Category: all things moroccan

On this International Women’s Day, I want to pay homage to all the Moroccan women who have worked for so long, under difficult circumstances, to bring about gender equality, justice, and progress for their country. This post is in remembrance of our ancestors and grandmothers, our pioneers: Fatima Al Fihriya, who built the world’s oldest university in Fes, Al-Qarawiyyin; Touria Chaoui, who flew her plane over occupied Casablanca in order to distribute independence tracts; Malika Al Fassi, the only female signatory of the Independence Manifesto; Saida Menebhi, who died in prison for her political ideals; and all the female victims of the Years of Lead.

With admiration for the work and sacrifices of, and examples set by, Leila Abouzeid, Ghita El Khayat, Aicha Belarbi, Aziza Bennani, Fatima Benslimane, Bouchra Bernoussi, Rahma Bourquia, Zakya Daoud, Fatna El Bouih, Aicha Ech-Chenna, Nawal El Moutawakil, Nezha Hayat, Dr. Hakima Himmich, Latifa Jbabdi, Najat M’jid, Fatema Mernissi, Soumaya Naamane Guessous, Zoulikha Nasri, Halima Ouarzazi, Badia Skalli, Hinde Taarji, and all the other activists whose names do not appear here.

With respect for the men who have joined in the fight for gender equality: Mouhcine Ayouche, Abdelkader Ech-Chenna, Aziz El Ouadie, Moha Ennaji, Chakib Guessous, Lahcen Haddad, Yusuf Madad, Lekbir Ouhajou, Noureddine Saoudi, and Ahmed Zainabi.

And with hope, for the new generation.

Regular readers of this blog may be familiar with photographer Yto Barrada’s work, which I have mentioned on several occasions. I finally had the chance to meet her in person this past weekend, when I traveled to Tangier to attend the opening of the Cinémathèque de Tanger, a project that Barrada has been working on for several years. Barrada bought the old Cinéma Rif, which is located on the historic Gran Socco plaza, in 2001 and, after years of planning and fund-raising, closed it down in 2004 for renovations. The Cinéma Rif has now reopened, and has been completely modernized, with new seats, new screen, new projection equipment, but all the charm of the original metalwork on the box office window, the original lamps in the café area, the movie posters–and the same staff. In addition to the main theatre, Barrada also conceived of the place as a cinematheque, and has added a small theatre, which will be used for retrospectives as well as workshops, a library, a videotheque, and an editing room. (You can view many candid photos of the opening, and of other CDT activities, here.)

Barrada chose to inaugurate the new Cinéma Rif with the work of a Moroccan filmmaker, the lovely and amazing Farida Benlyazid, whose latest film, Juanita de Tanger, has been making the festival rounds. (The picture is based on the novel by Angel Vasquez, La Vida Perra de Juanita Narboni.) Benlyazid was quite emotional when she took the stage: She remembered coming to the then-dilapidated theater to watch Abdel Halim films back in the sixties, and she spoke of what this new theater will mean for her hometown. In the audience was another original patron of the place–Tahar Ben Jelloun. It was a Tangerine evening.

Years ago, when I was a junior in high school, one of my younger uncles came to visit us, a copy of Lamalif tucked under his arm. “What’s this?” I asked, and pulled out the magazine. I started reading it then and there and was instantly hooked. I was seventeen, and didn’t completely understand the significance of all the articles, but I loved it, and would always buy it or borrow it. Back then, our newsstands in Rabat were dominated by the shrill, partisan press, which didn’t really speak to me, or by French publications, which didn’t speak to me either.

Lamalif was different. The magazine was a form of challenge (the title comes from the Arabic letters lam and ‘alif, which together spell out the word “No”). It was the expression of a homegrown movement. It had amazing art covers. It was ours. Under editor Zakya Daoud (and her husband, Mohammed Loghlam) it published high-quality articles on politics, art, and culture. Its contributors were seasoned journalists, intellectuals, and, more often than not, university professors. It was informed and informative, and I have often wondered what it would be like today if it had survived as a publication. (Constant pressures by the government forced the magazine to shut down in 1988.)

So imagine my delight when I found out that the Casablanca Book Fair was hosting a discussion on “30 years of journalism in Morocco 1958-1988: The Lamalif years.” The panelists were Zakya Daoud herself, Mohammed Jibril, Mohammed Tozy, and Ahmed Reda Benchemsi. Aboubakr Jamai was unable to attend, but Driss Ksikes stepped in for him. The best way to describe the mood is to say it was made of emotion, pride, and quite a bit of regret. Emotion because those present–contributors to the magazine as well as those who were their readers–have fond memories Lamalif. Pride because it did amazing work (it was to the 70s and 80s what Souffles/Anfas was to the 60s). And regret because there really is nothing like it around anymore.

Zakya Daoud apologized that the book she had written about the magazine, Les Années Lamalif (Tarik Editions, 2007) was not ready in time to present at the fair, but she gave an outline of it, describing the early years of enthusiasm (1966-1968); the years of hard work and disappointment (1968-1972); the Sahara years (1973-1977); the years of calling everything into question (1978-1985) and the end (1985-1988). The difficulties of publishing–including meetings with the redoubtable Minister of Information of the time, Moulay Ahmed Alaoui–were hard on her, but there was also plenty of joy and laughter. “I have turned the page, and that is how I was able to write the book. Lamalif‘s story is my story, it’s our story, and, beautiful or not, it’s our history.” Mohammed Jibril briefly talked about what set the magazine apart from other publications of its time: Lamalif, he said, was attached to its ethical values and it had professional rigor, something which few publications can boast. Several past contributors (Salim Jay, Najib Boudraa, and others) said they were proud to have been a part of the adventure; some said they regretted now that Lamalif had been so serious–perhaps it needed some humor from time to time.

Then it was the turn of the “new guard” to speak. Ahmed Reda Benchemsi revealed that when he wanted to start his magazine, he had originally wanted it to be called Lamalif, and he had talked to Zakya Daoud about possibly buying the title from her, but it didn’t work out, and he ended up starting Tel Quel. Generally speaking, he said, the press situation now is very different from what Daoud and her contemporaries went through. But he also pointed out that while the “red lines” in the 1980s were very clear, they are more blurred now, so that it becomes nearly impossible to know whether something will run afoul of the system.

Ksikes, meanwhile, felt that the current press in Morocco does not exist in a continuum, but in cycles. Regarding the more liberal press environment, he said, “We may have opened the windows, but now we’ve started to put shutters on them.” For him, the difference betwen the Lamalif years and the present is that there used to be a greater dialogue and collaboration between university professors and journalists; now there is little, and sometimes he sees the reverse, in the sense that some in academia lead the charge against independent magazines.

My one complaint (as usual with these sorts of events) is that the moderator did not leave enough time for questions, and we had to vacate the room so the next panel could be set up.

For those who are curious: The entire archive of Souffles magazine is now available online, through Swarthmore and Lehman colleges. Someone should try to do the same for Lamalif.

I went to check out the Casablanca book fair yesterday–the fee for getting in is an extremely reasonable 5 dirhams and there’s tons to see and do. Among the exhibitors were publishers from many Arab and European countries, but also Moroccan university presses, literary magazines, small and large publishers, and–oh, joy!–booksellers and bouquinistes. So one could browse through the rare or used books from, say, Rabat’s Bouquiniste du Chellah here in Casablanca. The most popular booths seemed to be those that catered to children’s literature and YA, which I suppose is a good thing. Maybe in a few years’ time the fair will be able to attract as many interested adults. I noticed a couple of English-language publishers, but they carried mostly classics that are used at colleges and universities. The French publishers and the Saudi government, on the other hand, had a massive presence. Unfortunately, the official program that is available online is not comprehensive. There’s a lot more to see at individual booths, and you pretty much have to go in situ to know what each exhibitor has planned.

The Casablanca Book Fair opens today at the Foire Internationale, with 615 exhibitors from 58 countries. The guest of honor this year is Belgium, and there are many round tables and panels on Belgian literature or by Belgian authors. In addition, of course, there will be readings and/or discussions by many Moroccan poets, writers, historians, and journalists, including Abdelkrim Ghallab, Abdellah Laroui, Fatema Mernissi, Abdellah Taia, Mohammed Barrada, Ghita El Khayat, Aboubakr Jamai, and many others. Among the highlights of the ten-day fair is a reading by Adonis at the Mohammed VI Theatre in Roches Noires on Saturday night, and another reading by Mahmoud Darwich at the same venue. Be there.

You can see the full cultural program of the fair here.

I came back home to Casablanca to news of Aboubakr Jamaï’s resignation from Le Journal Hebdo. Could things get any worse for the press in Morocco? Wait. Don’t answer that.