Like most Moroccans, I remember where I was when, on 23 July 1999 and after a thirty-eight-year reign, Hassan II died. The majority of adult Moroccans today grew up enwrapped by his exalted image and compensatory grandiose achievements which engorged the nation’s media; his pictures fluttered along city streets and took a prominent place on all administrative walls to enforce his omnipresence; in hushed tones and fear, Moroccans bruited about the disappearances, the killings, the torture, the mass graves, the Oufkir family, and Tazmamert. Hassan II was a king whose knack to sustain the loyalty of his subjects by intricately balancing violence and philanthropy was legendary.
I couldn’t help thinking then that the following days were momentous for the Moroccan people. In a country where the legislative, executive, and judicial powers all rest on the fingertip of a single man, the upsetting of that balance could be the catalyst for bloody mayhem. The thought was spurred by a U.S. Department of State advisory I had read a few months back warning that in the eventuality Hassan II died, the Royal Armed Forces general commanders could deploy their troops into the streets, impose martial law, and overthrow the monarchy. The moment the passing of Hassan II was announced by the king to be Mohammed VI, whose face withstood maudlinness, many Moroccans rushed out to buy essential alimentary provisions; those who were vacationing by the seaside packed their tents, pots and pans, and rushed home. The country was braced for the worst. That night, many Moroccans bemourned the departed shedding Stockholm syndrome induced tears; most remained home listening and watching in an attempt to assimilate the unexpected interregnum.
Mohammed VI was declared king the same day his father died, but it was only when the new king’s ascension to the throne was celebrated on 30 July in Tetouan that Moroccans’ fears subsided and a feeling of hope and expectation suffused the nation. There was a yearning for a better life and expectations were high. The young king was seen as a panacea to Morocco’s socioeconomic problems and its political complexities. Unlike his cynically pragmatic father, Mohammed VI grew up to be an idealist. He was quick to reassure his newly inherited subjects of his intention to hardwire Morocco to the future through a new notion of authority and a different political bearing. He vowed to strengthen security and stability, and combat corruption and poverty; he pledged to bring the rule of law and prosperity to the country, to protect civil liberties and human rights, and to reinforce national unity. For that purpose, he dismissed Driss Basri and other key political figures closely linked to his father’s repressive regime and meticulously surrounded himself with efficient, reform-minded technocrats. In a conciliatory tone, he welcomed political opposition and directed his attention to areas of Morocco Hassan II, out of pure vindictiveness, alienated. In the headiness of that moment, the future could not have looked brighter and the blossoming of democracy seemed eminent.
Much has been written and said about the successes and failures of the policies Mohammed VI has been trying to implement since his enthronement. I am one of those who believe that more has been accomplished in the past ten years than during the reign of Hassan II. The young sovereign drafted an outline for comprehensive social and economic reforms designed to limit Morocco’s dependency on agriculture and tourism as sole revenue pillars; he ordered wide-ranging development projects such as the National Initiative for Human Development (INDH), the Tangier/Med project, and the Vision 2010 project which attracted noteworthy domestic and foreign investments to the tourism sector. The ground work has been laid to spur the aeronautics, auto, and mining industries and to propel Morocco from a mere consumer to a producer. In 2004, the revised Family Code (Moudawana) and the creation of the Equity and Reconciliation Commission buoyed the prospect of democracy and attested to the king’s commitment to resolve past grievances and abrogate the political mindset that allowed “the years of lead” to happen.
Mohammed VI assigned the execution and oversight of the economic projects he wanted to see realized to government officials he appointed. To the exception of a few enterprises upon which he followed up personally, the contracts for the developmental projects were handed over to a small circle of businessmen and politicians with strong governmental ties. Moroccan politicians are heeding the advice Hassan II gave to a formation of officers after Oufkir’s failed assassination attempt; he told them:”Don’t do politics, make money instead.” Corruption has been rampant in public administrations, incumbents’ abuse of their power has been flagrant, and political coercion is common place; swaths of land allocated for touristic or industrial projects are sold below market value to select individuals, standard administrative procedures are routinely bypassed, and tax impositions associated with these projects are seldom enforced. Recently, the government of Abbas Fassi granted the Coca Cola and Pepsi Cola companies in Morocco 50 million Dirhams (6,29 million dollars), collected from tax payers, to mitigate the inflated price of sugar. According to Nizar Barak, Minister Delegate to the Prime Minister in Charge of General and Economic Affairs and, lo and behold, the son in law of the Prime Minister, justified such measure as necessary to prevent an increase in the price of soft drinks. As if Moroccans could live without sugar, but not without a refreshing glass of coca cola. The past decade has been flecked with reports on similar blunders.
Of all the policies and reforms introduced by Mohammed VI, of all the projects he launched, none constitutes a more veracious yardstick for judging the democratization of Morocco than the freedom of expression and the media. The large scale fraud perpetrated by appointed government officials entrusted by the king to implement his guidance and the deleterious incompetence they exhibit in the conduct of their public functions are fodder for an independent media that blossomed in the years after the death of Hassan II when the country saw a surge in freedom of expression and the press; issues previously considered proscribed became imprimi potest. Journalist probing beneath the governmental carapace exposed the unctuousness and complacency of lowly officials and the multi-million dollar grafted dealings of ministers; they chronicled the rough-hewn tactics of a peevish-natured police force and the hardscrabble life of the majority of the Moroccans whose struggle to cope with the turbulent vicissitudes of the nation, despite the government’s hyperbolic reports on economic growth, remained unmitigated. It took the government three years to catch on. In 2002, it introduced an onerous legislation to the press code giving partisan judges larger latitude to prosecute on very general grounds political media coverage deemed contentious. Since then, numerous newspapers and magazines were amerced with devitalizing fines designed to bankrupt the publications. The government’s judicial campaign extended to private citizens such as bloggers and human rights and civil liberties associations whose members’ opinions were considered critical of official action – or inaction.
When Mohammed VI took over in 1999, he consulted with then Prime Minister Abderrahmane Youssoufi on whether he should discontinue monarchic practices, such as the hand-kissing, he assessed incompatible with his image as a modern king. Youssoufi, an USFP opposition leader who was jailed for eighteen months and spent many years exiled before Hassan II appointed him in 1998 as Prime Minister to give credence to his reforms, advised against it arguing that the kingdom is by nature ritualistic and the king’s power is expressed through citizens’ genuflection. Many have been jailed for criticizing royal members. Transgressions by the king’s family members are never addressed judicially; when Hassan Al Ya’koubi, an in-law of the king, shot in broad daylight Tariq Mouhib, a traffic police officer, for pulling him over for running a traffic light, the government intervened to protect the perpetrator and detained the wounded police officer; the case was never brought to justice. The royal family and high ranking government officials are above the law. The sanctity of the palace and the incontestability of the king’s authority as sole governor of the country are subjects the Moroccan government is unwilling to compromise. The Moroccan constitution, which vests sovereignty not in the people as it is the case in democratic nations, but in the king, is impervious to amendment and therefore incompatible with the principle of a rule by the people. The government’s unyielding posture vis-à-vis a comprehensive constitutional reform emerges as a bellwether issue in Morocco’s democratization debate. A number of foreign and local newspapers and magazines were banned for addressing the shortcomings of the government and the king in the past ten years. The French daily Le Monde in conjunction with the Moroccan weeklies TelQuel and Nichan published a survey in which 91% of Moroccans expressed favorable opinion on Mohammed VI, but were skeptical of his earnestness to address social woes such as poverty and to democratize the country. They were banned by the interior ministry. Khalid Naciri, Morocco’s Minister of Communication, explained that “the monarchy can not be the subject of a debate.”
Because the king retains exclusive governing power and he appoints all other positions within the Moroccan government, the nepotistic Prime Minister and his cabinet are not public officials; their fealty is not to the Moroccan people, but to the king. They bridle at citizens’ criticism on their failure to tackle decisively any of the issues conventionally identified as crucial to democratization. Dialectical debate is not organic to Morocco’s political culture. It is then understandable that, much like during the reign of Hassan II, in the past ten years, not one politician stood before the Moroccan people and took responsibility for government failures. The king has ultimate responsibility and the king does not account for his actions – or the actions of his representatives – to his subjects. The communal and legislative elections the government hails as a sure sign of democracy in Morocco amount to fanciful pretense. There is no political party in Morocco that can aspire to ever act on their campaign pledges without the approbation of the king. Forget democratic ascendancy.
I was sitting at a café not far from Passage El Glaoui a few days ago when I asked the chain smoking guy sitting next to me what he thought was the most important thing we achieved in the past ten years. Between two puffs he smiled and said:”We achieved nothing. They did.”
A. T. B. Copyright © 2009
