquête nationale sur les valeurs’ report is quite fair and balanced.

They noted that ‘some are feeling nostalgic about a period of traditional values, and are feeling sorry for the present…’ Strangely enough, the report weighs in more the ‘traditional’ part more than the ‘Islamic’ one. Indeed, the ideal groom should be ‘maâqul’ (devoted, committed, whatever have you) for 38% of the female sample, and financially stable (24%) a religious man, on the other hand, attracts only 13% of the sample.

The most interesting thing is about the youthful population. The report notes that: ‘[young people] are trying to demark themselves from the social norms, indeed, the young sample is more in favour of a nuclear family (60%), late marriage (58%) and dialogue in child education (64%)’; Well that’s good news!

One thing though: I am not considering the general set of value references as progressive or liberal. Far from it, but it just shows that the ‘Moroccan values’ don’t belong to anyone, and if anything, there’s a great leaning towards post-industrial society schemes. It looks as though Moroccans are perhaps more religious, but they care more about the ritual apparatus (Tozy) than the assumed spiritual underlying.

It just shows that values, rather than ‘identity’, values are part of a dynamic process and certainly not the sanctimonious speech that many take for granted. In essence, the transitory process the Moroccan society is getting through hopefully, -to a more tolerant and open-minded society- doesn’t suit many lobbies.

So, whenever you hear about ‘Our true values are conservatism and religious stringency’ or some such, ask yourself the question: ’says who?’ or even better ‘what political agenda behind this?’  Being paranoid in Moroccan politics, is, as far as I am concerned, a habit one should take on…

My husband’s family frequently asks me what I think of the Moroccan people, society and culture. It’s a risky question because if I say what I really think and my husband translates word for word, I could easily offend them. But, I’m often too honest for my own good. So, instead of coming up with a safe and diplomatic answer, I tell the truth of my observances and experiences since my arrival to Morocco in 2008.

“It’s confusing”, I start. “I see the older women wearing hijab and djallaba walking next to their teenage daughters dressed in the tightest western clothes possible and a lot of make-up. The daughter, rightfully passed the age when she also should be donning the hijab herself, is encouraged by her mother to buy more clothes and make-up. While you hear the calling for prayer in the streets, a Muslim has forgotten every single lesson in humanity from the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) and is gunning for you from behind the wheel of his car as you are trying to crossing the street. I guess I expected something different in a country of Muslims.”

When I feel myself going down a ranty path, I try to add in the difference in scenery and cities. “The landscape of the entire country is so different. There are tall, snow-capped mountains and oceans of sand in the desert…tropical paradises and beautiful beaches full of lush fertilization in the rainy seasons. All the cities have their own personalities and the way people live in Casablanca and Tangier is so completely opposite to the people in small villages and even the desert nomads. The whole country seems to be about opposition right down to the very earth it’s made of.”

I continue on, “The gap between rich and poor is so apparent here. There are the biggest villas in Soussi while there are shanties not more than two blocks from our own apartment. And there is all this modern technology, but so many people don’t even have a shower installed or running hot water in their homes…people have the latest cell phones and wireless internet on their laptops, but not hot water? I’m sorry, but this kind of doesn’t make sense to me. ”

And, then I go back to the Islam thing. “Why do people litter all over the streets, ruining the earth Allah has provided while they are saying ‘smillah before making any move?”

I go on, “the Moroccan people are known all over the world for their hospitality, but among each other that graciousness and generosity is missing.” I feel myself getting ready to relate my hammam tales of the times when I’m identified as an American and the times when I’ve blended into the crowd. A much different experience I assure you.

I can say more about the many differences I see in a society full of people mainly originating from one land, but I see they are getting my point and I finally finish with “I don’t know what to say about the Moroccan people, they aren’t at all “bad”, but maybe it’s a good example of how Westernization isn’t always such a good thing. The contradictions I see all seem to be related to modernization…” I trail off then. And finally, after all the translating is done, I hear them all mutter one word, “shlada.” The Moroccan identity is like a salad–mixed up, chopped up bits of different things thrown together in a bowl. They don’t say it with any animated excitement as if it’s a good thing. They aren’t offended by my views. At least, they don’t seem at all offended by my observations nor does my husband relate that anything I’ve said has hurt they’re feelings. Nothing I’ve said is meant to hurt anyone’s feelings. I’m just relating what I’ve witnessed and experienced here.

But, often the conversation ends there never going further into the idea of Moroccan identity, whether it’s modernization or something else that has blurred Moroccan identity to an outsiders view. But, as they move on to another conversation, I’m left wondering: what is the Moroccan identity? Was it ever something different or more definable than it is now? What would they like it to be? Yet, my family just seems to accept it and move on to the next topic of interest.

Do other Moroccans feel and think the same way about Moroccan society and culture? Would they agree with my observances and my family’s notion of shlada? If it’s something different then what they want, what exactly would they like it to be?