Urban Restructuring, Power and Capitalism in the Tourist City: Contested Terrains of Marrakesh 9781138600461, 9780429470929

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Urban Restructuring, Power and Capitalism in the Tourist City

The book focuses on the processes of urban restructuring, power relations and the political economy of touristic authenticity. Through an in-depth analysis of Marrakesh, Morocco, the book proposes a comprehensive analytic framework. It highlights the issues of (post)coloniality, ideology, heritage-commodification, subjectivity and counter-conduct in the shadow of global capitalism. It explores how power relations and political economy have shaped the city of Marrakesh over the past few decades, formulating new subjectivities. It reveals how urban policy’s sole purpose is to boost tourism in the city, bringing into question the long-term resilience and success of tourism as an economic activity and a policy choice. This book considers how the well-being of city residents is submitted to such policies, conforming to certain forms of appropriation – of land, culture and memory. The example of Morocco helps us understand a phenomenon affecting many other cities internationally. This book will be valuable to academics and practitioners across disciplines, including geography, political science, urban planning and architecture. Khalid Madhi earned his Ph.D. in political science from the University of Illinois at Chicago, where he taught courses on gender and women’s studies, Middle Eastern politics and urban studies. Prior to that, Khalid served as a teaching fellow at the Cadi Ayyad University in Marrakesh, Morocco, where he taught graduate seminars on urban and local politics. His research interests include comparative urban politics and urban marginalities in the Global South, conceptions of power and the status of the “Other” in contemporary determinations of politics.

Routledge Studies in Urbanism and the City

Tourism and Everyday Life in the Contemporary City Edited by Thomas Frisch, Christoph Sommer, Luise Stoltenberg and Natalie Stors Citizenship and Infrastructure Practices and Identities of Citizens and the State Edited by Charlotte Lemanski Pedagogies of Urban Mobilities Kim Kullman Balkanization and Global Politics Remaking Cities and Architecture Nikolina Bobic Cities and Dialogue The Public Life of Knowledge Jamie O’Brien The Walkable City Jennie Middleton Urban Restructuring, Power and Capitalism in the Tourist City Contested Terrains of Marrakesh Khalid Madhi Ethnic Spatial Segregation in European Cities Hans Skifter Andersen For more information about this series, please visit www.routledge.com/ Routledge-Studies-in-Urbanism-and-the-City/book-series/RSUC

Urban Restructuring, Power and Capitalism in the Tourist City Contested Terrains of Marrakesh Khalid Madhi

First published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2019 Khalid Madhi The right of Khalid Madhi to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-60046-1 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-47092-9 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC

To my mother, Lalla Raquia Bint el-Haj Laarbi Chadli, and my late father, Mohammed (Moha) Ben Oulkheir Madhi; their wisdom, hard work and trust in fellow humans marked each of their nine children in profound ways. To my wife, Margaret Kristine Madhi, and our beautiful daughter, Kenza Madhi, for their unconditional love and support.

Contents

List of figuresviii List of tablesix Prefacex Acknowledgmentsxiv List of abbreviationsxvi Glossary of Darija/Arabic termsxviii 1 Introduction

1

2 Institutional control: state/market interactions

19

3 Ideological control: (re)branding the city

40

4 Ideology and beyond: mediating the city

58

5 The city’s essence and the reform imperative

79

6 Mythologies of new (and old) housing

104

7 Counter-conduct: standing, acting and speaking

128

Conclusion

161

Bibliography166 Index179

Figures

1.1 Marrakesh location 3 1.2 Morocco’s urban population in six largest cities in thousands (1950–2025)4 1.3 The Marrakesh-Tamansourt axis 5 3.1 Patrimonialization of a public fountain in the medina45 3.2 Real estate owned by non-Moroccans (1999–2009) 47 4.1 Circulation trends of the highest-ranking daily newspapers (2006–2017) 60 5.1 Four models of town-making 94 5.2 Marrakesh radial-corridor structure 95 5.3 Al-Massira neighborhood east of medina96 5.4 El-Azzouzia housing project 97 5.5 Sidi Youssef Ben Ali: a neighborhood under siege 99 6.1 Number of bank branches (per 100,000 adults) 107 6.2 Percentage asset concentrations for the top three banks (1997–2011) 108 6.3 Al-Omrane promotional brochures 110 6.4 Shah Ruh Khan and his Moroccan romantic interest in Saada TV ad (Video 1)113 6.5 “Listen to me, woman!” Addoha TV ad (Video 3)114 6.6 Old and renovated riads121 7.1 Billboards in Tamansourt 141 7.2 Tamansourt, a model for unsustainable development 144 7.3 No hope in civil society 156

Tables

2.1 Major institutional stakeholders and image-construction 37 4.1 Top daily newspapers: establishment year, five-year trends and affiliation 60 4.2 Corpus analysis of news promoters, content and audience of 200 news articles 71 4.3 Marrakesh stories covered by correspondents of Assabah and Almassae74 5.1 Strategy constructions in Marrakesh’s master plan (SDAU) 2008 83 5.2 Problem-solution construction by groups of actors SDAU 2008 90

Preface

One path to genuine understanding of others, and out of this moral morass and ethical minefield of performative plunder, superficial silliness, curiosity-seeking and nihilism, is dialogical performance. . . . The aim of dialogical performance is to bring self and other together so that they can question, debate and challenge one another. —Conquergood, 1985, p. 9

In “Performing as a Moral Act”, Conquergood’s roadmap toward “a genuine understanding of others” presupposes – and, perhaps, takes for granted – the researcher’s self-understanding. In my case, self-understanding was just as much a process as understanding others. Much of the literature on qualitative methodology focusing on the question of positionality would determine that I be an “insider” in relation to the communities I researched in this book. It is true that I share some of the same political attitudes, as well as cultural and linguistic traits, as many men and women I interviewed in Marrakesh. My interactions with the people of Marrakesh, I came to realize, were mediated by shared (tacit) political knowledge, rhetorical structures and cultural presuppositions which rendered my account of their experiences a reflexive process: that is, a process which constructs a reality rather than simply reports it.1 Prior to my arrival in Marrakesh, I spent quite some time thinking about my own positionality vis-à-vis the research: am I truly an insider? If so, what could be my interviewees expectations of me? Will I be able to distance myself “enough” to write an “objective social scientific account” (Pierce, 1996, p. 191)? What if I ended up “writing ‘right’ but doing wrong” onto others (Ellis, 1995, p. 69)? As one of my interviewees expressed his deep concerns lest “certain conspiratorial international actors” use my research “to denigrate the nation’s image”, I wondered on my moral standing vis-à-vis my people. It is in this environment that I had to (re)claim my position within what Conquergood (1985) calls the “moral mapping of performative stances” as I wanted to eschew the “facile and overeager identification” with my interviewees (p. 5). After all, I did not have a prior and personal acquaintance with my interviewees, but I knew more than “some aspects” of their identities at the theoretical level,

Preface xi and I saw a projection of myself within those traces of identity. And there I was, a native ethnographer, possibly the very instrument with which a group is about to study, classify and transform another, potentially “subjugating it” (Conquergood 1985, p. 4). This quest to acknowledge my own positionality vis-à-vis my new community was countervailed by the exigency of questioning my presumed “double” expertise – as not only a native, but one with academic training in North American universities. As my ethical anxieties subsided, I began confronting other issues of a practical nature: what are the proper ways of handling the community’s expectations? For the most part, I introduced myself in Arabic as a “muwwāţin Maghribi” (Moroccan compatriot) residing abroad; a rather flat and scripted statement of citizenship of the kind one hears in court proceedings. The “citizenship” script was an attempt to downplay my being connected to an “imperial superpower” (by way of dual citizenship) and to ease any concerns about my loyalty. Despite its platitude, my claim of Moroccanness certainly has its wages. But it also comes with a disadvantage; I was expected to understand the context and subtext as well as the extra-textual references to which my interviewees alluded. On multiple occasions, when I asked for more elaborations on something every Moroccan should already know, my interviewees’ responses were often mixed with puzzlement. My attempts at “good practice” were often interpreted as hopeless dilettantism on my part. On one occasion, a Francophile upper-level bureaucrat spent quite some time chiding me about my lack of scholarly sophistication and concluded with the charitable, and patronizing, gesture of whether I needed Darija translation (Moroccan colloquial Arabic) of her French jargon. A similar reaction came from a blue-collar worker who spared me the taunt, but simply asked in dismay whether I was “for real”. After a few failed attempts at collecting, presumably, unadulterated data by standardizing my verbal and behavioral interactions, my only option was to “let go” and adopt a sort of non-scripted anti-script. Thus, instead of adding another layer of performance (performing as the disinterested ethnographer), I realized that a better approach was to engage in a more “authentic” performance: simply as a “weld l’bled”, a genuine son of one’s country, and hence a product of the same milieu – no matter what milieu. My anti-script, contrary to Davidian’s (1996),2 was not a prohibitive one; it rather opened up new possibilities for more meaningful interactions very much like my quotidian interactions with my mother, my late father’s extended family or our old neighbors. I  then allowed myself to reproduce a certain performativity to set me apart from my researcher status: First, I activated the religious register, when appropriate, to confirm my interviewees’ sense of moral standing: “in-shaa’llah!” (God willing!) to share their sense of hope; “t’barkallah” (praise God!) to demonstrate solidarity and “la-hula wa la quwwa” (there is no power except by means of God) to attest their moral indignation. Second, and since not all my interviewees were comfortable in the religious register, I adopted a “secular/profane” register. In instances where

xii  Preface interlocutors tell sexually explicit jokes, or in conversations involving selfdescribed “secularists”, references to the sacred can be counter-productive. I also adopted other “special” registers (i.e., technical, Marxist, scholarly) to parallel my interlocutors’ linguistic stances. Third, due to the diglossic nature of the Moroccan linguistic landscape, only a minority of my interlocutors were conversant in a sustained monolingual conversation. I resorted to code-switching and lexical borrowing: the intermittent use of Darija, Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) and French – depending on the socio-economic status, education and age of my interlocutors.

How much I knew of Moroccan society Prior to receiving institutional approval to proceed with the ethnographic research, I was required to provide evidence of possessing both the relevant scholarly qualifications and an intimate knowledge of the cultural norms and sensitivities necessary to conduct the fieldwork in an international site. In my response, I emphasized the element of communal trust and recognized that while there was no guarantee that every interviewee would readily agree to participate, with the right kind of contacts and intermediaries I could make myself trustworthy. I asserted, rather erroneously, that there remained in Moroccan society a sense of skepticism toward institutions and institutionalized practices – particularly those mediated by state apparatuses. Instead, currency is given to the personal and informal interactions by way of an informal referral system. At the initial encounter, the participant would have to be convinced of the relevance of my project to his/her life before he/she could fully engage in the conversation. In other words, rather than asking details on whether I possessed the proper qualifications in research methodologies, I anticipated that my interviewees would ask whether the research would be respectful to their cultural/religious/communal particularities, challenge the status quo or provide a venue for their voices to be heard. I also anticipated that any guarantees from me personally would have to be vetted and confirmed by a mutual friend, a neighbor or a family member. Little did I know that many of my interviewees adopted contractual language in the ways in which they protested the undemocratic practices of either the state, financial corporations or individual powerful officials and bureaucrats. Many insisted that state officials meet the constitutional obligations placed upon them. They emphasized their status as “citizens” (muwāţin) worthy of certain “rights” (huquq) that, for the most part, many officials still fail to understand or fully embrace. My goal behind telling this personal story is twofold: to emphasize reflexivity as a methodological device in my research and to shed some light on the kinds of conflicting pressures that might befall a researcher like me – one whose identity can best be described as liminal. Indeed, I am neither on the “inside” nor the “outside” of any predetermined category.3 My in-betweenness is useful to understand my experience of postcoloniality outside postcolonial spaces. In other words, I am a product of postcolonial Morocco who encountered the idea of postcoloniality in

Preface xiii American academe. My status of emigrant/immigrant makes me neither a native nor a complete stranger; I am uprooted from one space and transplanted onto the other. In one space, I am often perceived, and treated, as the occupant of the other; in the process, I “discover myself” to be only halfway present in any given space. Thus, my interactions and encounters take place in a number of heterotopias, or places of otherness.4 The choice to study my native country makes me neither subject of research nor completely outside it. My apprehensions throughout this research have been about reconciling those conflicting demands: linguistic cohesiveness (of my manuscript) despite my participants’ (and my own) diglossia; disciplinary purity notwithstanding my crossdisciplinary curiosity; methodological orthodoxy versus plurality. This book is an attempt to strike a balance among empirical complexity, narrative richness and theoretical rigor. Its intended audience includes students and scholars interested in the MENA (Middle East North Africa) region, critical urban studies and qualitative methodologies. It is not my goal that this book be destined, or accessible to, the general (non-specialized) readership, yet many of the men and women with whom I interacted in Marrakesh showed an eagerness to read about their city from the perspective of a weld-l’bled coming back to the medina. These were graduate students and faculty at Cadi Ayyad University, urban activists and journalists to whom I made a commitment to share my work – in its original version or in translation.

Notes 1 There is an extensive literature on reflexive ethnography whose proponents challenge the positivist claims of value-freedom and argue, as an alternative, that the researcher acknowledge – or better yet, embrace – the dialogical nature of research and his/her deep involvement in constructing the reality he/she analyzes. See Clifford and Marcus, 1986; Atkinson, 1990; Conquergood, 1991; Davies, 2008; Emerson, Fretz, & Shaw, 2011. 2 In “The Performance of Patriotism”, Blanche Davidian (1996, pp. 8–9) talks about an anti-script through which she “disallowed” herself from “acting normal” as she interacted with her ethnographic “subjects”. 3 My motivation is far from being self-congratulatory; on the contrary, I often find my liminality to be a source of anxiety and unease. 4 Foucault likens a heterotopia to a mirror: unlike utopias, heterotopias are real places; they are experienced differently by the occupants and determine/mediate a set of relations, or “emplacements” (Foucault, 1998).

Acknowledgments

El Bahja café at Bab Doukala served mostly local customers and, on occasion, some tourists. The waiter moved around with the ease of a veteran. One could only imagine that he did his job as he had done it for decades  – taking orders of either soda, coffee or mint tea, no frills or fraternizing with customers. His old-fashioned burgundy jacket and silver tray were memorable, as was his brisk attitude. My wife and I disagreed on whether interviewing the waiter was a good idea. I was confident that he would not reciprocate since I was not a regular. My wife, on the other hand, thought his knowledge of the area could be useful to my research. She challenged me to confront my apprehensions and talk to the man. As we were ready to leave, I asked him how long the café had been open. “Thirty to thirty-three years”, he answered nonchalantly as he counted change. “What about you, how long have you been working here?” I asked with a little more confidence. He looked up and replied, “The café opened and I started then”. Encouraged by a slight thaw in his demeanor, I added, “I noticed your red jacket, and I know that only a m’aalem [a master craftsman] would keep wearing it after so many years”. He acknowledged me with a radiant smile and replied, “No doubt!” He then returned my change, shook my hand and went on to serve other customers. My wife was pleased to hear me admit, “I was wrong, he talked to me”. I am, as ever, grateful for her advice, support and keen input, without which this project would not have been possible. The research and writing process has been a rewarding experience, and I would like to thank some colleagues for their support. First, I thank my dissertation committee members – Evan McKenzie, Dennis Judd, Norma Moruzzi, Andi Clarno and David Perry – for their unwavering support, guidance and thoughtful feedback. I am particularly indebted to my friend and colleague Deana Lewis for her insight, wise advice and invaluable assistance during my time in Morocco; to Stephen Engelmann, Joe Hayns and Margaret K. Madhi, who helped refine the final draft of individual chapters; and to Samuel Bassett, Amy Schoenecker and the “Dennis Judd” writing group for their feedback during the writing process. My gratitude to the amazing folks in the Gender and Women’s Studies program – Gayatri Reddy and Natalie Bennett – for the support I received over the last four years of my doctoral studies.

Acknowledgments xv I would like to express my gratitude to The Islamic Scholarship Fund National Scholarship for their generous grant and Centre Jacques Berque for the opportunity to join as a pre-doctoral associate. I am also grateful to my commissioning editor at Routledge, Faye Leerink, and editorial assistant, Ruth Anderson, whose continued support made the dissertation-to-book transition smooth. A special thank you goes to several people in Marrakesh whose generosity, trust and care made my fieldwork more like a homecoming: Soufyan Idrissi Touran, Issam Fadil and Association Mountada Shuruq, Nora Fitzgerald, Moulay Hassan Aladlouni and Youness Merbouhi of Association Amal. Many thanks to my Tamansourt friends, Mohammed Ait Outaleb, Charaf Eddine, Moulay Hafid Qadawi, Abdel Hakim and others; HCP’s Fatima Zahra Garoini, Architect Fouad Idrissi and radio host Mutapha Ghalmane; my fellow Institut Superieur International du Tourisme de Tanger alumni Marouane Lahlou, Youness Sadki and Younes Zegzouti; and my colleagues and students during my short tenure as a teaching fellow at Cadi Ayyad University, Marrakesh. Once again, my gratitude and love to my best friend and life partner and my wonderful parents in law for their unconditional emotional support and faith and confidence in me along the way – none of this would have been possible without you!

Abbreviations

ANAPEC ANHI APOTM AUM CDG CDRT CGEM CGI CIH COTTM CRI CRT CST ERAC FNPI FNT GATT GRIT HACA HCP IBRD ICOMOS IMF INDH MAP MENA MSA NGO OFPPT OJD ONMT PJD

L’Agence Nationale de Promotion de l’Emploi et des Compétences Agence Nationale pour l’Habitat Insalubre Association Provinciale des Operateurs de Tourisme de Marrakech Agence Urbaine de Marrakech Caisse de Dépôt et de Gestion Centre de Développement de la Région de Tansift Confédération Générale des Entreprises du Maroc Compagnie Générale Immobilière Crédit Immobilier et Hôtelier China’s Outbound Travel and Tourism Market Regional Center of Investment Conseil Régional du Tourisme Conseil Supérieur du Tourisme Établissements Régionaux d’Aménagement et de Construction Fédération Nationale des Promoteurs Immobiliers Fédération Nationale du Tourisme General Agreement on Tariff and Trade Groupements Régionaux d’Intérêt Touristique Haute Autorité de la Communication Audiovisuelle Haut Commissariat au Plan International Bank for Reconstruction and Development International Council on Monuments and Sites International Monetary Fund Initiative Nationale de Développement Humain Maghreb Arabe Press Middle East North Africa Modern Standard Arabic non-governmental organization L’Office Pour la Formation Professionnelle Office de Justification de la Diffusion (Maroc) Office National Marocain du Tourisme Justice and Development Party

Abbreviations xvii RADEEMA Régie Autonome de Distribution d’Eau, Assainissement  & Électricité – Marrakech SAP Structural Adjustment Program SDAU Schéma Directeur d’Aménagement Urbain SNEC Société Nationale d’Équipement et de Construction SYBA Sidi Youssef Ben Ali UCLG United Cities and Local Governments UMT Moroccan Workers’ Union UNDP United Nations Development Programme UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization VSB Villes Sans Bidonvilles (Cities without Slums) WTO World Trade Organization

Glossary of Darija/Arabic terms

Amazigh:

(also Berber): Self-identifying non-Arab ethnic groups in Morocco (adoptive language: Tamazight). ’ashwā-iyyāt: (Lit. arbitrary/random things): A  term borrowed from Egyptian nomenclature of slums and referring primarily to the legal, or rather illegal, status of Marrakesh’s douars. Bahja: (Lit. joy, merriment): Often used as a nickname for Marrakesh and/or its people. Dahir: Sultanic or royal decree. Dār: (pl. diour): Traditional house without an inside garden. Darija: Moroccan colloquial version of Arabic, distinguished from Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) and from Tamazight. Derb: (Lit. alleyway): The smallest (public) space in the medina before one could enter the dār (house) or riad. Douar: Non-regulatory informal settlements containing houses (rather than huts) usually built on tribal lands. Distinguishable from shantytowns or bidonvilles, which are nonexistent in Marrakesh. Gauri: (pl. Gûr): A polyvalent epithet denoting white foreigners. Guish: (alt. guich): Pre-modern state’s designation of warrior tribes. Habous: Property/land reserved for Islamic endowment (waqf). Jellaba: Long traditional garb worn by both men and women. Makhzen: A proto-state and a self-perpetuating mode of political and administrative power, the term Makhzen “refers to . . . the royal establishment and governmental network of patron-client relationships”.1 Medina: (m’dina) (Lit. city): Refers, in the Moroccan context, to the old walled part of the city which precedes the French colonial Ville Nouvelle. Melk: Private property. Moussem: An annual festival set around a saint’s shrine (zawiya) which also serves as a crafts and trade fair, a marriage hub and a Sufi fraternities’ gathering. Mqaddem: Neighborhood-based representative of the ministry of interior. Nukta: Joke, witty remark, anecdote.

Glossary of Darija/Arabic terms xix N’sara: Pasha:

(Lit. Christians): A folk referent to (white) Westerners in general. Urban-based representative of the sultanic rule (still adopted by the modern state as low-level agents of the ministry of interior). Riad: (Lit. gardens): Traditional medina house containing an inside garden and a water fountain. Semsar: Traditional real estate agent/intermediary. Souq(sūq): Local marketplace. Sulţah: Political authority, usually in the absolute sense. Sultan: (Lit. possessor of absolute authority): Refers to Morocco’s monarch before the country’s official adoption of the title “malik” (king) in the mid-twentieth century.

A note on the transliteration Throughout this study, the city’s name, “Marrakesh”, is spelled/transliterated in different ways depending on the language of source cited: thus, “Marrakesh” in English; “Marrakech” in French and “Murrakush” in Arabic. Likewise, for the people of, and things, relating to Marrakesh, I chose the adjective “Marrakeshi(s)”.

Note 1  Madhi (2013, p. 268).

1 Introduction

My interest in Marrakesh began in the spring of 2004 when my wife and I visited the city for the first time together hoping to immerse ourselves in the “tourist experience”. Instead, during our stay, we had a first-hand encounter with money and power. I recall the friendly Pizza Hut waiter who warned me that the “tourism police” were rounding up les faux-guides (unauthorized tour guides) because I was in the company of a white tourist. We nevertheless succumbed to the lure of luxury and extravagance in a city where precarity and pauperization were ubiquitous. We set out to visit the famed Churchill Suite, still preserved in one of the city’s historic hotels. As we walked across the hotel’s parking lot, which was heavily guarded and full of luxury cars, our excitement came to an abrupt end. The guards denied us entry on the grounds of our “improper” casual attire. To the hotel staff, our jeans and tennis shoes spoke volumes about who we “truly” were: a young Moroccan faux-guide and a white, fresh-out-of-college woman posing as his partner. We immediately left the premises, realizing that, with or without proper attire, we did not fit the hotel’s desired guest profile. Back in Chicago, we shared the story with our Moroccan friends, one of whom happened to be from Marrakesh. In a show of solidarity, Jamal’s response had a rather chiding tone – “wesh ma-ăraftīsh?” (Didn’t you know?) – as if he were stating the obvious: “Marrakesh will soon impose a travel visa on poor Moroccans”. Jamal’s assertion was meant to be a joke; while no one was amused, I felt a sense of validation. The joke was subversive in nature, a “tiny revolution”, in the Orwellian sense, whereby Marrakeshis console each other, in jest, whenever confronted with the increasingly high cost of living and the “Hogra” (contempt, oppression and injustice) they endure in their city. The joke, indeed, had a potent redemptive value for the subaltern; Hogra is not due to one’s inadequacy but rather to the incongruities inherent to touristic rituals when they intersect with longstanding relations of power and money. A decade later, I found myself back in Marrakesh (as a doctoral researcher) to further understand those power dynamics. While no travel visa had been imposed on the locals, I found out that Hogra persisted, as did Marrakeshi satire. Indeed, Marrakesh continues to be a site of various forms of exclusionary practices resulting from attempts to reorient the city toward the global market.

2  Introduction Since the mid-1990s, Marrakesh has evolved as a “world-class destination” by attracting flows of capital devoted to building a tourism sector and creating a diverse real estate market. The construction of tourist and entertainment facilities, large-scale housing projects and gated communities, as well as the marketization of a large area of gentrifiable houses in the historic quarters of the city, have become the modus operandi for the state and its private partners to respond to the “economic imperative” of growth. The economic imperative, alone, is hard to attend to if not invigorated by a political logic and an institutional and ideological practice. For instance, in order to meet the expectations of a world-class clientele, Marrakesh’s elite prioritize “modernization” as a strategy. The official storyline about the new Marrakesh unfolds in the following manner: in a country whose monarch is a descendent of Islam’s Arabian prophet, the Commander of the Faithful and guarantor of its stability, tradition has much political and symbolic capital. In addition to tradition, Morocco is also a territory (and perhaps the only one) where tradition and modernity can be “sighted” together, and since the two (it is assumed) are mutually exclusive categories, Morocco becomes a unique destination, a land of magic.1 Marrakesh is a microcosm of the country, by virtue of its status in history, and hence the best possible site for government policies to create a space for modernity and tradition to “cohabit”. Ultimately, this rhetoric relegates the marginal “Other” and the space they occupy to the status of “traditional” against which a “modern” vision for the city emerges. On the ground, the modernization strategy, a reoccurring theme in Moroccan politics, creates an urban spatial structure that is highly segmented between areas of development and “islands” of marginality. As a result, the Marrakeshi communities who prize the “use value” of their space experience further marginalization in the process. Marrakesh is strategically situated on the flat plane of the Haouz region, between the Atlas Mountains and the Sahara Desert, at about 150 miles south of the coastal city of Casablanca (see Figure 1.1). Marrakesh is currently the nation’s fourth largest and slowest-growing city in its league with an average population growth of 5.7% between 1950 and 2010 compared to 116.9% in Agadir, 19% in the capital Rabat and 7% in Casablanca (see Figure 1.2). Between 1950 and 1960, Marrakesh was the second most populated city in the country (Kamal, 2010). Compared to its North African counterparts, Marrakesh has the largest medina; it covers an area of 1,656 acres and houses over 20% of the Marrakeshi population (Schéma Directeur d’Aménagement Urbain, 2008, p. 85). The number of foreign residents in Marrakesh reached 3,500 in 2004 at a growth rate of 71% since 1994 compared to 2.5% nationally and an estimated 5,000 and 6,764 in 2007 and 2014 respectively (Haut Commissariat au Plan, 2009, 2015). The majority of foreign residents (60% in 2004) live in the district of Gueliz outside the medina. In its 2008 Schéma Directeur, the city’s Urban Agency warns that “a strong social and spatial disparity. . ., which is more apparent between the rehabilitated quarter and others, [is] reinforced by turning traditional homes into guest houses” (ibid, p. 85).

Introduction 3

Figure 1.1  Marrakesh location

In 1985 Marrakesh made the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO)’s World Heritage List of cities with “outstanding universal value” (UNESCO, 2005). The imperial city of the Moroccan south was said to “represent a masterpiece of human creative genius and exhibit an important interchange of human values” (ibid). In particular, Marrakesh’s old medina was hailed for its exceptional architectural feat exemplifying a distinct epoch in human history. In the ensuing decades, Marrakesh set out on a path to turn itself into a major destination for European tourists, conventioneers and real estate pioneers. In 2001, UNESCO classified the city’s most iconic square (Jamaa el-Fna) as a “Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity”. The medina (the city’s old quarters) has become the subject of a private-led gentrification to mitigate the effect of centuries-old official neglect. The most valuable, and controversial, commodity in the city’s plan to revitalize its medina has

4  Introduction 4,500 4,000 3,500 3,000

Agadir

2,500

Casablanca

2,000

Fès

Marrakech

1,500

Rabat

1,000

Tanger

500 —

Figure 1.2  Morocco’s urban population in six largest cities in thousands (1950–2025) Source: United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division

been the traditional houses known as riads. According to the city’s unofficial web portal, the “fashionable” riads “resurrect an art of living that Moroccans themselves had almost forgotten”.2 The riads, built as early as the sixteenth century, are located in the narrow labyrinths of the old medina. This type of traditional dwelling is popular among Western expatriates who purchase and renovate them and then convert them into business ventures or second homes. For the European nouveau resident, the riad experience is a cultural immersion among the locals – one that is more authentic than the conventional tourist product. The European riad owner is no longer experiencing the city as if she were Marrakeshi; she is one. The nouveau resident’s claim of status as a “real Marrakeshi” is correlative with a set of assumptions about the “nature” of the host population (easy-going, welcoming, tolerant, cosmopolitan and so on). Such a claim also speaks to the particular characteristics of the commodity in question, the socially -constituted dispositions of their consumers and the kind of promises made (either in advertising campaigns or in policy formulations) in order to gratify such dispositions (Bourdieu, 2005, pp. 15, 23). This form of gentrification is controversial as many original riad owners belong to the poor and disenfranchised classes – the city’s elites moved to the ville nouvelle after Morocco’s independence. In the absence of government initiatives to maintain the medina, these dwellings are significantly dilapidated. As a result, many of the families have been persuaded to sell their homes at prices which, in global market standards, remain low.

Introduction 5 The medina is not the only urban space that is transformed by capital; other residential and industrial areas are also subjected to such transformations. Those extended families who sold their riads are scattered in government-subsidized apartments in new suburbs such as Tamansourt, Azzouzia and M’hamid (see Figure 1.3). Under the monarch’s command3 and with governmental collaboration providing land, the private sector built and marketed 200,000 social housing units in Tamansourt, located 10 miles northwest of the city. Halfway between the medina and Tamansourt, a two-mile strip of workshops, showrooms, garages and art galleries, Quartier Industriel Sidi Ghanem, is where the local government seeks to attract offshoring investments by foreign expatriates. Already saturated

Figure 1.3  The Marrakesh-Tamansourt axis

6  Introduction in 2008, an extension project was initiated by al-Omrane Group, the powerful semi-public land development and construction holding, annexing an additional 185 acres (45 land parcels) to the existing 432 acres (500 parcels). These urban transformations have serious implications at the social level. In the absence of government regulations to organize the market and determine its long-term objectives within a vision of sustainable development for the city, the economic gains are concentrated in the hands of the few. Further, the socioeconomic gap between the locals and the newcomers exacerbates the sense of powerlessness of the former group and the presumed “superiority” of the latter, thereby recreating and refashioning colonial hierarchies. Meanwhile, Marrakeshis are bombarded with messages stressing the necessity of maintaining their image as “tolerant, hospitable and friendly” and the image of Marrakesh as a city where “modernity and authenticity” live side by side and where “the senses feast”. One of the earliest media campaigns targeting the local population in the mid-1990s was a TV advertisement which aimed to “raise awareness” about the harms of informal services on the tourism-based economy. The TV advertisement taught that practices such as non-authorized guided tours, pick-pocketing and overcharging tourists were bad for the economy – since they would drive the tourists, and their hard currencies, away. To be sure, the media – often the state’s mouthpiece – propagate the problematic understanding of citizenship as “le vivre ensemble” (living together), which seems to have been uncritically imported from the French political scene.4 The discourse of citizenship-as-cohabitation exhibits a set of inconsistencies: first, it presupposes that the state has already dispensed, and is protecting, the rights and protections of its citizenry. Second, it contradicts the aspirations of marginalized communities who insist that citizenship is, primarily, the capacity to claim those rights and protections under the new constitutional mandate to further involve civil society in political life. Third, this discourse is imbricated with the biopolitical techniques – that is, interventions to control, discipline and manage the population by way of scientific means – aiming to produce the “modern” Moroccan citizen: one who is no longer a recipient of rights but must “realize and actualize” herself through action in her own self-management in a highly competitive market (Murray, 2008, p. 27). While there is no consensus on whether this spatial practice is “a good thing” for the city, a sense of loss of the locals’ lived space is clearly expressed in popular consciousness and humor. It was rumored that the new neighbors in gentrified areas celebrated “the last Moroccan out” in an upscale party. Marrakeshis often joke about the unaffordability of living in their city. Whether these stories are fictitious, they nonetheless contest the new forms of citizenship that result from the commodification of space. When I returned to Marrakesh in the spring of 2014, my research goal was to learn more about the spatial practices and discursive formations shaping this assemblage of proximities and the potentially troublesome voisinage between subordinate and superordinate, locals and newcomers, state and citizenry, capital and working class. I knew well that narrowing the physical distance among socially distant communities does not go unnoticed or unexamined. Certainly, the

Introduction 7 subaltern cast their gaze, observe, interpret and, most importantly, speak about the changes underway in their city. What I learned was the degree to which these spatial practices were imbued with historically and ideologically motivated power structures. This book grows out of my dissertation research and is a qualitative examination of the processes of urban restructuring operating in Marrakesh and their implications on the local population. It is structured around two coterminous modalities of power: control and resistance. To that end, this study puts forward the following propositions: first, I propose that institutions of the national state, private actors who invest in real estate and local enterprises and media institutions are attempting to turn Marrakesh into a world destination for tourists and capital investment. To do so, they endeavor to construct, or “brand”, Marrakesh as a city that offers both a unique patrimony and heritage and a cosmopolitan culture of consumption. Second, I propose that Marrakesh has become a “contested terrain” in which local residents attempt to modify or resist policies and practices that favor external investment and gentrification over local priorities, social practices and urban culture. The book intersects with the recent literature exemplifying the relationship between political economy and the formation of new subjectivities5 in a way hitherto rarely studied – particularly in the context of cities of the Arab world currently experiencing significant political transitions. This book has the ambitious goal of arranging in one analytic framework questions of (post)coloniality, ideology, heritage-commodification, subjectivity and counter-conduct in the shade of global capitalism. I argue that the state and corporate spatial practices (i.e., gentrification, housing mega-projects, tourism infrastructure), legitimized by a hegemonic discursive structure, instantiate a range of shifting subjectivities which, in turn, shape the ways in which Marrakeshis engage in counter-conduct. An immediate goal of this study is to understand the degree to which city branding practices square with the often conflicting dynamics of state practice, real estate capital, media and advertising discourses and the residents’ responses. It is therefore necessary to delineate the main actors involved in these dynamics: institutions of the national state, the local government, private actors, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) and the media. On the one hand, the state orchestrates the depopulation of the historic neighborhoods deemed essential for the branding of the city; it then opens the field to the NGOs and the media to construct a marketable and consumable “patrimony”. On the other hand, private actors who invest in real estate and tourism benefit from favorable policies and sprawl into peripheral land. Gentrification is central to this study only insofar as it facilitates an analysis of power relations, which arise from some elements unique to Marrakesh. First, it brings together all kinds of actors: the locals, the state, capitalist interests, NGOs, Western gentrifiers and real estate promoters. These various actors use Marrakesh as a space to interact, negotiate and form alliances which determine the city’s future. For instance, much of Marrakesh’s old quarters depend on international NGOs to maintain their patrimonial value and on market-centered economic policies to attract

8  Introduction and accommodate international capital, but the city in general suffers resource limitations. Second, gentrification exemplifies, more than any other spatial practice in Marrakesh, a complex system of differentiations. That is to say, while these processes and interactions do indeed affect the people of Marrakesh, they do so differentially. Hence, other variables intervene in this process; class and economic differences, linguistic or cultural differences (as we shall see in the section on media) and the production of and access to knowledge and differences in competence (as the policy analysis section reveals).6 Third, gentrification as a spatial practice allows an understanding of the ways in which opposing strategies and tactics proliferate beyond the (particularly) gentrified space. As a cautionary note against seeing gentrification in Marrakesh through the lens of Western cities, the former is hardly about “the recovery of an elegant history in the quaint mews and alleys of old cities” (Neil Smith, 1996, p. 36). Instead, it is “bound up” with an even “larger restructuring” scheme involving political, administrative and economic spheres at the local, national and international scales (ibid). Gentrification in Marrakesh is inscribed in a political environment in which the state induces, and mediates, spatial and social change through what I call a “juridical-economic status quo”.

Governing Marrakesh in the global era In Moroccan vernacular, it is often said that the world in the global era has become a “small village”. Whether or not this analogy has any serious analytic import, the uncanny use of “village” rather than “city” instructs us to think of globalization’s central paradox: those very urbanites who make globalization happen in the South are the ones who render the city irrelevant, if not “villagelike”.7 The urban elites live in one city (e.g., Marrakesh) and shop, celebrate New Year’s Eve, educate their children and seek medical treatment in Paris, Barcelona, London or Milan. Globalization, however one might choose to define it, is one of the processes affecting the economic, political and social life in all cities of the globe.8 Marrakesh’s Urban Agency, in its policy papers, envisions the city’s future as one that is “at the crossroads of urbanization and globalization” (SDAU, 2008, p. 5). Globalization is an historical trend of growing and deepening interconnectedness among people and societies worldwide. To some, globalization also means the “homogenizing impact of global capital” (Giddens, 1990, cited in Naples & Desai, 2002, p. 14). Since capitalism is essentially an expansionary and polarizing system (Wood, 1999; Amin, 2000), its “globality” has touched all aspects of contemporary urban (and certainly rural) life, from the economic to the political, the financial to the sociocultural. The growing transnational financial nodes have intensified inter-urban networks while the intra-national distances and linkages became weaker (Abrahamson, 2004). This is also true for the major cities in the global South; they have become increasingly connected to the major nodes of global capital while the periphery (be it the shantytowns or the “economically dormant” villages) are increasingly alienated. Against the “homogenizing” account about, and of, globalization, Ananya Roy and Aihwa Ong (2011) argue that the reliance on a “singular causality” such as

Introduction 9 global capitalism is an unwarranted generalization that smacks of “economistic . . . reductionism” (pp. 2–6). Roy and Ong suggest that we look beyond the lens of the growing transnational financial nodes that have intensified inter-urban networks and, instead, think of cities as “sites for launching world-conjuring projects” (p. 1). Cities, Roy and Ong tell us, are “caught in the vectors of particular histories, national aspirations, and flows of cultures”. Since urbanites in the global South “like to think of their hometown as having some degree of global significance”, it is useful to consider the multiple ways those residents act in order to “symbolically re-situate” their city beyond the “mega-projects supported by politicians, planners, and boosters” (ibid, p. 13). It is in this backdrop that cities like Marrakesh become contested terrains where residents resist policies and practices that favor attractiveness over local priorities. Situating the book in the literature This book seeks to enrich the scholarly understanding of contemporary Morocco, a country often hailed for its “exceptionalism” vis-à-vis other North African spaces of insecurity, sectarian strife and ongoing travel warnings. Yet there is a dearth of monographs devoted to specific Moroccan cities. The book acknowledges the unique contributions made in contemporary Moroccan studies investigating questions of spatiality and subjectivities, along with local identities, as products of globalization. For instance, McMurray’s work titled In and Out of Morocco: Smuggling and Migration in a Frontier Boomtown (2001) addresses the ways in which global processes are intricately interwoven with local practices. Through the motifs of memory, nostalgia, departure and return, McMurray weaves a compelling narrative of how (labor) migration and informality (McMurray uses the term “smuggling” instead) (re)shape local values and hierarchies in a border town in northern Morocco. Through the same lens of global and local processes, Crawford’s findings recorded in his 2008 Moroccan Households in the World Economy on the root causes of global capitalism’s expansion, and appeal, are indeed useful. The youth of a small village near Marrakesh are attracted to capitalism because of the latter’s hegemonic status among, and hostility toward, “other social orders”, its false promise of “selfbetterment” and its being “implemented by national and international elites beyond the control of regular people” (158). Further, Gottreich’s The Mellah of Marrakesh: Jewish and Muslim Space in Morocco’s Red City (2007) investigates how Marrakesh’s Jewish quarters exemplify “traditional spatial . . . arrangements”, mediated by sultanic rule and European encroachment, that shape the city’s inter-communal relations and its urban fabric (2008, pp. 10–11). Finally, Newcomb’s Women of Fes Ambiguities of Urban Life in Morocco (2010) focuses on the gendered dynamics of Fes’s ville nouvelle. Premised on an “ideological” charge of “being” of Fes (p. 34), Newcomb investigates the ways in which Fes residents, particularly women, navigate the social and ideological spaces to carve their own identities (p. 9). Newcomb’s Women of Fes and this book share common themes: first, the paradox of women’s NGOs as both spaces for “women’s rights” and an outlet through which the central state shirks its responsibility to mitigate the deleterious effects of neoliberal

10  Introduction capitalism (p. 93). Second, the use of rumor as a way for urbanites to express their “solidarity over obstacles, outsiders, and adversaries” (p. 33). Koenraad Bogaert’s most recent monograph titled, Globalized Authoritarianism: Megaprojects, Slums, and Class Relations in Urban Morocco (2018), is a welcome contribution to the field. In his book, Bogaert focuses on the “deeply political” nature of the most recent installation of mega-projects (marinas, highend residential and commercial centers) across Morocco’s major cities (primarily Casablanca and Rabat). He argues that far from being evidence of “gradual democratization or liberalization”, these mega-projects are concrete – that is, on the ground – instances of how authoritarianism mutates “through its interaction with a rationale of economic liberalization” as it “converges with increasing globalization” (p. 9). These mega-projects operate in Morocco’s contested political landscape, according to Bogaert, as both a “class project” and a “governmental problem” (p. 4). In the first instance, the city emerges as “a place of extraction”, its infrastructure as a dispositif (mechanism) “to extract surplus value and profit” while, in the second instance, the city becomes a “laboratory for the development of new modalities of government, social control and political domination” (p. 5). The connection between Bogaert’s “Globalized Authoritarianism” and this book can hardly be overemphasized, and it is refreshing to see that a book of Bogaert’s caliber is treating a related topic, utilizing comparable methodological and theoretical instruments. However, while Bogaert focuses on the ways in which megaprojects in two large sized cities serve as dispositifs of authoritarian control and domination, this book concerns itself with a wider spectrum of (superordinate) spatial practices in a medium-sized city as well as a whole range of (subordinate) struggles and positions. Put simply, readers who are interested in understanding Moroccan urbanism in the shadow of twenty-first-century neoliberalism will find it useful to learn about how mega-projects transform Casablanca and Rabat but also how large- and small-scale projects shape Marrakesh and its residents and, most importantly, how these residents contest power. Other Moroccanists have underscored the role of language, gender and land tenure systems as well as ideology and state education in mediating subjectivities (Hoffman, 2008; Boutieri, 2016). To be sure, some of the most cited ethnographies on Morocco inform us on the question of subjectivities in the rural/peripheral context, and only a minority of monographs have explicitly urban foci – e.g., Rabat (Abu-Lughod, 1980); Casablanca (Ossman, 1994); Beni Mellal (Kapchan, 1996); Nador (McMurray, 2001); Fes (Newcomb, 2009); Casablanca and Rabat (Bogaert, 2018). Amid this intermittent interest in updating the scholarship on Moroccan urbanity, one is left wondering why is there not a monograph on the world’s third most popular travel destination?9 Method, justification and structure Drawing on methodological frameworks from urban studies, policy and media studies, anthropology and sociology, I examine the modalities of power, that is, control and resistance, in the following way. In addition to the material-institutional

Introduction 11 modes of control, I am also interested in the symbolic-ideological modes of control – media discourses, promotion and advertising strategies – as well as the ways in which such control is resisted. Of equal importance is unpacking the relational patterns among the groups in question as well as the broad structural (i.e., social, economic and political) arrangements which orchestrate such power relations. I argue that the modes of control, solidarity and resistance that manifest themselves in Marrakesh can be empirically assessed according to the following matrix. Space, whether public, semi-public or private, includes the home, the derb, the workplace and the marketplace. People who share, negotiate, interact in or compete over said space. Events whose function is to “bring together” these people in a particular space. Artifacts whose function is to “mediate” such interactions, negotiations and resistances (i.e., street graffiti, street signs, real estate advertising material, TV, print and online media). The study utilizes a variety of approaches to single-case study: First, I adopt a historical process research approach in order to develop a narrative of how the city of Marrakesh emerged as an entertainment and consumption machine. To that end, I review a large body of primary and secondary sources ranging from writings by colonial officials, historiographies of the different eras in Moroccan history and royal decrees. The first part of my narrative discusses the rationale for establishing the city and its rise to power and decline by the sixteenth century. The second part focuses on Marrakesh during the colonial era and traces the evolution of urban administration since its inception in the early twentieth century. The importance of developing a narrative cannot be overstated: the urban condition is essentially a global historical process whose understanding hinges on analyzing its past trends. In an attempt to establish continuity from the precolonial to the postcolonial eras, I argue that trans-Saharan trade, colonialism, migration and globalization have induced a set of macrotransformations that made Marrakesh what it is today. Second, I adopt a critical discourse analysis of four sets of media sources collected between January 2013 and July 2015. The media sources are composed of 200 articles from three national newspapers in Arabic, three national newspapers in French and one local newspaper in Arabic. The articles were collected both in print and electronic formats and were coded in terms of the various themes and frames to which they referred. I take the stance that media representations do not merely report on “a world out there”, but rather reflect “the practices of those having the power to determine the experience of others” (Molotch & Lester, 1974, p. 111). The goal is to excavate the various ways in which the city and its neighborhoods are framed as spaces of (among others) consumption, poverty, threat, illegality and so on. Third, I analyze Marrakesh’s urbanism documents as the prime corpus through which the state and its administrative and political elites express its urban policy pronouncements. I undertake a postpositivist interpretive approach

12  Introduction to policy formulations which inscribes policy in the political-ideological sphere (Smith & Larimer, 2009, pp. 116–120). Policy formulations rely on certain frames, tropes and narratives to argue certain policy problems and prescribe “suitable” solutions. I build on this line of argument by, first, discussing the knowledge claims of the policy elite as a way to justify the ideological import of their “solutions”. Next, I elaborate on the contended understandings and representations of space and its (assumed) functions. I then consider the various constitutive elements of spatial and social interventions as advocated by the dominant classes of policy elites while taking into account the relationships among these elements of intervention and their respective advocates. Finally, I address the question of whether there is a unifying spatial strategy for the city. Fourth, my ethnography consists of interviews with 60 individuals composed of the following demographics: residents, street vendors, activists and city officials, real estate agents (semsars), architects, current and previous riad owners, women and men working in the riad sector. Because my research seeks to unearth complex, and often conflicting, narratives of how the city evolved and how its residents are affected, I opted for semi-structured interviews as well as focus groups. The purpose of conducting semi-structured interviews is twofold: on the one hand, to gather and document the “knowledge” of the city’s political elite as well as its “policy entrepreneurs”. On the other hand, to probe all kinds of perceptions, attitudes, opinions and positions of my interviewees with regard to the political, economic and social changes taking place in their midst. The focus group approach enabled me to trace the ways in which these perceptions, attitudes, opinions and positions are negotiated among peers. As mentioned prior, among the ways in which many Marrakeshis (particularly the young and disenfranchised) express their disapproval of the realities surrounding them is through the deployment of humor and rumor. After all, Marrakesh is nicknamed the bahja (joy and merriment), and the Marrakeshis are typecast as a people of humor and comedic wit. To that end, I aim to unpack the politicospatial import of humor (cf. “travel visa”) and rumor (cf. “last Moroccan out”) in expressing anxiety with the modern, exposing the incongruities of modern urbanity, expressing relief and ultimately constructing “closer social relations . . . neighborly feelings and kinship ties” (Kapferer, 1990, p. 50). In sum, the ethnographic approach has allowed me to develop an account of how the everyday activities of the Marrakeshi population (in select neighborhoods) are affected by these urban transformations, how they negotiate their place in the new city and how they deploy structures to adopt a sense of identity and territoriality in a contested urban environment. Further, through ethnography, I examine how the wholesale restructuring of the city of Marrakesh – gentrification of the medina, sprawl onto communal land and removal of working-class families – reshapes such social markers and boundaries as class, gender and citizenship. I also analyze the different meanings and functions space serves from the perspective of the (dominant) groups as well as its (dominated) occupants. Indeed, such meanings

Introduction 13 and functions are far from being monolithic since class and gender (inter alia) determine the ways in which communities interact with the built environment. Designed in terms of encounters, interactions and confrontations among the various (extra)urban actors, this book is divided into seven chapters. In chapter 2, I explore these encounters, interactions and confrontations among institutional actors exercising what I term “the institutional control” over the city. These encounters take place, first, between the colonial and national state, between the local and central state and, finally, between the state and global capital. I argue that Marrakesh has been subjected to three main paths of transformations: (i) isolation from its regional and historical contexts and the resulting dependence on European economies, (ii) unmaking of the historical urban fabric and (iii) search for a “lost” authenticity by way of commodification (of its essence). Chapter 2 focuses on the ways in which colonialism and globalization profoundly shape the urban and social fabric of the city. The crisis which plagued Morocco’s economy from the eighteenth century onward cannot be understood in isolation from the development of Western capitalism and its encroachment on Moroccan life by way of colonialism. The colonial order had uprooted Marrakesh from its historical and regional context as a major center of trans-Saharan trade. The colonial order sought to modernize the city by way of an alien urban policy. After the country’s independence, the national state remained faithful to the “modernization” agenda and wagered on Marrakesh’s touristic value as a source of economic development. A century later, the city is still enmeshed in a web of economic dependence on global capital, deepening the social disparities among its population. After setting the historical scene, a discussion of globalization and its correlative effects on the city’s image and structure follows. While it is true that globalization is one of the main processes affecting the economic, political and social life in all cities of the globe, it does so differentially rather than universally. Due to resource limitations, cities of the global South exhibit some distinguishing traits. Such cities scramble to offset the financial need by appealing to international philanthropic donations (particularly the cities that can showcase a “universal historical heritage”) and by embracing economic policies as dictated by the three largest financial institutions (International Monetary Fund [IMF], World Trade Organization [WTO] and the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development [IBRD]). The import of this macro-economic bent in my study is that the Moroccan central government’s relentless effort to attract foreign investments is exerted in an environment of “underdeveloped” human capital – particularly in Marrakesh, a city exclusively envisioned as an entertainment and consumption machine. This remains a preliminary finding and will have to be evidenced in the ethnographic and documental study. Chapter 3 explores the processes by which a “Marrakesh identity” is being constructed and branded. While the state and its institutions play a major role in positioning Marrakesh within its vision for economic development, the private sector is directly involved in the branding processes. It is important to point out that constellations of actors are actively involved, not necessarily in a coordinated way, in this image-construction, but for the most part the private sector leads this effort while the state and NGOs play auxiliary roles. The chapter develops a

14  Introduction narrative determining how urban space in Marrakesh evolved to become “national patrimony” and a resource open to capitalist exploitation and tourist consumption. I also examine how this national patrimony is turned into a commodity and how this process repurposes Marrakesh’s spaces, people and social relations. In this chapter, I investigate the socio-economic inequalities resulting from historically entrenched commodification of Marrakesh’s heritage. In essence, all stratified social systems which exhibit deep inequalities often attempt not only to justify such inequalities, but also normalize them. The chapter also discusses how Marrakesh is made up of (micro)spaces of exception that enable the tourists to experience it on their own terms. The chapter then concludes with the image crises that affected the city during the 2010s and the ways in which the Moroccan regime, and the city’s boosters, proceeded to salvage the Marrakesh brand. Chapters 4 through 6 delve into this process of normalization by way of media, advertising and policy discourses. In chapter 5, the analysis rests on the understanding that individual media articles cannot be studied in isolation from their wider contexts: media content is therefore a pastiche of references, quotations and allusions from other “texts”. Intertextuality, therefore, calls for an integration of other “agents”, both internal and external (to the article itself), which co-produce journalistic reality as a cohesive whole (Richardson, 2007, pp. 100–106). Hence, in addition to the reader-text-newspaper triplet, I add “space” in order to emphasize the interface between the urban space and social space on the one hand and the journalistic field on the other. I take a slightly different turn from most works on media analyses (particularly of the MENA region) which focus either on media development in history or the so-called newsmaking practices.10 In addition to their unwarranted reification of “Arab media” and “Arab politics”, such approaches focus on the rather limiting concern of whether, and to what extent, MENA media are an expression of “freedom of speech” (Rugh, 1979, 2004; Eickelman & Anderson, 2003; Gunaratne, 2001; Douai, 2009; Orlando, 2009). I therefore adopt a corpus-discursive approach in order to reveal the power relations and dividing and homogenization practices which operate through the print media corpus. First, I analyze the ways in which content is reported from the (divergent) points of view of news promoters, assemblers and consumers (Molotch & Lester, 103–104). News promoters, or stakeholders, are the entities on behalf of whom a news article speaks. The question, in other words, is whether the newspaper/ reporter act as a proxy-voice for said entities. It is important to either confirm or challenge the assertion that “journalists’ reliance on elite sources . . . means that even if they dispute the source’s assumptions or conclusions, they will still construct the story in terms established by that source” (Nelson, Oxley, & Clawson, 1997, p. 238, cited in Johnson-Cartee, 2005, p. 190). Following a straightforward, and indeed intuitive, understanding of journalism as the “reporting of events, issues, and trends”, (Detrani, 2011, p. 7) the variable “content” includes the same three constitutive elements: 1

Events: occurrences that happen or “take place” in space and henceforth become an “object of the social world” (Appelbaum, 1973, cited in Molotch & Lester, 1974, p. 102).

Introduction 15 2

3

Issues: here, I  find the Oxford English Dictionary (OED)’s definition pertinent; an issue is a “matter . . . which remains to be decided [and] which involves important consequences”. Media issues call that “something needs to be done” and entice the readers’ action. Trends: a trend is a “general course” or a prevailing direction of something (OED). Media trends involve some level of analysis to determine stability, an underlying history or the way in which something has evolved into its current stage.

All these three content elements involve temporality and action, and each is an action-in-time in its own tight: events involve actions “caught in the moment” by the reporter; trends give meaning to past actions/practices; and issues11 are temporal disruptions lacking a genealogy and require ulterior action. Second, I focus on the elements of discursive representation of Marrakeshrelated content through an analysis of language, frame and form, which together impute: 1

2 3

Classification: whether the article adopts an evaluative/valuative stance – rather than a simply descriptive one – toward the subject of report. This also takes account of whether the report endorses the promoters’ angle in order to: (a) normalize a certain social or political reality, practice or power structure or (b) pathologize certain spaces, (counter)behaviors or entire groups within the Marrakeshi population. In/out-group bias: whether the media content “favors” in-groups, further ostracizes the out-groups and, ultimately, justifies patterns of social exclusion. (Inter)subjectivity: not whether, but how, the media-industry, as a discursive practice, and a “formative factor” in the making of the subject, (a) constructs a “space for the self” telling its consumers “what people are” and “who they think they are” (Corner, 2011, pp. 86–87) and (b) carves out a space for itself in order to mediate social relation. This is important in figuring out how and in what contexts national and local media, in Arabic and French, cast themselves as the reformist/vanguard/conservative “voice that needs to be heard”.

Finally, I sketch how media discourses concoct what I call “symbolic topographies” by which Marrakesh and its neighborhoods are represented and whether such topographies induce conflicting ideologies. For instance, when a particular (traditional) neighborhood is represented as primarily a tourist space, conflicts between “family” ideologies and ideologies of “conspicuous consumption” become inevitable (Castells & Godard, 1974, pp. 266–269). Chapter 5 undertakes a thorough analysis of the legal texts, government-issued reports and reports by non-governmental and international institutions in order to trace, on the one hand, the legal and juridical foundations of Marrakesh’s territorial restructuring and land-use policy and, on the other hand, the challenges to governing. The policy formulations under study in this chapter are analyzed within the historical contexts in which they were initiated. Such analysis, as Castells and Godard argue, constitutes “the very heart of all concrete analyses of

16  Introduction the social processes relating to the urban [question]” (1974, p. 293, translation mine).12 Far from being a straightforward, apolitical guide of standard operating procedures, Marrakesh’s urbanism documents conceal beneath the technical language the ideological elements in a purely political process. This chapter adds to the preceding analyses by underscoring the various ways policy discourses ideologically frame the city and its neighborhoods as spaces of commodified memory, state intervention, social stigma, modernity/tradition synthesis and finally areas of fledgling neoliberalism. With the city residents reduced to the status of “nonactors”, the city’s policy documents amount to no more than a blueprint for the state-operated urban machine to monopolize policy. As this study reveals, the political and juridical apparatuses of the colonial and early-national order still shape the modern Moroccan state. In the field of urban policy, the technocratic elite maintains a certain ideological rigidity in the guise of technical, and market, expediency. In the process, the urban policy documents and practices reveal a systemic marginalization of the working class and the local political class. The ethnographic sections of this book focus on the ways in which the city’s residents interpret those urban processes and receive/perceive the changes underway in their neighborhoods. In chapter 6, I attempt to disclose the “social structures” of the housing market by focusing on the large-scale housing projects as well as the “niche” housing market of riads. I examine the ways in which the Moroccan state contributes to the double construction of the housing market – that is, demand and supply. For the former, the state and its capitalist allies construct a host of individual and social dispositions toward living in such “inferior” categories as “slums”, “douars” or “insalubrious housing” through, inter alia, relentless ad campaigns. While for the latter, the state grants all kinds of advantages to the developers (financialization of the housing market, aggregation of the real estate interest into powerful lobbying bloc, etc.). A parallel discourse takes place in the construction of the riad “niche”. In the process, social identities are (re) constructed and (re)shaped as a result of both the institutional and ideological practice (i.e., branding discourses, marketing, etc.). Since Marrakesh is enmeshed in a national inter-urban network in which the state and real estate corporations play a major role, economic restructuring and state restructuring are intimately connected. The resulting effect of such interconnection at the local level is, as Feagin and Smith write, a “household and community restructuring” (1997, 30). Chapter 7 is based on extensive ethnographic field work to “dig out” the various subjectivities resulting from the narrowing of the physical distance among socially distant communities. This chapter postpones the domination/contestation impulse and seeks to take seriously what Jessop and Sum call a third “injunction” toward a “cultural political economy” (2013, p. 193). The said injunction involves a “focus on the (in)stability and the interplay of objects-subjects in the remaking of social relations – and hence the importance of remaking subjectivities as part of the structural transformation and actualization of objects” (ibid, p. 194). For instance, we know that the neoliberal order “normalizes the logics of individualism and entrepreneurialism, equating individual freedom with self-interested choices, making individuals responsible for their own well-being, and redefining

Introduction 17 citizens as consumers and clients” (Leitner, Peck, & Sheppard, 2007, p. 2). There is, however, a dearth of local accounts of how this process takes place. Instead, we are left with the “black box” which reinforces the idea of neoliberalism as a monolithic structure, its actors as universal subjects and subalternities as merely “demographic difference” within the same narrative of victimhood (Roy, 2011, p. 229). Hence, chapter 7 pursues the ways in which the regime of “temporary, casualised and precarious employment” – largely embedded within the visions of urban growth in cities around the world – takes on a new form in Marrakesh’s gentrified space.13 Chapter 7 also focuses on fragmented, non-confrontational forms of resistance (counter-conduct). The chapter is divided into three spatially and topically specific sections: each section focuses on a distinct territory in/adjacent to Marrakesh as well as a distinct form of counter-conduct. As such, the first section is centered on Gueliz, where a non-profit organization provides on-site training to disadvantaged women to enter the labor market. The second section takes us to M’hamid, a new but marginalized Marrakesh neighborhood, where a civil society group prioritizes legal and political awareness as a form of activism. The second section heads northwest to Tamansourt where street vendors enact various forms of “silent encroachment” to expose the dystopian nature of their city. The third section takes us back to the medina where residents deploy (verbal) infrapolitical resistance to reclaim their right to the city. My ethnographic work reveals that the forms of counter-conduct I identified are far from monolithic. To illustrate, the medina residents “resist” in distinct ways from the residents of the newer marginal neighborhoods, and, likewise, women adopt distinct ways of counterconduct compared to their male counterparts, even within the same spatial context. Further, while many civil society groups simply appease the political order to secure some short-term benefits, others adopt other, non-confrontational forms of counter-conduct. This chapter seeks to reveal how informality, rumor and humor are the preferred means to engage in oppositional politics. As such, for those communities who adopted informality, their goal was not mere to survive, but rather to express their grievances against the failing policies, unresponsive private sector and corrupt local authorities. Further, transmission of rumors also serves as a form of infrapolitical, surreptitious resistance. An analysis of specific rumors reveals that Marrakeshis are in tune with the political changes in their midst and are invested in taking the political authority to task as a form of resistance. Finally, Marrakeshi humor deploys such rhetorical devices as absurdity, heresy and transgression as social correctives to what “went wrong” in their city. The presumed “takeover” by Europeans coupled by an absence of government regulations to organize the real estate market is a major source of disquiet among Marrakeshis. Further, the socio-economic gap between the newcomers and the locals exacerbates the sense of powerlessness of the Marrakeshis and the presumed superiority of the foreigners, thereby recreating and refashioning colonial hierarchies. Against this background, the rumors and jokes under study exemplify a relentless attack on those long-standing hierarchies. Notwithstanding their facticity, or comedic value,

18  Introduction Marrakesh rumors and jokes constitute, in themselves, regimes of truth (or truthtelling) that the policies favoring external investment and gentrification over local priorities remain vulnerable to the image-damaging crises.

Notes 1 The claim of Moroccan exceptionalism is often made in the MENA context (since all of Europe is presumably modern), where “others” have either given themselves to a “false” modernization (i.e., Algeria) or are still “stuck” in bygone traditionalism. Morocco is, therefore, as the narrative goes, the only state that remained faithful to tradition (by keeping the centuries-old monarchy with a religious cloak) without losing sight of the modern. 2 Under the heading Les Riads. Retrieved from www.ilove-marrakesh.com/lesriads.html (translation and emphasis mine). 3 Directeur Général of al-Omrane Tamansourt, Abdelaziz Belkeziz, dubs Tamansourt “le fruit d’une volonté Royale” (the product of the royal will) (Mounadi, Dounia. Tamansourt . . . 8 ans plus tard, Aujourd’hui Le Maroc, 1/9/13). 4 The French government’s Observatoire de la Laïcité promotes an official vision of laïcité (secularism) under the ethic of vivre-ensemble. As such, the obligatory expression became ubiquitous in the national dialog and is iterated by most members of France’s civil and political society. In June 2014, Le Conseil Français du Culte Musulman drafted the “Convention Citoyenne des Musulmans de France pour le vivreensemble” (the Citizens’ Accord of France’s Muslims in favor of vivre-ensemble) in which the council expressed its commitment to “laïcité as a major achievement in service of vivre-ensemble and non-discrimination among citizens” (www.gouvernement. fr, translation mine). 5 Lisa Wedeen (2008) has one of the most concise, yet brilliant, conceptualizations of subjectivity; it is the (performative) “presentation of self” (p. 20). 6 In his analysis of power relations, Foucault talks of a “system of differentiations” to denote the practices, interactions and antagonisms among actors, in space, as the hallmark of modern politics (1982, p. 792). 7 Aziz Lazreq (2002, p. 24) speaks of “nafye al-madina” (the negation, banishment or unmaking of the city) as a corollary of globalization. 8 There are several definitions, and indeed conceptualizations, of globalization. Overall the concept is associated with the increasing economic integration of world markets and its wider implications on communications and mass-migration on the spatial organization of social relations and on the “world’s consciousness” (to cite a few, Robertson, 1992; Appadurai, 1996; Jameson & Miyoshi, 1998; Held et al., 1999; Mittelman, 2010). 9 Tourist city rankings use inconsistent, often arbitrary, criteria and are therefore unreliable. For our purposes, TripAdvisor ranked Marrakesh the “2016 Travelers’ Choice” third “top destination”, and first in 2015. 10 See Bednarek (2006, p. 12) and Berger (2013, p. 20) for a detailed typology of approaches. 11 As its Latin etymology, exire (to bleed), suggests. 12 “L’analyse de la politique urbaine [est] le cœur même de toute analyse concrète des processus sociaux relatifs à l’urbain” (Castells & Godard, 1974, p. 293). 13 Nik Theodore has argued this position in a brilliant analysis of the political economy of the “contingent labor” market (2003, p. 1811).

2 Institutional control State/market interactions

Proto-state, colonial state and the struggle for sovereignty Genesis of a city It is often speculated that the city’s name – etymologically connected to the name “Morocco” in most European languages1 – originated in the local Tamazight dialect. Long before the city’s site was settled, it was an ideal crossroad for highway robbers to attack passing caravans. So wayfarers were told to Murr (pass by) and Kush (fast) and avoid camping in the area. There are other speculations on the etymology of the word; for instance, it is claimed that the term originated in the Amazigh words Murr-n-Kush (land of God), but such speculations remain unsubstantiated. According to the Moroccan historian Ahmed b. Khalid al-Nasiri (ca. 1835–1879 CE) “by the year 10622 Yusuf b. Tashfin’s stronghold on Morocco had become consolidated, he decided to build a city which could house his army and bureaucracy. So he purchased the site upon which Marrakesh would be built” (al-Nasiri, 1997, Vol. II, pp. 22–24). Relying on contemporary as well as earlier historical accounts, al-Nasiri reports that Sultan Yusuf chose the site for its proximity to one of the strongest tribes in Morocco. In order for Yusuf to build trust among the locals, he chose not to fortify the city. Marrakesh became walled only after Sultan Yusuf’s death, when his successor (and son), Ali b. Yusuf, upon seeking council from the leading religious and legal authorities, spent 70,000 golden coins to surround the city with an impregnable wall. Marrakesh has thereafter emerged as a model of Islamic urban development, emulating Cordoba and Baghdad in their splendor. Leo Africanus, during his first visit to Marrakesh (1511 CE), reports, “This huge and mightie citie [sic], at such time as it was gouernerd by Halie the sonne of king Ioseph, contained more then [sic] 100000 families”.3 For most of the twelfth century, and until the first half of the thirteenth century, Marrakesh rose to power as Morocco’s “imperial capital” of two powerful dynasties4 who ruled – some via proxy – the kingdoms of Andalusia in the southern Iberian peninsula. Marrakesh had endured seven centuries of civil strife, epidemics and famines. In the last half of the thirteenth century, Marrakesh endured a policy of neglect as a result of the new ruling Merinid dynasty’s adoption of Fes as the new capital.

20  Institutional control The political order in the first quarter of the sixteenth century was characterized by turmoil. Once united and powerful, the Moroccan empire became divided into two competing kingdoms before the Portuguese started their colonial expeditions (ca. 1415) to control the north. The two kingdoms were Fes, ruled by the Saadian dynasty in the north, and Marrakesh, ruled by the Wattasid dynasty in the south (Abitbol, 2009, pp. 155–159). Marrakesh, however, was resilient to Portuguese imperialism as the Portuguese never occupied the city but succeeded in attacking its gates in 1522. Leo Africanus further reports that upon his visit, Marrakesh’s “most noble college” of thirty halls – which housed hundreds of professors and students, as well as the bookstores that surrounded it – were reduced to ruins; only about one third of the population survived the devastating war and famine (pp. 264–268). With the consolidation of the Saadian power (ca. 1525), Marrakesh recovered its vibrancy as the capital of a united Moroccan empire and the center of trans-Saharan trade. It was from Marrakesh that a Saadian sultan with broad international vision initiated exchanges with Queen Elizabeth I in order to inaugurate an era of Anglo-Moroccan alliance (Tazi, 2001, p. 74). In an epistle, which he personally penned in Spanish, Sultan Abd al-Malik (r. 1576–1578) wrote: To the mighty, the celebrated, the distinguished, the honoured, the high-born sultana Elizabeth daughter of the mighty, the most famous, the high-born, the favoured, the distinguished, the most glorious sultan Henry (may God bestow his benefits on you and grant you unceasing favours): We write to you from our illustrious capital Marrakush (God preserve it with every benefit and universal benevolence).5 For the remainder of the sixteenth century, Marrakesh continued to be the “illustrious” capital from which a policy of trans-Saharan expansion and anti-Spanish and anti-Portuguese jihad, as well as pro-British diplomatic overture, was crafted (Ben-Srhir, 2005, pp. 13, 31–37; Abitbol, 2009, pp. 236–254). Marrakesh’s location is important in the greater context of Muslim east and west relations. As the Sahara desert serves as a natural barrier between the Baghdad-Cairo axis and the Tunis-Marrakesh-Timbuktu triangle, networks of communications, trade and migration were more developed vertically than horizontally (Rodney, 1972, p. 59; Abu- Lughod, 1980, pp. 9–33). This meant that Marrakesh – by virtue of its location and prestige – gained its position as the crossroad of trade routes connecting sub-Saharan Africa to Tangiers, the Iberian Peninsula and Carthage. Following the death of the powerful Saadian sultan al-Mansur (r. 1578–1603), Marrakesh fell from royal grace of the succeeding dynasty. For most of the eighteenth century and well into the nineteenth century, the country suffered periods of intermittent famines, epidemics and droughts, decimating a large portion of Morocco’s urban population. Despite the devastation, most urban centers  – including Marrakesh – were able to maintain their economic vitality thanks to an unlikely catalyst: a set of pre-capitalist social and economic arrangements put in place by the “moussem tradition” – that is, countrywide religiously inspired

Institutional control 21 annual fairs where craft guilds, Sufi fraternities, pilgrims, buyers and sellers convene (Abitbol, 2009, p. 309).6 Such annual fairs served as sites for different tribes to maintain trading networks and secure a degree of intertribal alliances and interurban economic reciprocity (ibid). The colonial state: capitalism and defensive modernization An archeology of (peripheral) capitalism The sixteenth century was a decisive phase in what Salahdine calls “la decomposition” of Moroccan society as a result of the country’s entanglement with the European powers (1986, p. 23). In this view, the crisis which plagued Morocco’s economy during the same period cannot be understood in isolation from the “qualitative and quantitative development” of Western capitalism (ibid). The colonial order established a capitalist economy, reducing all social relations into market-based ones. However, the roots of economic subordination were already in place prior to effective colonization (Wood, 1999, p. 147). The eighteenth century marks the beginning of an era in which the Moroccan state was caught in incapacitating treaties with the European powers. The “traité de paix et d’amitié” (treaty of peace and friendship) of 1767 granted France an “extraterritorial jurisdiction” over commercial affairs in Morocco (Le Bœuf, 1905, p. 22; Stuart, 1931, p. 15). Another “peace treaty” with Spain in 1799 granted the right to own land to Spanish expatriates, and in 1856, Britain followed suit. Culminating in the Algeciras Conference of 1906, the effects of such treaties on Morocco’s economy, and society, are manifold: first, they granted fiscal and judicial immunity to European merchants and their indigenous employees (Lutsky, 1969, p. XXII). Second, they intensified the commercial ties between Morocco and other signatories with no promise of reciprocal benefits. Third, they provided an opportunity for the Western powers to pressure Morocco to modernize not just its economy but also other “corollary” domains such as the police, control of arms trade, the creation of a state bank and the imposition of a tax on urban constructions (Salahdine, 1986, p. 43). Domestically, much of the Moroccan state’s price and tax controls only resulted in filling the sultan’s coffers and hence strengthening his reign (Miège, 1981, p. 234; Salahdine, 1986, pp. 34–36). Toward the end of the nineteenth century, the French occupation of Timbuktu ended the trans-Saharan trade which was the foundation of Marrakesh’s wealth (Miège, 1981, pp. 381–385; Schroeter, 1988, pp. 108, 195). By the first decade of the twentieth century, Sultan Abdelaziz, encouraged by the British military attaché, ordered a set of fiscal reforms which abolished the Zakat (Islamic tithe system) and instituted in its stead a carbon copy of the English income tax. These “reforms” were part of a British-dictated modernization project named “defensive modernisation” (Martin, 1994, p. 395). Financial reforms followed suit; the new “Azizi” coinage shadowed the European standards (metal, weight, denominations) and were issued from mint houses in Paris, London and

22  Institutional control Berlin (ibid). The administrative, fiscal and monetary reforms paralleled legal revisions to the advantage of the Europeans.7 Such measures were met by mutinies in Marrakesh, Fes and Casablanca in 1902. The mutinies, however, did not help reverse the country’s fate since, by the year 1900 “the bulk of trade passed into the hands of foreign businessmen” (Pascon, 1986, p. 48). These practices entangled the country in a web of dependency on the European economy that is still prevalent today. One of the most profound impacts of French colonialism was the gradual modification of the structures and practices of Moroccan society. France had benefited from an already weak, and economically dependent, Morocco prior to its move to colonize the country (Schroeter, 1988, pp. 108, 216). With the arrival of the French in 1912, the process of assimilating Moroccan economy into Europe’s was already underway. The Pasha and his land Capitalist domination, as Pascon argues, is not exclusively rooted in “economic and . . . commercial phenomena”; its progress would have been unlikely without the “social and legal arrangements that became progressively more rooted in Moroccan society” (1986, p. 49). In the region of Marrakesh, one of the most successful technics of colonization adopted by the French – both corporate and private colons and, after 1912, the (official) colonial administration  – was the appropriation of land through the strategic deployment of land laws and instrumentalization of the Marrakeshi elite. The colonial administration had to confront an unfamiliar – and unnecessarily complex, as one colonial jurist observed8 – land tenure system. To that end, the Metropole classified Morocco’s “patrimoine foncier” into six categories: First, the sultan’s lands, his private domain, are located in strategic urban areas and often extend beyond the urban perimeter. Second, makhzen lands are appropriated by the ruling apparatus primarily for its own use (grazing of horses for instance). Third, guish lands are lots distributed to warrior tribes as a reward for their loyalty to the sultan. Fourth, habous lands, which are subject to either public or private Islamic endowment (waqf), enjoy the status of inalienability and cannot be expropriated. Fifth, melk lands are “private” familial lands. Sixth, collective lands, are lands which some tribes occupy to build informal – “non-regulatory” in legal nomenclature – settlements (douars) in periurban areas (Salahdine, 1986, pp. 74–85). The douar was a colonial invention inspired by the “canton model” as the smallest unit for administrative control and segregation. Although informal, douars are under the authority of a civil servant (m’qaddem) to account for their geographic distribution and demographic growth with no consideration to tribal/ethnic ties within any given douar. Marxist analyses of the antagonistic-parasitic nature of capitalism vis-à-vis pre-capitalist economic formations are useful here in the following ways:9 first, the “formula of capital” necessitates “the negation of the situation in which the working individual related to land and soil, to the earth, as his own” (Marx, 1978a, p. 264). Second, for this formula to succeed, a “dissolution” of some forms of pre-capitalist

Institutional control 23 land ownership has to take place (ibid, p. 263). Third, in the context of colonial capitalism, said “dissolution” need not be complete or final. Hence, the Metropole adopts a strategy of “conservation-dissolution” whereby some of the periphery’s pre-capitalist forms are subsumed under, and subordinated to, capital (Bettelheim cited in Alavi, 1982, pp. 172–175). Case in point, rather than “colony”, the French colonial authorities labeled Morocco a “protectorate”, replacing the cruelty of exploitative subjugation with a veneer of paternalism, conservation and cooperation. This spatial reconfiguration served as a way for the colonial administration to cut off kinship ties and family alliances deemed threatening to the colonial order (Amahan, 1998, p. 123). Marrakesh was surrounded by over 280 such informal settlements as of 2008 (SDAU-Marrakesh, 2008, p. 117). It would be misleading to assume that these categories “existed” in history as a “system”, that is to say, an “economic-juridical ensemble”10 created by a singular institution (whether it be the Moroccan proto-state or the like). Rather, it was not until the colonial administration – driven by its jurists and anthropologists – surveyed and classified the lands into such categories that they were seen as a functioning whole.11 Prior to that, land use and land tenure practices relied on the “freedom of action” principle rather than “action-for-system’s-sake” or “juridically bound action”. Consequently, the “non-regulatory” legal category encompassing the douars of Marrakesh and its suburbs was an outcome of the modernization agenda imposed by the colonial regime and maintained by the Moroccan state after independence. Moroccan law (both prior to, and after, colonization) acknowledges the “different levels” of land ownership reflecting the status of society’s most important actors: the sultan, his governing apparatus, the Muslim community and, last, individual proprietors. Sultanic and communal land ownership were more prevalent in precolonial land practice than was private property. The challenge, then, for the colonial regime was what Salahdine labels “political and juridical violence” (1986, p. 129): to remove Moroccans from lands deemed fit for modernization and to increase the number of individually owned lands at the expense of communal lands. Fearing European encroachment on their communal lands, many Moroccan tribes resorted to their “Melk-ization” (turning them into melk lands), a phenomenon which the colonial administration did not really favor but inadvertently helped turn land into commodity. In so doing, the colonial administration rendered private property subservient to the capitalist mode of production and the building of a modern state (Bouderbala, 1996). Nevertheless, what is most complicated about the “collective lands” is their ambivalent nature: on the one hand, they seem to have a pre-/non-capitalist determination while, on the other hand, they remained one of the powerful instruments of despotic control. One of the Metropole’s overzealous experts on Moroccan law advocated that a legal mechanism be deployed in order to not only abrogate all prior claims to land by Moroccans, but also to enable the colonial regime to extract new land taxes: ce qui manque pour que la propriété privée soit établie au Maroc . . . comme elle l’est chez nous, c’est la consécration de ce fait [imposition] par un acte

24  Institutional control solennel. Cette consécration, au lieu d’être faite en bloc, le sera progressivement par le régime de l’immatriculation. What is missing so that private property is established in Morocco . . . as it is [in France], is the institutionalization of [land taxation] by a solemn act. This institutionalization, instead of being abrupt, will be gradual by way of [land] registration. (Michaux-Bellaire, 1918, p. 269, translation mine) The colonial administration could have directed its violence – whether physical, political or juridical – to the sultan and his apparatus, but it did not. Instead, it safeguarded the sultan’s “personal prestige” and symbolic power in return for his complete cooperation. Many of the dahirs (sultanic decrees) issued in the early years of colonialization were indeed a gesture of gratitude to the new masters. For instance, the dahir of December 12, 1912, ordered the survey and evaluation of Habous lands; August 12, 1913, officiated the registration of buildings; July 7, 1914, aimed at facilitating the sale of land to European settlers even if, in the case of co-owned land, only one party is present. Other dahirs (June 2, 1913; August 12, 1913) gave a “stable and definitive character” to all land transactions involving Moroccans and non-Moroccans alike (Salahdine, 1986, p. 139; Bouderbala, 1996, p. 145). It becomes clear, then, that for complete subsumption of pre-capitalist forms under colonial capital, the colonial order “created” and institutionalized the aforementioned land categories and pressured the sultan to protect them by way of dahirs. Implicit in this installment of dahirs is what Marx calls “a juridical illusion” that law is but an expression of the will, that “having possession” of land is not sufficient to claim it as “property” and that the modern state – as the disinterested embodiment of the will – is the sole guarantor of property rights (Marx, 1978b, pp. 187–188). Despite their protected status (under the dahir of April 27, 1919), the collective lands did not escape the state’s juridical maneuvering: article 11 of the same dahir allowed their expropriation for public use. Such maneuvers aimed, in the short-term, at “protecting” the tribes from private speculators while propping up the modern state and asserting its role in Moroccan society. The enduring results of such maneuvers is that they “set up an ambivalent legislative device which subordinates the local to the central, destroys tribal territories while protecting collective property” (Bouderbala, 1996, p. 145). Further, in 1912, the sultan devolved to the local governor (the pasha of Marrakesh) the power to approve real estate sales to Europeans. The colonial administration in Marrakesh had more to gain from the pasha’s cooperation.12 The pasha and his subordinates (Caids), a feudal aristocracy with extravagant spending habits, were major landholders. In addition to their penchant for luxury goods imported from Europe, they had armies of parastatal clients (tax-collectors, soldiers, soldier-laborers and tribal chieftains) that proved useful to the French. The colonial administration figured out the “surest method for land purchases consisted . . . of bringing into indebtedness those Caids” who could perpetrate acts of violent land grabs on its behalf (Pascon, 1986, p. 67). Once dispossessed

Institutional control 25 of their land, “les indigènes” became invisible to the colonial bourgeoisie who tend to internalize a narrative of colony as frontier, a vacuum domicilium in need of modernizing intervention. The following words from a French entrepreneur’s heir, speaking on the “history” of her Marrakesh business, are emblematic of said narrative: Marrakech, c’était vraiment un oasis, c’est-à-dire qu’il y avait des palmiers . . . de l’eau . . . des cailloux, et il y avait le Pacha de Marrakech, c’est à peu près tout ce qu’il y avait . . . donc, il y a une grande . . . évolution.13 Marrakesh, it was really an oasis, that is to say, there were palm trees . . . water . . . pebbles, and there was the Pasha of Marrakesh, that was just about everything . . . therefore, there is a great evolution. La Metropole and the local: historicizing the modern city Urban malaise and the revanchist project The making of the urban condition in Morocco has been a product of the colonial order, whose aim was to stage a modernistic project, promoted and perfected by the Protectorate’s resident-general, Louis H. G. Lyautey (1912–1925). Colonial urbanism was presumably modern for two reasons: first, through the professional advisers’ reliance on “impartial” criteria and social science to imagine and create the city, its neighborhoods and its amenities, by valorizing the economic imperative. Second, through the claim that such professionals were non-partisan, apolitical, technocratic experts, invested simply in aesthetics. Imbedded in this kind of modernity is, also, a host of urban problems which were essentially a product of modernity’s very condition (i.e., segregation, industrialization, capital accumulation, etc.) and whose solutions are a priori modern (Wright, 1991, pp. 6, 86). Modern city-making has, therefore, an inherently wasteful dimension since its only concern is “the progressive intensification of use” (Mumford, 1987, pp. 423– 424). It addresses purely capitalist concerns of changing values and accelerated expansion and multiplying populations but fails to address other human purposes and needs. The city of the early twentieth century ceases to be a public institution and becomes a private capitalist venture (ibid). Indeed, it was in Morocco where Lyautey saw that his modern utopia could be realized. After having successfully revisited the colonial military “spirit”, he could focus on the urban question. The core theme of Lyautey’s justification for reform is, expectedly, a discourse of social and urban malaise. Fifteen days prior to the August 1914 war declaration, Lyautey met with a group of French capitalists in a Casablanca banquet on the occasion of “fête nationale”; he addressed the economic crisis triggering what he termed “the malaise”. According to Lyautey, the malaise affected the colonial capitalists’ most essential activities: trade, industrial enterprise, land acquisition, property tax-base, transactions and litigation with the indigenous (Lyautey, 1927, p. 115). He then explained the issue of “le malaise urbain” in two main points: first, disorder, where “everyone

26  Institutional control planned and built constructions at will, freely”, with no regard to the regulations (ibid, p. 116). Second, the legal confusion caused by the “infamous Dahirs” (sultanic decrees) which are unnecessarily numerous, inefficient and slow. Lyautey’s speech adopted a familiar battery of mutually exclusive dyads. According to Lyautey, precolonial agglomerations were sites of disorder, fiscal and legal confusion, idleness and randomness. His vision, therefore, promises order, legality, sanitation and esthetics, all for the sake of real estate values “dans l’intérêt de . . . la valorisation de vos immeubles” (ibid, p. 117). Ce dont il s’agit, c’est de tout l’avenir de nos villes marocaines, et les leçons de tant d’autres pays neufs, où ont surgi, au hasard, des agglomérations dont la hideur et l’inconfort sont aujourd’hui irréparables, ne doivent pas être perdues. Il a donc fallu préparer les plans d’alignement et d’extension des villes. What is at stake, is the whole future of our Moroccan cities, and the lessons of so many other new countries, where there are agglomerations whose ugliness and discomfort are irreversible. Such cities must not be lost. It was therefore necessary to prepare alignment and expansion plans for the cities. (ibid, p. 116; translation mine) Lyautey’s team of urbanists and architects (Ecochard, Prost and others) sought to implement a “high modernist” utopia on the premise that “human needs were universal” and without taking into account the “variables of society, geography, culture, climate, and construction materials” (Rabinow, 1989, p. 3). Hence, the cities were categorized on the basis of their intended function: civil or military. Casablanca and Rabat belonged to the civil regions (respectively commercial and administrative) while Marrakesh, in addition to Fes and Meknes, were destined to serve military functions. Within each city, and to enhance the modernist project, the colonial administration classified the walls and most structures contained within as “historic monuments” (Pinol, 2003, p. 531). Lyautey introduced two important instruments of city-making practices which remain operating in Morocco in the twenty-first century. First, équipements are the public amenities through which certain administrative services – such as hospitals, schools and civic administrative buildings – are dispensed to the population. Second, the term aménagement, or the “skillful planning, [and the] special combination of science and art”, connotes efforts to (re)think, (re)organize, configure, renovate, clean-up and develop human agglomerations (Rabinow, 1989, p. 3). Aménagement is a rather amorphous concept; it encompasses a host of practices and policy matters ranging from urban and regional development plans to decentralization and regionalization policies (Lund, 1997, p. 96). Technical-administrative modernization would not have been enough to overhaul Morocco’s cities. The colonial administration had to integrate “innovative” legal-economic devices which were already familiar in France’s legal system, “but their full productivity has only been reached in Morocco” (Waline, 1934, p. 21). For instance, in 1914 and 1917, the law mandated the creation of Plans

Institutional control 27 d’Aménagement and Landlord Associations in order to, on the one hand, facilitate the interactions between land developers and the municipalities and, on the other, institutionalize policy implementation regarding urban development. With regard to land rent, the colonial administration transplanted a law by which landlords can “recuperate plus-values” of their real estate property. In the Metropole, properties neighboring a “public utility development” are subjected to an “added-value” tax. In Morocco, the colonial administration exempted real estate property owners from such tax by simply applying the added-value balance to offset the cost of property used in the creation of the public project. The purpose of such juridical and fiscal maneuvering was to secure: (i) free land for the colonial administration to build a “modern” infrastructure and (ii) appreciated property for the expatriate owners at a minimum cost (ibid, pp. 21–24). Once it became clear that the early visions of Ecochard’s urbanism – premised on so-called universal human needs – were failing, Lyautey recruited Prost to head urbanism in Morocco. Prost pushed the separation proposal even beyond its original plan. In addition to religious/ethnic separation, Prost implemented an urban policy of social segregation which demarcates the old and new quarters as well as social classes within each quarter. Prost paid attention to hygiene, green spaces and boulevards to construct the model of a modern North African city endowed with “grands reservoirs d’air” (Rabinow, 1989, p. 240). In short, as Rabinow suggests, Lyautey-Prost urbanism was “technically modern” but in reality echoed a kind of “modern neo-conservatism” due to its “uncritical embracing of economic and technological change combined with a longing for social stability and a legitimated social hierarchy” (ibid, p. 242). According to Abdelaziz Adidi (2011, pp.  210–211), director of L’Institut National d’Amenagement et d’Urbanisme, urban planning in Morocco has been through four main stages. At the height of the colonial period (1912–1938) the country experienced an Urbanisme Culturaliste, followed by an Urbanisme Progressiste/Hyginéiste (1944–1980), Sécuritaire (1981–2001) and, finally, Social (as of 2001). Lyautey’s legacy would have long-lasting consequences; his aspiration to construct a modern and hierarchical society in Morocco “respectful” to local customs engendered a “hybrid” urban form which to date speaks to the socio-economic disparities in the country. The European quarters (or villes nouvelles) and their ancillary and segregated space of the medina became the loci from which a modern moral order is to be deployed. Since Lyautey’s mission in Morocco was not a “mission civilisatrice”, he instrumentalized Morocco’s cities for la mise en scène (the staging) of a purely French modernist vision unhampered by democratic accountability at home. In this mise en scène, Morocco’s “tradition” serves as “a constant social and moral stage to the French”, who are the intended targets of Lyautey’s “mission civilisatrice” (Rabinow, 1989, p. 286). It becomes clear that Morocco’s colonization was in fact a revanchist project par excellence: its “technicians” and “executors” sought to retaliate against many opponents: first, the competing colonial powers in their “scramble for Africa” and, second, the French bourgeoisie and “lazy aristocracy”, both of whom Lyautey deeply resented. In the case of Moroccan cities, “l’esprit revanchiste” is more

28  Institutional control than a “historical parallel” or vignette.14 As of the last decade of the twentieth century, a revived form of old revanchism began to take place in the historical space of Lyautey’s cities. Modernization’s legacy The policies of land annexation and rural modernization aimed to serve the colonial capitalist economy – by making the surrounding Haouz region an agricultural space and Marrakesh an agribusiness center – and drove much of the rural population toward the city. A parallel policy of urban development ghettoized the locals in the walled areas of the city and provided space for the European colonists to build their quarters, called ville nouvelle (new city), without intermingling with the indigenous population.15 To facilitate the settlement of the French quarters, the colonial rule adopted an Apartheid-like administrative system which divided Moroccans along social and economic lines (Abu-Lughod, 1980). Moroccan cities’ image as a “new French” project was short-lived given their post-independence and current realities. Leaping into the last quarter of the twentieth century, the people of Marrakesh found themselves in the grip of a centuryold socio-economic stand-still. The postcolonial condition can be summarized in the following: segregation, segmentation of urban landscape and its concomitant inequalities. French colonialism substituted ethnic segregation with one based on social caste. After independence, the national government maintained this type of segregation (Abu-Lughod, 1980, p. xviii) by simply “indigenizing” the practice of social castes and maintaining the fragmented city. To be sure, in the 1940s and 1950s, the national state had established a “complex”, “rigid”, and “selfperpetuating” system of “class stratification along ethnic lines” (ibid, 220). The postcolonial malaises – exacerbated by economic crises, unemployment, population growth, housing shortages, in-migration and growth of shantytowns – quickened the residential segregation on basis of class (ibid, pp. 256–258). With a “segregated” background, the post-independence socio-economic policies in Marrakesh sought to combine a mix of housing mega-projects, tourism infrastructure and events to create a place identity. The protectorate and the settler-type colonialism were not simply “ideas of government” but rather a “device” and “a social technology” (Rabinow, 1989, p. 278). The colonial legacy was, therefore, characterized by “false fraternité . . . the denial of égalité . . . and the absence of liberté” (ibid). Such legacy was made possible not just by the colonial power’s defense of its own national interests at the expense of its subjects but also by the nationalist elites “who made no pretense to equality with their countrymen” (ibid). Postcolonial Moroccan cities attempted to overcome their segregated past by adopting market-based policies to modernize and develop their urban systems. However, the segregated urbanism inherited from the colonial period is ubiquitous, and its spatial forms are difficult to disentangle. Currently, Morocco’s major cities are made up of several contested spaces whose geographic lines seem to shadow those of the colonial past but with new socio-economic and racial markers.

Institutional control 29 Marrakesh had been subjected to two macro-historical processes, colonialism and globalization, whose impact on the urban and social fabric of the city was profound. Through colonialism, Marrakesh had been uprooted from its historical and regional context as a major center of trans-Saharan trade. The colonial order upset the city’s historical urban fabric through the imposition of an alien urban policy designed to modernize it at all costs. In the wake of Morocco’s independence, the national state remained faithful to the “modernization” agenda and wagered on Marrakesh’s touristic value as a source of economic development. Because Morocco’s urban policy is controlled by the national state with a great deal of deference to the global market, the vision for the city’s future remains faithful to, and victim of, decades-long flawed developmentalist policies. Following the 1981 Structural Adjustment Program (SAP), Marrakesh has been enmeshed in a web of dependence on global capital and state control perpetuating the same policy failures of the past.

The new national state, capital and space State capitalism and national priorities Following independence, the flight of capital away from Morocco caused a sudden drop in investment, which, in turn, triggered a chronic bout of unemployment and rural migration (Belal & Agourram, 1970, p. 145). The new state proscribed a series of short-term economic plans (1960–1964, 1965–1967, 1968–1972) aiming to solve the country’s economic malaises by focusing on economic growth. The kind of capitalism inherited from the colonial era (at least in the early 1960s) morphed into a “state capitalism” in which the state remains the major investor with the intent to contribute to the “extension and expansion of private capitalism; both indigenous and foreign” (Belal, 1970, p. 157). From a policy standpoint the state enacted a series of investment laws in the sectors of industry and tourism (1961), agriculture (1969) and real estate (1985). The said laws accorded investors several advantages, including the right to transfer financial capital (and profit) internationally. More particularly, the laws accorded real estate investors and promoters (who, in actuality, turn into speculators) 15  years of fiscal exoneration. Il reste que, malgré tout cet arsenal de mesures favorables à l’investissement privé, celui-ci demeure faible, et une grande proportion de capitaux continue d’être drainée par le rachat de terres de la colonisation privée, une spéculation immobilière intense, le commerce, et des placements à l’extérieur du Maroc Despite this arsenal of measures in favor of private investment, it remains weak, and a large portion of capital continue to be syphoned by the buyouts of lands from private colons, [by] intense land speculation, trade and capital flight (Belal & Agourram, 1970, p. 158; translation mine)

30  Institutional control The enduring impact of these legal and political maneuvers is echoed in the area of urban and land policy, whose main feature in the first two decades after independence was the nepotistic “distribution” of land recovered from the French colons and their Moroccan partners (Abouhani, 2011, p. 221). The land parcels which the state distributed to the new bourgeoisie, at “symbolic” prices, became the sites of new housing projects for the emerging middle class (ibid). Most importantly, such housing projects became “inscribed in a policy of urban expansion” in which predatory opportunism, on the supply side, outmatched rapid land consumption on the demand side (ibid). The most ambitious post-independence economic policies (the 1965–1967 triennial plan, for instance) prioritized tourism16 as a key sector in the country’s economic development. The creation of the Ministry of Tourism in 1965 is a testimonial of the national state’s commitment to its vision for tourism as a national priority and an “engine of development”.17 However, by the 1970s, it became apparent, as leftist intellectual Abdel Aziz Belal points out, that such vision for development suffers “un problème de fond” (a fundamental problem) as it failed to fulfill the most basic promises outlined in its policy papers – for instance, only 19% of the projected jobs had been actually created nationwide (Belal & Agourram, 1970, p. 163). National and local: “advanced” regionalization and governance Morocco’s urban policy is formulated at the confluence of the central government’s dirigisme, local politics and the international market dynamics with a strong international non-governmental organization (NGO) presence in the area of historic heritage. As a result, the recent institutional rearrangements still fall short of articulating a clear national policy for the cities or granting them greater political capacities. Instead, the central concern for such arrangements seems to be economic development solutions. Morocco’s administrative structuring dates back to the early years of the French protectorate, which replaced the rather simple, and devolved, tribal territorial arrangement with a more complex “centralized” power grid relying on urban centers as nodes of political and social control (Boujrouf  & Hassani, 2008). After 1956, the decolonized Moroccan state continued the modernist territorial structuring whose purpose was “the hierarchization of submission and centralization of allegiance” (ibid). By the year 1992, and in reaction to demographic, political and partisan pressures, the central government initiated a policy of communal restructuring which increased the number of communes (both rural and urban) from 859 to 1,544. In 1997, the monarch issued a decree in which “the region” was acknowledged part and parcel of “His Majesty’s strategy to provide Morocco with a modern state [still] attached to its ancestral traditions” (Bulletin Officiel n° 4470 April 3, 1997). According to decree, the “Region” territorial unit is expected to act as a “space for economic and social development” in which “representatives . . . can debate, democratically”, local developmental projects (ibid). Despite the state rhetoric, it seems the 1990s

Institutional control 31 decentralization scheme only concentrated more power in the hands of “the local representatives of the central power, more than to local voters” (Catusse, Cattedra, & Janati, 2007, p. 2). The reformed constitution of 2011 determines the bases for a new form of regionalization. To begin with, there is no agreement on how to qualify this “new” form of regionalization; in the Arabic-language governmental documents and official statements, this regionalization is said to be broadened (jihawiyyah muassa’ah) while in French is it said to be advanced (regionalization avancée). The purpose for this revision of the 1990s regionalization project is to establish new intergovernmental relations “based on partnership and regulation rather than guardianship” through a “real transfer of the central government’s capacities to the regions” (personal communication with professor Habiba Belghiti). Following the French model, a new administrative division has been implemented. Thus, the term “collectivités regionales” is no longer in use in the administrative nomenclature; in its stead, the more comprehensive “collectivité territoriales” was adopted to allow more subdivision: 16 regions, 13 prefectures, 62 provinces, 1,282 urban communes and 221 rural communes. Perhaps the most important change in this regard is the constitutional provision that such collectivités are personnes morales (legal persons) (Section IX, Art. 135), allowing them to borrow money, be party in legal disputes and declare bankruptcy. There is hope among local politicians that advanced regionalization would resolve a problem of attrition where much revenue created locally is absorbed by the central state (personal interview with a commune member). According to my interviewee: It appears that regionalization would constitute a true push towards development, because it will allow for greater competition among the Regions. Also, the decisions will be made locally and the sources of income will be maintained by the Regions . . . and because the system of electing the Regional Council will be direct and not through “les grands electeurs” – so the people will be more attached to their Region; they will pay more attention to it, they will vote . . . and closely follow the politicians’ performance. So this regionalization can only be beneficial to Morocco and will limit the logic of centralization . . . and allow a real “nohod” [rebound, takeoff] in all regions and allow the participation of all actors . . . another advantage, regionalization will allow a greater involvement of women and youth – as they will take the third of the seats in each Region . . . this will include all new talents which are not included now. (interview, Marrakesh, July 2014) The potential benefits of advanced regionalization touch all aspects of urban life, from administrative and financial autonomy to market positioning and inclusive citizenship: in a word, regionalization is expected to serve the ideal of good governance. The extensive use of “governance” began after a March 1995 royal speech given by late monarch Hassan II in which he made reference to “l’état de droit” (the state of law/legal right) as the new guiding principle of all state

32  Institutional control (and citizens’) actions, which would, by implication, be subject to, and bound by, law and right. The late monarch emphasized in his speech the dual role Marrakesh presumably played during the General Agreement on Tariff and Trade (GATT) rounds. In addition to bringing together the global North and South, Marrakesh, in the monarch’s words, “strengthened the state of law in international commercial and economic relations” (Centre National de Documentation, 2002). The royal speech also laid the foundation for the regime’s vision for a democratic modernization to strengthen Morocco’s “international credibility” while remaining true to the country’s “authenticity and tradition” (ibid). This “new” installation of democratic modernization comprised the domestic “consolidation of the state of right and law” and the creation of a “specialized” ministry of human rights and administrative courts in order to curb arbitrary use of power. While there is little evidence of any actual change in official misconduct, the 1995 royal speech institutionalized the fiction of good governance, state of law and transparency as the only legitimate language of political and economic modernization. Far from being a sovereign policy decision, or the culmination of inclusive democratic deliberations, good governance was an imposition on the Moroccan government by international donors and major financial institutions as loan “conditionality”. With the prevalence of the last installment of economic policies in the 1990s, the Moroccan state’s good governance involved privatization, decentralization and liberalization. However, during Mohammed VI reign, motifs of human development, human rights and citizen participation made their way to the good governance agenda (Bogaert, 2011, p. 58). The 2011 constitution devotes an entire section (out of 14) to the question of good governance (cf. Section XII, Art. 154–171). A decade into Mohammed VI’s reign, the World Bank had an overall positive assessment of the country’s governance reforms targeting key areas of government programs: betterment of public service delivery and budgetary and fiscal reforms as well as reforms of the justice sector (World Bank Country Report No. 67694-MA, 2012, p. 6). Under the heading “Government Programs”, the World Bank lauds Morocco’s emphasis on “improving the transparency of economic and financial governance . . . strengthening the competitiveness of the economy . . . the investment climate . . . and encouraging exports” (ibid). One peculiar aspect of the new government programs, celebrated by the World Bank as the “most ambitious”, is the subsidy system in place since independence but turned into, according to the regime, a “threat” to macro-economic well-being (ibid). While the report depicts a felicitous macro-economic success story, the decentralization agenda, in the World Bank’s own admission, “has not evolved as expected” in “reducing rural poverty, urban social exclusion and vulnerability” (ibid, p. 33). It is no secret that such market-based reforms exacerbated the living conditions of the poor and working classes; beyond that, they brought about a “political world in which the ability to claim and articulate political rights are not only restricted by ‘the regime’ but also by the sanctions and incentives of the ‘free market’ ” (Zemni & Bogaert, 2011, pp. 404–405).

Institutional control 33 Urban administration: governing Marrakesh The impetus behind the post-independence urban policy remains, as before, a modernizing one. In its most recent version, however, the architecture of urban administration in Morocco involves a plethora of state, semi-public and private institutions whose purpose is to tighten the state’s grip on security. It is no coincidence that many of the “improvements” in urban administration were preceded by regime-threatening events: the “malaise” of the 1920s; the anti-colonial riots of the 1950s; the failed coups d’état of the early 1970s (decentralization and the expansion of Communal Charters in 1976); urban riots in the 1980s (urban planning matters conferred to the ministry of interior) and early-1990s (Dryef, 1993; Saint-Prot, Bouachik, & Rouvillois, 2010; Bogaert, 2011). Urban policy formulation is convoluted by the dizzying array of divisions, subdivisions and agencies involved in the process, often with overlapping or conflicting mandates. First, each prefecture or province has its division d’urbanisme; a central government’s extension whose main function is to “police construction” in its territory (High Commission on Planning, 1999, p. 212). Second, in the early 1990s, the central state promulgated royal decrees (dahirs) creating city-specific agences urbaines as both a “technical” and “political” measure for “better social control” in response to the 1980s urban riots (Haut Commissariat au Plan [HCP], 215). Each Urban Agency participates in drafting its respective city’s global master plan, Schéma Directeur d’Aménagement Urbain (hereafter, SDAU).18 Such master plans were fashioned after the French-imposed plans of the 1920s and on the first post-independence 1984 SDAU for the city of Casablanca designed by French urbanist Michel Pinseau, whose influence on Morocco’s spatial development was second only to Prost’s and Ecochard’s (Bogaert, 2011, p.  198). For over a decade after institutionalizing SDAUs, such documents were extralegal and non-binding (Dryef, 1993, pp. 188–189; Khattabi, 2000, p. 60).19 Third, the communes are, according to the code of urbanism, “collectivités territoriales de droit public, dotées de la personnalité morale et de l’autonomie financière” (territorial sub-governments of public right, endowed with the [status of] moral personhood and financial autonomy). The Communal Council (conseil communal) decides, by way of deliberation, on the “measures to be taken in order to ensure the economic, social and cultural development of the commune” (Royal Decree 1–02–297). In a scathing 2007 report, the nation’s Court of Audit highlighted several malfunctions regarding the operations of Marrakesh’s Urban Commune. For instance, the court found a debilitating jurisdictional overlap between the operations of the council and those of the arrondissements (the city’s subdivisions) in the absence of any coordinating body (Cour des Comptes, Rapport Annuel, 2007, p. 433). The 2008 ratification of the founding decree (Law 17.08) ordered the creation of as many as four permanent commissions respectively in charge of: (a) “planning, economic affairs, budgeting and finance”; (b) “human development social and cultural affairs”; (c) “urbanization, territorial equipment and environment”; and (d) “public services”. Yet, as none of these commissions can “exercise

34  Institutional control any of the council’s responsibilities”, their role is rather “advisory” (Art. 15 of the decree). Fourth are local ad-hoc organizations (régies autonomes) whose expected role is to sustain the practice of decentralization by “staying close to the daily lives of citizens” (Dryef, 1993, p. 261). Many activists, legal scholars and academics have underscored the “dysfunctional” nature of this “bureaucratic model” (Sedjari, 2004, p. 3), the utter confusion which plagues this multitude of territorial jurisdictions and administrative capacities (Cattedra, Catusse, & Janati, 2009, p. 140) and the strong opposition among the different state institutions in charge of managing the urban space (HCP, 1999, p. 216). In addition to the “structuring” agencies discussed prior, the state delegates the execution of its projets d’aménagement to the private (and semi-public) sector in order to “counter the delays and inefficiencies inherent to centralization” (Dryef, 1993, p.  265). At the national level, la Caisse de dépôt et de Gestion (CDG), a financial institution first created in 1959 as a public institution with the goal “to receive, store and manage [the nation’s] savings”, gradually became involved in Morocco’s major structural projects and is currently “the largest institutional investor . . . and a major player in the national economy”.20 In order to further involve private interest in land policy directions, the Region of MarrakeshTensift-Haouz, in partnership with CDG’s regional subsidiaries and private corporations (al-Omrane Holding, MedZ, Companie Générale Immobilière) began a scheme by which investors a offered a wide range of opportunities to turn land into tourist space and industrial zones. Once the investments are in place, two state agencies  – L’Agence Nationale de Promotion de l’Emploi et des Compétences (ANAPEC) and L’Office Pour la Formation Professionnelle (OFPPT), intervene to train and provide the labor force. Evidently, the policy elites are aware of the “bad” governance effect of this administrative model but are less willing to attribute it to the central state’s political choices. Under the heading “Constraints”, Marrakesh’s master plan (SDAU) points out that “while progress is being made in governance in recent years”, the city still suffers “some deficiencies in matters of coordination among different actors” (p. 52). This means that while the city is run in accordance with sound and ever-evolving governing principles, its only “constraint” is the “disparate” goals and motivations of “actors” (ibid). The SDAU quotes yet another study, executed by the more powerful Direction de l’Aménagement du Territoire, in order to provide a diagnosis of the alleged dispersion of goals and motivations: un service administratif certes, soucieux d’efficacité mais peu ouvert sur les administrés; des acteurs privés qui ont du mal à agir dans la transparence; une université évoluant en dehors du monde économique. Toutes ces entités, malgré leur force indéniable (ou à cause de celle-ci) constituaient la faiblesse de Marrakech parce qu’elles étaient désunies ou dispersées. an administrative body that is mindful of efficiency but resistant to reaching out to the population; private actors who hardly operate in transparency; a university isolated from the economic world. (SDAU, ibid. translation mine)

Institutional control 35 The argument from authority relies on, and indeed constructs, an ethos regarding the soundness of governance as a political choice regardless of minor accidental problems. Notwithstanding, the SDAU quickly forgoes the issue of miscoordination in favor of a more immediate policy focus: population and territorial control. Pour qu’une ville soit durable, il faut . . . surtout la doter d’une vision qui soit partagée par ses acteurs, ses décideurs et sa société civile dans le cadre d’un projet de territoire. For a city to be sustainable, it must . . . above all be endowed with a shared vision – among its actors, decision-makers and civil society – within a framework for territorial control. (SDAU, ibid, p. 9, emphasis mine) The national state is still concerned with territorial control, and everything else is secondary. One might expect that an efficient land policy would already be in place and that twenty-first urban restructuring in Morocco would concern itself with the more advanced stages of development. However, according to one professional, “land system is based on the often confusing mix between a traditional and capitalist/modern legal economic logics” (personal interview). This confirms the idea that development schemes at the national level overwhelmingly determine local planning choices. Further, the overemphasized interconnection between the local, national and global within the policy arena suggests that so long as the (local) urban strategies remain within the dictates of the national state’s vision, there will be no need to reconfigure the “macro-level” strategies. To be sure, every mention of national state–level priorities in the city’s master plans is prefaced with accommodating, if not celebratory, language which normalizes the national and global priorities at the expense of local opportunities (see chapter 5 for a detailed discussion). In contradistinction to the national state’s preoccupation with control, cities’ futures are determined by the degree to which their human capital – notwithstanding the problematic logic underpinning its theory and practice – is relevant in the knowledge-based economy of the twenty-first century. In addition to developing foreign trade zones and promoting exports, cities are also focusing on job training programs as a way to link human capital to economic development. The so-called “fourth wave” policy orientation is founded on a nuanced understanding of economic growth and a political awareness that untapped human capital potential in the city has severe consequences on the citizens’ welfare as a whole. However, evidence depicts a grim picture where the national trend is underinvestment in, if not neglect of, the human element and overemphasis on place-making and image construction. Positioning Marrakesh The most recent vision for a “new” Marrakesh concocts a mix of festivals, conventions, tourism infrastructure and a real estate market in an attempt to re-brand

36  Institutional control the city as a luxury destination. To that end, the city’s tangible and intangible heritage, as well as its infrastructure, are oriented toward touristic consumption as well as consumption of residential space. Since the 1980s, with the state acting as an administrative, political and ideological facilitator, Marrakesh’s political and business elites embarked on a series of policy decisions to boost the city’s economic growth and thereby reclaim its position as a global destination. In the ensuing decades, Marrakesh set out on a path to turn itself into a favorite among European tourists, conventioneers and real estate profiteers. In 1982, five corporate sectors (hotels, travel agencies, bazaars, restaurant and transportation operators) formed the Provincial Association of Tourism Operators of Marrakesh (APOTM) to take on the task of re-positioning Marrakesh at the regional and national level. In 1997, the ministry of tourism abandoned APOTM and decreed in its stead the Groupements Régionaux d’Intérêt Touristique (GRIT), a coalition of private “interest groups” which the state overhauled in its “Vision 2010” policy issued in 2002. The “improved” and “restructured” version of GRIT is a new public-private partnership in the form of Regional Council of Tourism (CRT). The CRT is a troika of elected and non-elected officials, semi-public institutions and the private sector.21 At the national level, there is an overload of federations, committees and councils with disparate foci and often overlapping missions. They all agree, however, that Marrakesh is the “key product” of Morocco’s tourism, the “heart of the country” and the “Image of Morocco” (Minca and Borghi, 2009, p. 35–45). Table 2.1 exhibits a summary of such organizations as well as the themes and slogans they adopt to place Marrakesh on the international market. In 1995, the Confédération Générale des Entreprises du Maroc (CGEM) created the National Fédération Nationale du Tourisme (FNT) with the stated mission to act on behalf of the entire sector as “the strategic interlocutor . . . with the public authorities and other decision-makers” and “enact” decennial plans “Vision 2010” and “Vision 2020” (CGEM official website). The FNT was also entrusted with the task of “promoting and safeguarding” the industry’s “brand images and values” (Ben Massou, 2011)​​ . Finally, the mysterious Conseil Supérieur du Tourisme (CST), a gathering of representatives from various ministries whose mission changes every decade, is often blamed for many mis-targeted programs due to its dysfunctional and wasteful nature as well as the truancy of its members.22 It seems that the “fundamental problem” Abdel Aziz Bilal identified in the 1970s touristic policy is now a half-century-old quagmire. On August 2018, the country’s Court of Audit issued a scathing report on the failure of the Ministry of Tourism and its bureaucratic arsenal to meet the projections outlined in “Vision 2020”, with success rates in the single digits (Cour des Comptes, 2018, p. 20). It was quite evident that the over-bureaucratization, alone, would not help position the city in the global tourism network. By the mid-1990s, the central government (through the Ministry of Tourism and the Office National Marocain du Tourisme) was no longer the exclusive booster of Marrakesh as a tourist city. Following the 1981 Structural Adjustment Program, the central state began to give way to local communes and the private sector to work out initiatives that

Regional Center of Investment (CRI) Marrakesh

Marrakesh Convention Bureau

National Federation of Tourism (FNT)

Regional Council of Tourism – Marrakesh (CRT)

City of Marrakesh “Mayor’s Office”

Establish an effective touristic policy Enhance tourism’s brand-image Represent businesses at the national and international levels Encourage international partnerships To promote business tourism at the international level by bringing together all stakeholders As a CRT member, MCB collaborates with other partners Facilitate the creation of new businesses Assist businesses by providing market information Examine and authorize applications for new projects Adjudicate disagreements between investors and the administration Protect existing investment

To reinforce the city’s comparative advantage To preserve its architectural heritage To sustain socio-cultural and athletic activity of the city To renew and restore “freshness” to the approach in [branding the city] . . . in this difficult conjuncture To find more convincing arguments To increase [the city’s] market share and . . . sustain growth

Mission and Objective

Table 2.1  Major institutional stakeholders and image-construction

Marrakesh is a fabled city musicians, dancers and fire-eaters storytellers and acrobats, and vendors of fresh orange juice wander through a souk is to be drawn into Aladdin’s cave of fine rugs Marrakesh is the first “pôle touristique” climate, environment, history, architecture . . . make Marrakesh an international brand. Home of many prestigious hotels . . . golf courses Marrakesh breaks with the “image” of leisure and cultural tourism . . . promotes the new market niche of “medical tourism”

L’artisanat, un talent naturellement marocain (crafts, a naturally Moroccan talent) Golf Paradise Fullness of body and mind (this slogan promotes the spa industry) (all five themes are produced in the form of brochures) Marrakesh is an international “pôle touristique” Authenticity Diversity Quality (vision 2010 decennial plan)

Marrakesh, historic et ancestral city cultural and (eventful) évènementielle city a luxurious destination a shopping destination a city of motorsport par excellence world-class culinary art Oriental magic and riads Merveilles de la Decoration (marvels of interior design)

Themes and Slogans

38  Institutional control would promote the city and its patrimony. International tour-operators, real estate agencies, airline companies23 and hotel chains all invest in branding the city and positioning it in the global market. The government also realized that for the branding (of both the country and the city) to be effective, it would be necessary to involve all key actors in the process. The early manifestations of publicprivate partnerships were simply made up of committees of “wise men and [not too many] women” acting as quasi-bureaucratic gatekeepers (Van Gelder, 2011, p. 43). Boujrouf (2001, p. 91) charges that the “nebulous” nature of these partnerships – bringing together actors with disparate visions, interests and logics – has engendered a “dysfunctional” policy for the city (see Table 2.1). On the one hand, the central state lacks the financial and human resources to sustain such a costly and precarious economic sector as tourism (ibid). On the other hand, the central state has to “manage the contradictions” emanating from the non-cooperative relations among the public and private actors (ibid). There is inconsistency among the major local stakeholders in their imagemaking strategies. Table 2.1 details how key policy circles wish, each in their own way, to re-create a unique image of the city based on their respective missions and adopted slogans. There is, for instance, a complete disconnect between the CRT’s vision and that of the mayor to the point that the two have become mutually exclusive. In other words, Marrakesh cannot be at the same time “Aladdin’s cave of fine rugs”, “a city of motorsport” and a “golf and luxury shopping” destination.

Notes 1 Except in Turkish, which uses Fas (another Moroccan city) as the equivalent of “Morocco”, most languages use a variation of Marrakesh to refer to the country as a whole: Marokko, Marruecos and Marrocos in German, Spanish and Portuguese and Murrakush in Farsi and Urdu. 2 I am taking liberty in my translation; for instance, the year cited by the author is 454 AH (Anno Higrae) according to the Islamic calendar where year 1 AH roughly corresponds to 622 CE. 3 Leo Africanus, History and Description of Africa, Vol. II, p. 261. Whether Leo’s estimates are precise is not a concern that will be addressed in this study. 4 The Almoravid and Almohad dynasties ruled Morocco and Spain for most of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. 5 Cited in Rogerson (2003, p. 282). 6 Historian Michel Abitbol attributes the country’s survival to “l’islam des moussem-s, des confréries . . . qui liaient différentes villes et . . . régions . . .  grâce aussi au system de leffs  – alliances militaires autant que réseaux d’échanges  – qui réunissaient  .  .  . diverses unités tribales et ethniques; grâce, enfin, à la grande diversité . . . de ses villages et de ses villes” the result of which “aucune unité socio-politique ne vivait en effet en circuit fermé” (2009, p. 309). 7 For instance, if a Moroccan subject murders a European, the murderer is to be put to death by the sultanic guards, after having been tortured, in the presence of English witnesses (Martin, 1994 [1922], p. 395). 8 Michaux-Bellaire, E. (1918, September 15). Le droit de Propriété au Maroc. FranceMaroc: Revue Mensuelle. 2(9), 269–270. 9 To be sure, I do not endorse Marx’s dismissal of all “oriental” forms as inherently static (cf. op. cit., p. 31; Abitbol, 2009, n. 17). Nevertheless, Marx’s analysis of the ways in

Institutional control 39 which early capitalism preys on social and economic forms preceding it (rather than his narrow orientalist gaze) remains pertinent. 10 Foucault, The Birth of Biopolitics (2008, pp. 159–179). 11 Alain Karsenty (1988) makes the strong case that there is a disconnect between the “model” and the “reality” of the collective lands through a careful analysis of the writings of the major colonial jurists: Huot, C. (1923). Les terres collectives du Maroc et la colonisation européenne. In Afrique Française: Renseignemerrts Coloniaux. Paris: Direction des Affaires Indigènes et du Service des Renseignements; Milliot, L. (1922). Les terres collectives (Blâd Djemâ’â). Paris: Éditions E. Leroux; and MichauxBellaire, E. (1913). Le Gharb. In Archives Marocaines 20(3): 1–480. 12 See also the content of the dahir dated April 16, 1914, giving the local pasha the “power” to decide on questions of land use and urbanization. 13 Jeanne-Henriette Bauchet, heir to Marrakesh Casino founder Jean Bauchet, in a 2009 interview on the casino’s grand opening in 1952. See Entretien avec Mme Bauchet Casino de Marrakech. Retrieved June 20, 2018, from www.youtube.com/watch?v=kS YyRTbnZSE&list=PLS3lISU6Ubh6OVEShso6Q7RXdBqqOVB7k. 14 Neil Smith argues that there are parallels with the fin-de-siècle revanchism in France and the “vengeful-right wing reaction against . . . liberalism . . . and the predations of capital” (1996, p. 43). 15 There is irony in this policy of apart-ness; the colonial administration ordered that the French quarters be built outside the old medina out of respect to the indigenous “Muslim” population, (see Abu-Lughod, 1980, pp. 165–167; Sebti, Courbage, Festy, & Kurzac-Souali, 2009, p. 21). 16 The 1965–1967 plan focused on tourism along with agriculture and professional training as key developmental sectors. (Haut Commissariat au Plan, Kingdom of Morocco, 2010). 17 Ibid, p. 11. 18 The law (Loi No 12–90) provides that the said plan be initiated by the “governmental authority” in charge of urbanism with the participation of the local communes. 19 Dryef (1993) states that with the exception of SDAU Casablanca, the subsequent 30-some city-related SDAUs have “no legal foundation”, and that its recommendations “cannot be imposed by regulation” (pp. 188–189). 20 See the institution’s stated mission at: www.cdg.ma/index.php?option=com_content& task=view&id=100&Itemid=206. 21 Morocco’s ministry of tourism. Retrieved from www.tourisme.gov.ma/english/1Administration-tourisme/4-PartenairesInstitutionnels/Crt.htm. 22 Also (mis)named the Supreme Council on Tourism, the Strategic Council on Tourism and, in the early 2000s, the Strategic Joint Committee on Tourism. In the early 2000s CST’s mission was “to ensure the unified implementation of the touristic policy” and “act as an arbitration authority” (Ministry of Tourism’s website). Concerns about its non-relevance are expressed in the December 10, 2004, L’Economiste article (N°:1914) titled “. . . Un comité stratégique, pour quoi faire?” while in 2018 another tourism official complained about the “negligence” and truancy of its members as well as the “incoherence” of its policy (Telquel, 4/11/18). 23 In 2004, Morocco entered into an (open sky) agreement with the EU to “liberalize” the air transportation market, allowing European carriers to sell “low cost” tickets without any limitations as “to nationality, capacity or frequency for airlines” (Haut Commissariat du Plan, 2010, p. 17, translation mine).

3 Ideological control (Re)branding the city

Setting the tourist “scene” During the 1960s and 1970s, Marrakesh remained a destination for “wanderers” and “hippie” types looking for “strangeness” and “unfamiliarity” in off-thebeaten-path experiences. In the 1980s, Marrakesh boosters began to diversify its product to cater to mass tourists, who, contrary to the hippie type, seek a “safe” experience within the hotel-bus/guided-tour bubble with small doses of strangeness. Some of the most frequently consumed tour packages included Club Med trips, organized travel, excursions to neighboring areas, nightlife and staged festivals limited to the confines of a hotel or resort. The local representative of a German tour operator summarized the 1980s product in what he referred to as “tourisme ponctuel” (site-specific, weekend-long tourism) where Marrakesh was a “two-day stop in a circuit of four imperial cities” (personal interview). Because it relied to a large extent on historic sites, the 1980s–1990s version of “toursime ponctuel” overlapped the tourist space with the traditional old medina, also a prime site of poverty and decay. For the Western tourist, the medina “scene” is reminiscent of the European medieval town; it is also an embodiment of the Orientalist archetype of the “treacherous Kasbah”. Hence, the reproduction of this scene promises a genuine and interactive experience. Minca and Borghi (2009, pp. 21–52) argue that this promotional rhetoric aims to “re-stage colonialism for the masses” by re-inscribing it within an Orientalist interpretive grid. In 1992, the Moroccan government contracted Publicis,1 a Paris-based advertising and communications conglomerate, to launch an ambitious campaign branding the “Morocco experience” as “L’éblouissement des senses” (lit. dazzlement of the senses), rendered in English to the less puzzling “feast of the senses”. Publicis, the fourth largest communications group, singlehandedly put brands like Club Med, Nestlé and L’Oréal on the international stage; it also owns Morocco’s main advertising agencies. The success of Publicis was remarkable; the campaign (re)cast Morocco in the same Orientalist tropes of the past: exotic, magical and dreamy (Minca & Borghi, 2009, pp. 24–31). Royal Air Maroc magazine celebrated the city’s decades-long image-building endeavor by declaring: “Marrakech s’est inscrit dans l’ère moderne en devenant l’aire de l’art dans l’air du temps”. English-speaking readers were spared the rather confusing alliteration of “area”,

Ideological control 41 “era”, “art” and “air” and are simply informed that Marrakesh has “become resolutely 21st century” (2010, p. 45). In 1994, Marrakesh hosted representatives of 124 governments who took part in the “Marrakesh Declaration” inaugurating a new era of “global economic collaboration” under the World Trade Organization (WTO).2 Since then, efforts have been underway to expand the city’s capacity to host international conventions. Marrakesh’s entrepreneurs boast the city’s proximity to the main European capitals and promote it as a convenient-yet-exotic alternative to host conventions and small-scale events while guaranteeing “un soleil omnipresent” (an ever-present sun) all year long.3 While the state and its institutions play a major role in positioning Marrakesh within its vision for economic development, the private sector is directly involved in the branding processes. However, by the late 1990s, it became clear to the city’s tourism professionals that the “traditional” image, alone, would not be sustainable. Since the city boasts some luxurious hotels and resorts, a class of new hoteliers and investors sought to broaden the “luxury” niche market and reach out to those who could afford it. When asked about the new image high-end hoteliers wished to communicate to the world, Younes – a luxury hotel general manager – began by explaining the short-sightedness of the image of “old” (personal interview): In the 1980s and 1990s Marrakesh’s image was limited to a city with an historic patrimony . . . and it got stuck there, people came here because it was different. . . unfortunately this image is no longer sufficient . . . we were concerned with people not returning, first-time visitors get tired of seeing the same: Jamaa-el-Fna, medina etc. To Younes and his cohort, the problem with the 1980s vision is its lack of interest in “fidéliser” (render loyal), a class of consumers with deep pockets. Thus, overselling Marrakesh as simply a heritage was a liability they had to overcome: By the 2000s, there was an increasing interest in the nightly scene “nightlife”4 . . . and, currently we have the best nightclubs in Africa . . . there is a great deal of innovation in terms of the nightly spectacles [shows] . . . it’s out of the ordinary. . . Since 2002, we’re able to attract the “jet-setter” class . . . many stars [international celebrities] started to flock to the city, enjoy the sun during the day and the club scene during the night. In addition to nightlife, the private sector has also advocated for a re-orientation of the city’s revenue-generating activities toward luxury consumption, which can appeal to a rising middle class as well as a “promising”, yet untapped, elite market. Younes confirms that “another direction that we wanted has to do with shopping, we wanted more malls like al-Mazar . . . à l’Americaine to attract family tourism . . . the Gulf market is promising” (personal interview).

42  Ideological control Nationally, tourism in Marrakesh has grown at a different pace in relation to other Moroccan cities. For the first time in 2004, Marrakesh outperformed the coastal resort town of Agadir in terms of national income brought in by tourism: 32% of the national night-room occupancy and 28% of tourist arrivals. In 2008, the city’s night-room occupancy reached 5.6 million overnight stays, the equivalent of 34% of the national level. The city’s hotel industry has grown not only in quantity but also in terms of quality. In the category of “Hôtels de Classe”, the city boasts a record of 28,000 beds equaling 21% of the national record. Regionally, Marrakesh is positioned in a web of competition among African and Arab cities to host the greatest number of international conventions. For instance, the United Cities and Local Governments (UCLG) official website shows an article framing the dispute over the upcoming regional executive meeting, and the resulting choice of Pretoria over Marrakesh, as a “split” between the Francophone and Anglophone worlds. Another article by the Moroccan daily Le Matin hails Marrakesh as the “first African and Arab city” to host the 26th International Population Conference; the article enthusiastically highlights Marrakesh’s many “assets” and the importance of a convention of this magnitude in promoting the city as an international destination.5 In sum, like many cities of the global South, Marrakesh is grappling with the pressures of twenty-first-century capitalism and the challenges of urban development. Its public and private boosters emphasize, and capitalize on, the value of its historic quarters in order to craft an ostensibly unique brand for the city. In the branding process, “heritage” is being turned into a commodity that can be sold to tourists and investors. However, there is a disconnect between the state and private actors’ branding strategies. For the latter, over-reliance on the city’s image as a “mythical/ traditional” place is an obstacle to their efforts to (1) diversify the tourist product and (2) create a class of loyal, high-end consumers. Evidence also reveals that the private sector takes for granted the image of Marrakesh as a patrimony; there is a commonly held assumption that its status as an historic heritage is a matter of natural occurrence. Recalling my interview with one of the city’s top-hoteliers, Marrakesh “is already a magic city, it has an attractive patrimony, a wonderful landscape”; therefore, the private sector’s priority is how to use that already-given magic to “create un pôle économique de croissance [an economic growth pole]” (personal interview with Younes). Younes further explained that in order for “modern” cities to rehabilitate and preserve their cultural heritage and traditional architecture, they had to re-create their original functions as they had presumably “lost their local cultures”. Unlike other tourist cities, the preservation of cultural heritage in Marrakesh would simply require “the reinforcing of [already] existing activities and habits” (Keresztély, 2007, p. 99). It remains to be seen whether Marrakesh’s heritage was already in place and whether heritage-construction involves social relations of power that go beyond mere statements of facts and into the making of the city and its residents.

Patrimony’s loss and recovery As a policy direction, the bulk of public discourse surrounding the medina revolves around the profitable rhetoric of “patrimonialisation” (Coslado et al., 2013, p. 30).

Ideological control 43 Patrimonialization is the process by which an object (urban space, for instance) is transformed into patrimony (heritage) and becomes endowed with an “identity, a political claim and a social appropriation” (Némery, Rautenberg, & Thuriot, 2008, p. 10). In its execution, this process relies on a logic of “lost-cum-recovered” reality, or what Jean Davallon (2002, 2006), borrowing from Umberto Eco (1986, p. 82), calls the logic of “trouvaille”; something akin to an archeological find. For instance, a host of specialists on Morocco’s medinas and their patrimonial values make the claim that the country’s “traditional urban fabric . . . has been rediscovered” decades after “the post-independence neglect” (Kurzac-Souali, 2007, p. 79, in Coslado, McGuinness, & Miller, 2013). If the re-discovery took place decades after independence, when did the first discovery happen? The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) reports that a section of Marrakesh’s medina “has enjoyed protection as part of Morocco’s artistic heritage since 1922” – that is, within a decade of French occupation/ discovery (UNESCO, 2008). Escher and Petermann further assert that “since 2005, international investors have discovered . . . Marrakesh’s real estate” (2013, p. 107, emphasis mine). Such trouvaille/(re)discovery only functions as a point of origin (Davallon, 2002, p. 75; Quintane, 2012, p. 63) upon which an entire process of (re)signification, reification, representation and reinsertion depends.6 The following quote captures how the narrative of loss and recovery performs the task of constructing a place identity for Marrakesh: Far from being the city of tradition, Marrakesh is emerging as a city in perpetual renovation. But it is also a legacy of the protectorate, marked by illiteracy . . . which the French authorities have kept many generations, as well as the spatial disparities it created. . . . In contrast, what has become of the city’s. . . forgotten greatness, when it was Averroes’ home, one of the intellectual lighthouses of the Arab world. (Sebti et al., 2009, p. 23, translation mine) Once “discovered”, the heritage is (re)signified. (Re)signification denotes the political act by which the subject of patrimonialization earns its status as such, irrespective of the natives’ interpretation of their own space. This act endows the said subject with a “genealogy” and “history” which connect it to a bygone past. In the prior quote, Marrakesh is said to evolve, and acquire new meanings, despite adversity. (Re)signification is then followed by reification; an attempt to make the patrimonialized “real”; a thing which can be classified, appreciated, visited and appropriated. Not only are culture, heritage and tourism subject to commodification, marketing and consumption; they are also said to “act” as engines for economic development. To be sure, while the riad is indeed a “thing”, or a physical object, it only becomes a “surprisingly refined art de vivre” that Moroccans themselves had almost forgotten after it has been (re)signified and reified.7 Once real, the “patrimony” can be said to “represent” a distant “culture”, “lifestyle” or “tradition” – what Davallon calls a “world of origin” (ibid). The reminder that Marrakesh was once home to a great twelfth-century philosopher (Averroes) serves that purpose.

44  Ideological control After discovery, (re)signification and reification, the last act involves reinserting the newly constructed patrimony into a worldwide web of commodities of its kind and appropriating funds, international and national councils and institutions who take it upon themselves to renovate, rehabilitate, conserve and protect it (as if from its rightful users) qua world heritage. The Sidi Ghanem fountain is but one example of piecemeal patrimonialization of the medina. Under an umbrella-program sponsored by Euromed Heritage, the so-called “mémoires de l’eau” aims to help Marrakeshis “rediscover” their “water heritage” and raise awareness around water preservation (Brochure “ẓākirat al-ā’ bi-Murrākush”). Between 2009 and 2012, the program completed over a dozen “heritage enhancement” projects including an underground cistern, public fountains, underground irrigation tunnels and water basins, all of which were then incorporated within a “tourism discovery circuit” (Euromed Heritage official website).8 Prior to its restoration, the Sidi Ghanem fountain consisted of a large water faucet and a sink housed in a 12′ x 6′ niche. According to the commemorative plaque (Figure 3.1), the fountain was built in the early nineteenth century. However, until May 2014, it was nothing more than one of many public waterholes dotting the medina. It was then “discovered” by the EU-affiliated Association pour la Participation et l’Action Régionale and local enthusiasts. Funding was then provided by the Marseilles’ mayor’s office (France) and Marrakesh’s Urban Commune while the technical expertise was provided by a team of French restoration experts. In its current condition, the water faucet was removed under the double pretext that all medina households have access to water and that the mayor’s office had refused to pay the water bill since 2005 (personal interview with a local resident). The selfappointed “friends of the fountain Sidi Ghanem” sought to alter the (communal) function of the place; the freshly stuccoed niche was repurposed to resemble a shrine and is now protected with a barred gate. In addition to the political and discursive-formative processes, patrimonialization is also a social process (Amougou, 2004, pp. 25–26). It renders the use value of the thing in question subservient to its exchange value. From the perspective of its promoters, patrimonialization can be “interpreted” as: un processus social par lequel les agents sociaux (ou les acteurs si l’on préfère) légitimes entendent, par leurs actions réciproques, c’est-à-dire interdépendantes, conférer à un objet, à un espace (architectural, urbanistique ou paysager) ou à une pratique sociale (langue, rite, mythe etc.) un ensemble de propriétés ou de “valeurs” reconnues et partagées d’abord par les agents légitimés et ensuite transmises à l’ensemble des individus au travers de mécanismes d’institutionnalisation. As a social process by which legitimate social actors . . . intend – through their reciprocal (that is to say; interdependent) actions – to confer to an object, a space (architectural, urban or landscape), or a social practice (language, rite, myth, etc.), a set of properties or “values” first recognized and shared by legitimated actors and then transmitted onto all individuals through the mechanisms of institutionalization. (Amougou, 2004, pp. 25–26, translation mine)

Ideological control 45

Figure 3.1  Patrimonialization of a public fountain in the medina

Patrimonialization, therefore, relies on the universalization of certain attitudes and values toward what is authentic, historically valuable and, hence, worthy of being constructed as (world) heritage (ibid, p. 13). From a policy implementation perspective, international organizations deploy their specialists to train and mobilize local elites (architects, urbanists, jurists, academics, journalists, etc.) who become active in the reproduction and normalization of “the logics and

46  Ideological control strategies” guiding the patrimonialization agendas (ibid). In Marrakesh, in addition to UNESCO-Maroc, ICOMOS (the International Council on Monuments and Sites) “collaborates” with local non-governmental organizations (NGOs) such as the Centre de Developpement de la Region de Tansift (CDRT) to facilitate large training consortia like Montada-Forum (2007), whose main goal is: dynamiser un processus participatif pour l’appropriation du patrimoine bâti traditionnel de la ville par la population et les élus. Il s’agissait de contribuer à forger une culture participative afin de générer un changement de mentalité, de perception et d’organisation à l’échelle locale pour faire du patrimoine culturel un véritable moteur du développement durable des villes. To stimulate a participatory process for the appropriation of the city’s traditional built environment involving the population and elected officials. This was to help build a participatory culture to change local attitudes, perceptions and practices in order to make the cultural heritage a real engine for sustainable development.9 A few remarks are in order here: First, patrimony and patrimony-making involve social engineering procedures. That is, procedures aiming to repurpose spaces, people, political representation, social relationships and practices (culture) for the empty promise of sustainable development which, at best, pays lip service to their intrinsic value.10 Second, the state is no longer the sole actor in these processes of appropriation, discipline and repurposing. Third, the concern of protecting the “Marrakesh’s patrimony” is no longer a local or, even, a national concern; it also involves international actors. In 2001, for instance, UNESCO’s classification of Jamaa el-Fna as a “Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity” was part of a list of 90 “masterpieces” from 70 different countries (UNESCO’s official website).11 In the case of Marrakesh’s medina, the whole logic, and practice, of patrimonialization confronts a damning paradox: just as “conservation” occupies a central position in its agenda, it relies heavily on other practices deemed deleterious to both tangible and intangible heritage. Thus, on the one hand, the city boosters classify, register and promote a patrimony for what they wish to be “sustainable tourism”. One the other hand, such practices as urbanization, real estate speculation and tourism – in UNESCO’s own admittance – are both a conduit, and a threat, to the city’s patrimony. Urbanization, in particular real estate speculation and the development of the road infrastructure, are seen as serious threats to the cultural space itself. While Jemaa el-Fna Square enjoys great popularity, the cultural practices may suffer acculturation, also caused by widespread tourism.12 In fact, the move to promote the medina’s riads was an attempt to “diversify” the heritage-product away from the short-term tourist visitation without falling short of the “sustainable development” goal. In a report titled “Tourisme 2030: Quelles

Ideological control 47 Ambitions pour le Maroc?” the High Commission on Planning shows a great deal of confidence about the long-term economic gains of the riad niche: Tourists come and go, but second homes . . . reflect a more permanent occupation of space. The international reputation of the medina of Marrakesh has created a strong demand for old homes which foreign residents of various nationalities renovate and turn into rich homes. (Haut Commissariat au Plan, 2010, p. 27, translation mine) On the surface, the connection between tourism and gentrification in Marrakesh lies in the fact that a majority of the renovated real estate is, first, owned by Europeans and, second, converted into alternative tourist accommodations for other European tourists (see Figure 3.2). In 2009, only 2.5% of foreign-owned real estate had been reported to local authorities as “commercial property”, and 46% as private homes, while 53% were designated as “maisons d’hôtes” – a juridically and fiscally ambiguous category for which, to date, no fiscal policy has been formulated by the central government (Bahi, 2011, pp. 11–38; Escher & Petermann, 2013, pp. 102–106). According to a 2011 joint investigation involving the ministries of interior (police) and tourism, 15% of the maisons d’hôtes (in addition to 500 furnished luxury apartments outside the medina perimeters) “operate clandestinely”.13 Such informal business ventures operate outside the purview of (the already lax) labor laws, evade taxes and contribute to the shrinkage of tourism income despite the constant rise of international tourists entering the country since 2000. The High Commission’s vision of Morocco’s “Tourism in 2030” did 2,500

2,160

2,000

1,500 1,432 1,000 900 500

0

500 50

150

1994

1999

2000

2003

Figure 3.2  Real estate owned by non-Moroccans (1999–2009) Source: Escher & Petermann, 2013, pp. 102–106

2006

2009

48  Ideological control not seem to have heeded Marrakesh’s Urban Agency, which in 2008 had realized that the hopes of a promising future were hampered by the current realities: face à l’engouement pour les riads, surtout par les étrangers, la morphologie sociale et spatiale a été modifiée entraînant ainsi une mutation sociale marquée l’afflux d’étrangers enquête d’une résidence secondaire de luxe ou d’une possibilité d’investissement très porteuses. Une telle tendance n’est pas sans consequence. Given the popularity of the riads, especially among foreigners, social and spatial morphology has been altered resulting in social change marked by influx of foreigners looking for a luxury second home or a promising investment opportunity. Such a trend is not without consequences. (SDAU, 2008, p. 85, translation mine)

Hospitality, exception and violence The grammar of city-branding is full of exaggerations and concealments targeting both locals and tourists. First, in the discourse of economic development, tourism is celebrated as the sole promoter of regional and national economic well-being. The presumed economic benefits of tourism are exaggerated in terms of their scope and depth. Tourism is said to have a positive impact on strengthening the city’s infrastructure, its employment base and its hard currency earnings. Second, and despite the socio-economic disparities, many of which are indeed a consequence of tourism, the tourism literature on Marrakesh depicts a polished image of the city that hides all forms of urban “malaises” – physical violence perpetrated by the state, decay, unemployment and illiteracy. The discourse privileging the development imperative conceals a structural violence inherent in, and justified by, the capital accumulation generated by tourist activity. Violence, however, need not be one-dimensional (physical or otherwise) in order for the locals, and tourists, to acquiesce to the “world-making” power that enables the former to be hospitable for the sake of the latter’s eudemonia. There is another form of violence, a symbolic one, whereby Marrakesh is made up of (micro)spaces of exception that enable the tourists to experience it on their own terms. City-branding is not merely a rationalized strategy of promoting a place that is already there, but rather a creation ex nihilo of the urban experience. This involves what Soja calls the structuring of an “urban imaginary”; that is to say, those “interpretive grids” through which the tourists “think about, experience, evaluate and decide to act” in the tourist space (2000, p. 324). Put simply, a city’s physical structure, alone, is insufficient to turn it into a space of tourist consumption where all things imaginable are realizable. The tourism promotion literature routinely refers to Marrakesh as the “Pearl of the South”, the “Red City” (in reference to its earth-red walls) or the “Paris of the Sahara”, evoking Winston Churchill’s account of Marrakesh upon his 1943 visit. National and local tourism organizations and real estate promoters as well as the media expanded and capitalized on these labels by way of a series of branding campaigns eagerly (but

Ideological control 49 not always adroitly) constructing Marrakesh as a city inside which there is always that other city one desires. After a multi-million-dollar expansion plan was completed in 2007, the Moroccan Office National des Aéroports chose a problematic catchphrase describing the city’s airport as “more than just an airport, it’s a time machine”. The airport’s welcome page directly addresses the traveler in a way that not only blurs the logical distinction between the real and the imagined14 but privileges the latter over the former: “When you step outside our 21st century airport, you’ll enter a city where classical traditions . . . are as vibrant today as they were centuries ago” (Marrakesh-Menara Airport official website). Here, the movement of tourists from their homes to Marrakesh is a spatial, temporal and mental movement where the renovated airport serves as a vehicle, a link and a last station before they set out on a journey to placelessness and timelessness. Tourism professionals put into use a wide range of practices to reinforce systemic and routinized ways of gazing at, and experiencing, the city’s heritage.15 Tourists are promised the “authenticity” of experiencing Marrakesh as if they were Marrakeshis without (too much) rubbing shoulders with the locals. The locals, however, are not completely removed from the tourist scene; they are presented as a spectacle. The Chez Ali show – a nightly open air “staged festival” where, according to a travel book, “Disneyland meets Morocco”16 and “dancers, acrobats, riders, fireworks, folk music are on the menu” in a show worthy of “1001 nights”17 – is a prime example of this mise en scène (staging) of the local as a spectacle.18 Further, a good number of brochures, travel books and online promotional materials treat the Marrakeshi “subject” in two distinct ways. In the close-up shots where human subjects are shown, the latter is depicted as a performer (snake-charmer, belly-dancer, acrobat and so on). In the more panoramic “natural” shots where the human subject is ostensibly “caught in the moment”, the latter is almost exclusively veiled women or traditionally garbed men in the old marketplace. The touristic mise en scène entails a kind of knowledge, access and complicity which transcend (night)-time and space.19 The scene is therefore an opportunity to “see” and “be seen”, where being seen is also the tourist activity’s objective (whether it be in public among fellow travelers, in a photo album or in social media “selfies”). With the scene comes a mood for theatricality, ritualization (behind closed doors) and breach (of societal norms) in which the participation is assumed to be among equals.20 In the case of Marrakesh, the instances where the terms “scene/scène” are mentioned in the tourism literature connote, inter alia, spaces of stagnation, exception and novelty/fragility where the real and the imagined overlap. Jamaa el-Fna square, for instance, is a “scène de théâtre permanente”,21 and a selection of downtown bars make up the city’s “nightlife” and “flourishing gay scene”.22 The Marrakesh nightlife “scene”, explains a Lonely Planet writer, “has a speakeasy feel . . . there are still Moroccan laws against extramarital sex, homosexuality and selling alcohol. . . (especially in the Medina). But once night falls . . . cocktails flow . . . and glances are traded across . . . dance floors”.23 The argument here, notwithstanding the non sequitur, is that the “magic of the moment” trumps local law and the potential risk of breaking such law. Yet

50  Ideological control the potential danger of breaking the law promises its necessary opposite: a gratifying experience unattainable in the most coveted nightlife scenes in the (Western) world where “sex” and “alcohol” are permitted. The cocktail-fueled ambiance exemplifies the state of nonchalant (but not haphazard), detached and subversive attitudes and behaviors of transient tourists which become the hallmark of touristic dérive (drift): a mode of “passage through varied ambiances” whereby individuals “let themselves be drawn” by the spirit of time and space and the “encounters they find” in them (Debord, 1958). While contradictory, at best, it is no surprise that tourism literature from the outside trivializes local “intolerant” laws to promote a rather “tolerant” image of the place. What is quite unexpected is when the hosts themselves trivialize local “lax” laws to reassure their guests. The famous Mamounia Hotel promoters often invoke such “jet setters” as Paul McCartney, Dominique Strauss-Kahn and Yves Saint-Laurent as some of their regular guests. The hotel’s official website assures its visitors that its privacy policy is in accordance with the French (not Moroccan) laws to provide a sense of safety not only from the indigenous population but also from the “arbitrary” legal practices of the host. Meanwhile, Marrakeshis are bombarded with messages stressing the necessity of maintaining their image as “hospitable and friendly” and the image of Marrakesh as a city where “modernity and authenticity” live side by side and “the senses feast”. The rhetoric of hospitality here is used as justification to circumvent the local law and implement in its stead a stranger’s law (loi d’étranger). Jacques Derrida (2000) problematizes the relationship between law and hospitality: “absolute hospitality requires that I open up my home . . . not only to the foreigner. . ., but to the absolute, unknown, anonymous other” (p. 25). In this untenable relationship, the hosts are unable to mandate that the tourists enter into a contract of mutual rights, and in order to protect their capacity for hospitality, they are compelled to engage in (extra) legal differentiation between “indigenous” and “foreigner-guest”. Thus “absolute hospitality”, which unconditionally seeks to gratify the tourist/guest at the expense, and in spite, of the host’s right, “presupposes a break with hospitality in the ordinary sense” (ibid). The Arabic-language “ḍayf” (guest), “he who is added to one’s own”, and “mūḍīfa” (host), “she who adds/adjoins to her own”, belong to the same semantic field as “addition”, “plurality” and “hospitality”. Tourism as a set of global capitalist processes redefines hospitality in terms of subtraction, hegemony and exclusion. The “host thus becomes a retrained hostage”, retrained in a foreign (linguistic) logic and detained within an alienating global capital rationale. In the moniker “Paris of the Sahara”, the “Paris” comes as a “rescue” from that meaningless, terrifying emptiness of the desert – as if to comfort its visitors – that a healthy dose of the familiar is here.24 Neither completely “Paris” nor exclusively “Sahara”, Marrakesh becomes what de Certeau calls an “asyndeton” – that is, an omission of everything between the two – both geographically and symbolically (1984, p. 101). Marrakesh, like all stratified social systems exhibiting deep inequalities, often attempts not only to justify such inequalities, but also normalize them. Indeed, the symbolic violence discussed here, and manifested through language, ritualized practice and ideology, promotes a culture

Ideological control 51 where the subordinated groups internalize their condition as inevitable and the power that exacerbates it as legitimate.

Body(count) and soul(-searching) In 2008, Omar Moufakkir, professor of tourism management and director of the International Center of Peace Through Tourism Research published an article on the market perceptions of Morocco as a tourist destination. His findings became a source of concern over the country’s brand. Most Europeans associate Morocco with stereotypes like immigrant-export, poverty, corruption, insecurity and religious fundamentalism (Moufakkir, 2008, p. 102). Moufakkir proceeds by likening Morocco to “a body without soul”, as the country “offers a ‘superb’ . . . tourism product [but] has not been favourably positioned in the minds of potential . . . tourists” (ibid). He goes on to state that “the perception of Morocco as a tourism destination (the body) is healthy, but the perception that the . . . tourist holds of the Moroccans (the soul) is sick” (ibid, p. 104). After his diagnosis of what ails the Moroccan body-touristic, Moufakkir concludes his study with a call on Moroccan image brokers to “intellectualize Morocco’s tourism communication [and] romanticize [its] marketing campaigns” – with no further explanation as to what the double strategy of “intellectualization” and “romanticization” might entail. The study is replete of defensive tautologies like “there is more to tourism than to promote tourism”, which the author uses to argue for more aggressive branding schemes (ibid, p. 105). Moufakkir’s “recommendations” to fix the country’s soul involve the reengineering of Moroccan society and the dressage of the Moroccan individual by way of “progressive” technologies of state power with a messy blend of words, pictures and vague formulae: In a highly competitive and dynamic global tourism environment, there is a need to develop a clear identity based on emotions. There is a need to concentrate on conveying the essence or the spirit of Morocco to change existing perceptions and misconceptions of the country and its people. . . . We thus propose that for tourism to grow in a dominantly Islamic developing country there is a need to supplement tourism pictures with words of wisdom, accountability and transparency . . . Morocco’s tourism can use, promote, and benefit from the country’s emerging progressive policies and sociocultural changes. (2008, p. 105; emphases mine) This kind of soul-searching is echoed in the 2009 marketing campaign which targeted the French market. According to the country’s tourism authority, the new slogan, “Maroc, il y a des pays qui font grandir l’âme” (there are countries that make the soul grow), meant to send an “exclusive and differentiating” message which “confers a quasi-spiritual human dimension to the discovery of Morocco, responding uniquely to the aspirations of today’s traveler” (Office National Marocain du Tourisme [ONMT] press communiqué). The campaign made use of

52  Ideological control several media: TV, posters, written media and internet. The 45-second video segment features a traveler in Morocco, with a non-descript white box – symbolizing traveler’s soul – which grows throughout his journey. On April 28–29, 2011, Moufakkir headed south to Marrakesh to speak at the Research on Tourism in Arab Countries Conference. On almost the same hour Moufakkir was reading his formula to save the Moroccan soul from eternal market damnation, a bomb attack shook the city of Marrakesh, claiming the lives of dozens of tourists. The attack took place in Jamaa el-Fna square, a prime location with a strong presence of Western tourists. The attack left the Moroccan state in the compromising position between effectively eradicating its enemies and damaging its newly earned image as a “success story” in the Arab Spring saga (Madhi, 2012, p.  14). In an unprecedented reluctance to link the attacks to al-Qaeda or “international terrorist networks”, the Ministry of Interior initially deemed the act simply “criminal” (ibid). Indeed, the 2011 terrorist attack on Jamaa el-Fna square “brought the regime under further scrutiny”; in light of the changes sweeping the Arab world, public authorities, private promoters as well as Western visitors are now facing a set of unknown parameters (ibid, p. 7). The Moroccan weekly magazine Actuel Hebdo ran an editorial on June 3, 2011, titled “Urgence à Marrakech” in which the author warns that the city’s “fame [and] magnificent brand which took decades to build” would vanish in days if nothing was done to salvage it. To be precise, in the three-month period between April and June of 2011, the city became the center of three major image-damaging events: pro-democracy protests, a terrorist attack and sex scandals involving top ranking French politicians. The risk of negative image defining the city became clear; the city promoters became anxious that a dystopic vision of Marrakesh would take decades to fix. Actuel Hebdo continues in its cautionary tale on how the city’s “brand of glamour . . . is currently experiencing an unprecedented crisis . . . blown by attacks on [the same] tourists who sustain the city.” Europeans’ anxiety about terrorism is heightened by the Arab revolutions as well as controversy over the rumored pedophilic and sexual escapades of high-caliber Western visitors (Actuel Hebdo, 2011). According to the folks at Actuel Hebdo, the risks are high; such anxieties are accompanied by a “corrosive media campaign” in Europe which can only be countered by a powerful anti-crisis offensive. The magazine cites examples in which corporations like Toyota, Coca-Cola and Boeing have handled image crises and recommends that Marrakesh follow suit. To tolerate or not to tolerate? On June 8, 2011, the nascent Moroccan association Touche pas à mon enfant (Hands off my child) contracted a French criminal attorney to make a symbolic legal deposition in a Paris court against X for “sexual exploitation of minors and non-denunciation of crime” (Actuel Hebdo, 2011). Expectedly, the media publicized the event; several newspapers and magazines both in French and Arabic ran “special segments” with big headlines reading “Pedophilia: Zero Tolerance”.25

Ideological control 53 It seems, however, that despite all efforts to salvage the city’s image, certain inconsistencies persist. First, it is doubtful that the locals take this re-branding strategy, of tolerance/non-tolerance, seriously. Second, there is a disconnect between the rather reactionary language of tolerance/non-tolerance and the salient marketing language adopted by the Ministry of Tourism. To illustrate, let’s consider the following Marrakesh “vignettes” taken from the ministry’s website:26 Those who satisfy their desire to discover and to meet people are sure to enjoy simple joys in Marrakesh. Everything . . . is to be found without limits in Marrakesh. Secret and intimate gardens . . . sources of escape and reveries, always illustrate our need for what is essential and authentic. Come and enjoy this friendly nature soon. Up and away . . . enjoy [the] unspoilt nature . . . whether wild or tamed, nature is at the heart of our identity and our art of living. Further, the city is still cast in European media in patently suggestive terms. In a 2010 interview with the Independent, global trend-setter Jade Jagger was asked about what attracts her to the city – she was reported to have invested $3.5 million in a villa complex in the city. Jagger answered that she “like[s] the history of Marrakesh. It’s a little more difficult to find things here, so it’s more alluring and sexy”, unlike India, she continued, “Marrakesh has the advantage of its Muslim culture – sexy and beautiful and withholding.”27 None but Jagger, it seems, would be willing to put “Muslim culture” and “sexy” in the same sentence without fearing ridicule. But the kind of Muslim culture to which she is referring is clearly the one in what Minca and Borghi call “an Orientalist, colonial imaginary” (2009, p. 25).

The festival as panacea The authorities felt the need to counter the negative images threatening the city’s touristic future at any price. One month after the deadly attacks, a well-connected Rabat-based non-profit organization moved its annual “Mawazine: Rhythms of the World” festival to Marrakesh in order to “commemorate” the victims and “express . . . on behalf of all Moroccans . . . their commitment to peace and tolerance”.28 The festival itself was the center of much controversy due to concerns over poor management which left a dozen human casualties in a 2009 stampede, as well as speculations about its large budget being taken from public monies. The festival organizers insist that Mawazine was privately sponsored without disclosing budgetary details while, on the other hand, many critics suspected the “government-sponsored” festival was a distraction away from the pro-democracy Movement du 20 Février denouncing the overtly consumerist and Westernizing message that the festival promotes. Despite the opposition, the Marrakesh edition of Mawazine was a success, according to its organizers. They particularly cited record attendance and hundreds

54  Ideological control of thousands of dollars raised to benefit the families of terror victims. Every festival which took place in the city the following year was hailed as a “response to terrorism” promoting Marrakesh as a “beacon of peace and tolerance”. To cite a few, the International Festival of Theatre (May), International Festival of Laughter (June), the Sun Festival of Youth and Music (July), Folklore and Traditional Music (August), International Festival of Contemporary Dance (September) and the International Film Festival (November to December) all shared the same reassuring message that Marrakesh is still open for business. The media’s role in this event-based branding cannot be overstated; events of this caliber have become major national and international media foci. For instance, the International Festival of Laughter (2011) was reported by 33 large francophone news sources in 51 separate articles. Within three weeks in June 2011, French dailies like Le Monde, Le Parisien, France Soir and L’Observateur ran articles with strikingly similar headlines like “Marrakech Retrouve son Sourire” (Marrakesh Recovers its Smile). During the same month the Maghreb Arabe Press (MAP) news agency reported “French minister of Culture . . . accompanied by [Morocco’s] minister of tourism . . . visited the mythical Jamaa el-Fnaa square to denounce the terrorist act. . . [and] in commemoration of the 10th anniversary of the UNESCO proclamation . . . the delegation was invited to appreciate a collective painting – by Marrakeshi artists . . . as a manifestation of the values of tolerance and solidarity.”29 The strategy of festivalization of the city has been successful in promoting the city as a cultural destination. However, the city’s promoters, insofar as they act as “cultural producers”, are also involved in imparting certain behavioral dispositions, habits and tastes onto the local population (Van Elderen, 1997; Richards, 2007). To be sure, festivals were a hallmark of pre-modern societies; they were used as opportunities to “release pressure” and “celebrate the grotesque” in medieval Europe and “feasts of misrule” and “reversal of roles” in many non-European tribal practices (Bakhtin, 1984; Taylor, 2007, pp. 46–50). Festivals activate and transform social space by modifying the usual functions of urban space. For instance, the main streets are barricaded and turned into outdoor performance venues. When tourists and locals (festival-goers) occupy the same space, certain social norms are suspended, and it becomes easy for the locals to make public certain (otherwise) private behaviors (Picard & Robinson, 2006). The “festive mood” and the “magic of the moment” justify the public re-enactment of certain private behaviors. Attendees “indulge” in the (momentary) ritualized transgressions imposed by the power of the occasion (Picard & Robinson, 2006, p. 11). This kind of festival is both a space and time of becoming other; it occupies a space in which the local and the tourist intermingle and perpetuates the ephemeral moment of play, transgression and (then) amnesia. Expectedly, within the conservative circles in a society like that of Marrakesh, such re-enactments are deemed problematic at best. The logic of Marrakesh festivals is to brand the city not only as a place endowed with a natural beauty or a historical patrimony, but also (and more importantly) as a place where expressions of “universal” and “contemporary” taste are to be found. Ironically, the kind of art presumed to “testify” to the people of Marrakesh’s

Ideological control 55 “tolerance” and “openness” is also the kind of art branded as “worldly” on the basis of global sales, satellite TV and media (over)exposure. In order for Marrakesh to move to the global stage, its boosters are no longer content with a rustic and provincial festival audience; the local population has to be domesticated and turned into “festival consumers” with an affinity for globalized cultural capital: world music, international film, oriental and contemporary dance and so on. In a 2010 interview, the city’s first female mayor summarized her role in promoting a film festival as “to educate the audience on the [existence of] other cinemas . . . and as a result be open to different cultures”.30 The official story of tourism as the ultimate formula for sustainable development is less than consistent. On the one hand, the state hails tourism as a “factor of openness, development of local cultures and improvement of the living conditions of local societies”.31 On the other hand, the state acknowledges that “new practices may come into conflict with traditional values”, and it quickly dismisses the negative effects as “inevitable”.32 With recent fears about the decline of tourism, due in part to the rise of transnational (anti-Western) terrorism, Marrakesh promoters are trying to reach out to other consumer markets beyond the European market. The daily Le Matin reported that Morocco’s Tourism Office’s (ONMT) participation in China’s Outbound Travel and Tourism Market (COTTM) in April 2012 aimed to make China the first market of outbound tourists by the year 2020.33 Whether this shift in focus means the office is attempting to divorce Marrakesh’s image from its Orientalist interpretation is not clear. It seems, however, that the office’s mission to China was to rehash repetitious promotional rhetoric premised on the idea that Marrakesh invokes the same Orientalizing images in the Chinese tourist imaginary. The infamous stand, reserved for the Moroccan delegation, unabashedly invited prospective Chinese tourists to “Discover the centuries-old imperial city [of] Marrakesh and romantic cosmopolitan Casablanca. Explore the mysterious dunes of Sahara [and] feast [their] eyes on the uniqueness and richness of Arab Culture and arts”.34 When asked whether the ONMT’s China visit was a step in the right direction as far as the private sector is concerned, Younes responded in the following words: it really doesn’t matter that they went [to China] . . . they’re in the habit of doing things backwards! . . . it’s not enough to advertise a destination if you don’t, first, establish a transportation network to allow large groups to fly directly into the city. . . Marrakesh needs to be connected, by air, to the Asian market. . .

Notes 1 Publicis owns the American giant Leo Burnett, often credited for such branding successes as Marlboro Man, the Jolly Green Giant and Tony the Tiger (The Oxford Companion to American Food and Drink, pp. 336–337). 2 WTO report. Retrieved from www.wto.org/english/docs_e/legal_e/marrakesh_decl_e. htm.

56  Ideological control 3 For instance, since 2010, the city hosted (among others) the General Motors’ launch event for the new Opel Astra with 24,000 participants, the World Congress of Gynecology and Obstetrics, Salon de l’Art de Vivre (promoting real estate product) and British travel agencies’ annual convention. 4 The quoted words were not translated as they were originally uttered in English by this interviewee. 5 Le Matin. (2009, September 26). Retrieved from www.lematin.ma/Actualite/Express/ Article.asp?id=120081 [translation mine]. 6 I draw my typology on Davallon’s; in “Comment se fabrique le patrimoine” (2002), he speaks of six phases of patrimonialization (i.e., la decouverte; la certification; l’etablissement de l’existence du monde d’origine; la representation du monde d’origine par l’objet; la celebration et; l’obligation de transmettre aux générations futures). 7 Defraire and Minne (2003, n.p.); Lovelock and Lovelock (2013) make the compelling argument that “pots, cars, boats, paper” are “physical objects that are an outcome of a ‘way of life’ ” rather than the other way around (p.150). 8 Euromed Heritage. Rediscovering together the water heritage in the Mediterranean region. Retrieved September 8, 2018, from www.euromedheritage.net/intern.cfm?men uID=12&submenuID=13&idproject=44. 9 ICOMOS. (2012, October 11–12). Deuxième Conférence régionale euroméditerranéenne: La ville, patrimoine vivant. Salé: Maroc. 10 Mike Robinson makes a similar claim about the inadequacy of “the discourse of sustainable development” (in AlSayyad, 2001, p. 42). 11 The rationale for UNESCO’s list of Intangible and Oral Heritage, if not for adding Marrakesh’s Jamaa el-Fna to said list, is premised on a gross misunderstanding: “to preserve the oral culture of hundreds of languages lacking a grapholect” (International Jury’s Chairman speech, May 2001, UNESCO); both Arabic and its Moroccan variation are “grapholect” (i.e., written) languages. 12 UNESCO. (2008). Intangible heritage: Cultural space of Jemaa el-Fna square. 13 L’Économiste. (2014, April 25). Tourisme informel: La traque est lancée à Marrakech. Edition Numéro: 3770. Retrieved August 30, 2014, from www.leconomiste.com/ article/893726-tourisme-informella-traque-est-lanc-e-marrakech. 14 Soja (2000, p. 325). 15 John Urry (1990, p. 3) has argued, in “The Tourist Gaze”, that “places are chosen to be gazed upon because there is an anticipation, especially through day-dreaming and fantasy of intense pleasures . . . through a variety of . . . practices, such as film, television, literature, magazines, records and videos, which construct and reinforce that gaze”. 16 Humphrys, 2010, p. 156. 17 Chez Ali’s official website at http://restaurant-chez-ali.com/en/ 18 Dann and Seaton (2001) observed the same representation patterns of the indigenous in the so-called “Plantation Spectacular” scene in one of Barbados’ largest hotels. 19 Blum, 2003, pp. 166–167. 20 Blum speaks of theatricality, collectivization and aggression among the many elements of the scene as a social phenomenon. (ibid, pp. 164–174). 21 Shopping Guide Marrakech magazine (2013, p. 56). 22 Sullivan(2007, p. 134). 23 Bing, A. (2008). Marrakesh encounter (p.  139). Oakland, CA: Lonely Planet Publications. 24 See de Certeau’s discussion of the symbolisms behind toponyms and the latter’s role in resignifying spaces as well as their (marginal) occupants, “The Practice of Everyday Life”, (1984, pp. 103–105). 25 See for instance Actuel Hebdo issue 98, June 10, 2011. Retrieved from www.actuel. ma/archives.html.

Ideological control 57 26 ONMT, (n.d.) Art and culture: Secrret Gardens. Retrieved from www.visitmorocco. com/index.php/eng/I-enjoy/Art-and-Culture/Secret-gardens. 27 Jagger, J. Retrieved from www.independent.co.uk/life-style/house-and-home/ property/moroccan-magic-jade-jagger-has-brought-her-brand-of-bohemian-style-toa-luxury-marrakech-development-2027791.html?printService=print. 28 Zerrour, L. (2011, May 31). Marrakesh sings peace. Retrieved from March 20, 2012, www.aujourdhui.ma/couverture-details82705.html. 29 MAP. (2011, June 1). Attentat d’Argana: Mitterrand à Marrakech. Retrieved March 20, 2012, from www.aujourdhui.ma/aufildesjours-details82740.html. 30 Tancrez, M. (2010, December 3). Interview with Mayor Fatima Zahra El-Mansouri. L’Officiel Magazine. Retrieved April 17, 2013, from www.aufaitmaroc.com/culture/ fifm/2010/12/2/pendant-dix-jours-le-festival-et-la-ville-se-confondent-et-cela-creeune-energie-extraordinaire. 31 Haut Commissariat au Plan, 2010, p. 27. 32 Ibid. 33 Maghreb Arabe Presse, Le Matin (April 21, 2012). Retrieved from www.lematin.ma/ express/COTTM-_Le-Maroc-s-ouvre-aux-touristes-chinois/165590.html. 34 China Outbound Travel & Tourism Market (COTTM), 2012. Retrieved from www. cottm.com/exhibitors/exhibitor-list/exhibitor?id=COTTM121200.

4 Ideology and beyond Mediating the city

Branding the city and its subaltern The media, as seen in the previous section, play a major role in maintaining the city brand and, more importantly, reassuring its international consumers that Marrakesh is still open for business. During the time a festival is promoted, media consumers are reminded time and again that despite the image-damaging events, Marrakesh’s image is still solid. However, national media perform more functions than maintaining the Marrakesh brand. Since place-making and news-making are intimately related, it is necessary to inquire into the ways in which national media represent the city, its people and its neighborhoods. The media sources under study here differ in their place-making strategies, but they all steer away from antagonizing the monarchial order or private interest for fear of undermining the branding effort. While it may be true that the media promote capitalist interest, it would be wrong to assume this “promotion” is executed in accordance to one standard formula.

Media structure in Morocco: a thumbnail sketch Morocco’s media have been closely tied to the broader political dynamics marking the country’s modern history. In the prelude to colonialization, much of the media production was by and large committed to promoting (competing) capitalist interests (Kettani, 2002). During the first three decades of French control, and despite the circulation of a minority of Arabic-language newspapers, the printed press was predominantly Franco-centric. For instance, as its infantilizing name indicates, Le Petit Marocain (the Little Moroccan) adopted an “ultra-colonial” and “rightwing” editorial line in both its French and Arabic versions (Gravier, 1972; Blair, 1970). In the early 1940s, the nationalist elite became aware of the importance of taking the “battle” for independence onto the journalistic field: in 1946 the Istiqlal (independence) party founded al-Alam (the Standard) to be its first Arabic-language official organ. In 1965 the Istiqlal party reached out to its francophone readership by founding L’Opinion; both newspapers adopt a “reverential” tone toward the monarchy. In 1971, the publishing company which operated Le Petit Marocain was Moroccanized, re-branded under the commercial

Ideology and beyond 59 name “Maroc Soir Groupe” and has added three national newspapers to its portfolio (Assahraa al-Maghribiyya, Le Matin and Maroc Soir). During the 1980s and up until 1999 al-Alam and the Socialist-leaning al-Ittihad al-Ishtiraki (the Socialist Union) were the most widely circulated newspapers in the country (Vermeren, 2002, p. 135, cited in Orlando, 2009, p. 135). The two newspapers represented the vanguard of a serious, socially engaged “party-affiliated” journalism – that is, newspapers acting as the official voice of particular political parties. Less than a decade after al-Istiqlal party launched its first French-language daily, Le Matin du Sahara et du Maghreb was founded by a royal family relative and powerful minister of state; Le Matin has maintained a consistent editorial line which promotes the royal palace’s narrative. The once-popular party-affiliated press (as-sahafa al-hizbiyyah) became vulnerable to the ebb and flow of said parties’ appeal in Moroccan politics. By the early 2000s, and with the relative political openness and renunciation of the “years of lead” which characterized the late monarch’s rule, the current monarch1 allowed the proliferation of a new kind of “independent” press with no ties to the political parties. On the surface, the shrinking of partisan newspapers’ readership in Morocco over the last decade can be traced to the emergence of an “independent” press. However, many factors have contributed to the growth of the information market in Morocco over the last 15 years: •

•

• •

The party-affiliated press, as many of my interviewees noted, has become a disappointment to its most committed readership (self-censoring, remained within the “red lines”), and, consequently, the independent press provided a new outlet (Douai, 2009, p. 7). The proliferation of the independent press is inscribed in the central state’s “reformist project” which “guarantees the freedom of press” as a means to the “protection of individual and societal rights and freedoms” (Ministère de la Communication, 2014). The financial solvency of the private press, coupled with the skepticism surrounding partisan press’ transparency (Douai, 2009, p. 7). The proliferation of the online (cottage) press as well as the online versions of many national newspapers.

Today, the current situation of the national media landscape can be summarized in the following figures (see Figure 4.1 and Table 4.1): The circulation figures testify to the credibility crisis of the party-affiliated press and the loss of its readership to the less ideological independent press. In 2017, L’Opinion is the only party-affiliated newspaper that appears in the top 10 dailies. Its circulation estimates went from a staggering 70,0002 in 2003 to 12,342 in 2013 and 10,227 in 2017 (Rugh, 2004, p. 102 and the Audit Bureau of Circulation). L’Opinion and its Arabic-language sister, al-Alam, were hit the hardest as a result of this credibility crisis (from 18,000 in circulation in 2003 to 8,984 in 2012). Le Matin appears to have survived the wave of unpopularity which plagued its competitors within the old-guard category. In 2017, it ranked third in all paid

110,000 100,000 90,000 80,000 70,000 60,000 50,000 40,000 30,000 20,000 10,000 0

2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017

Al-Akhbar Le Matin (fr.) L’Economiste (fr.) Aujourd’hui le Maroc (fr.)

Assabah Akhbar al-Youm L’Opinion (fr.)

Figure 4.1 Circulation* trends of the highest-ranking daily newspapers (2006–2017) Source: L’Organisme Marocain de Justification et de Diffusion at www.ojd.ma/Chiffres/(category)/ payante * “Circulation” refers to the average number of copies distributed any given day.

Table 4.1  Top daily newspapers: establishment year, five-year trends and affiliation

Al-Massae Al-Akhbar Assabah Le Matin (fr.) Akhbar al-Youm L’Economiste (fr.) L’Opinion (fr.) Aujourd’hui le Maroc (fr.) Liberation (fr.)

Est.

2012–2017 change

Affiliation

2006 2013 2000 1972 2009 1991 1965 2001 1964

−74% −40%** −56% −9% −50% −22% −23% +161% −26%

Independent Independent Eco-Médias* Royal house* Independent Eco-Médias* Istiqlal Pty ALM Pub* USFP

Source: L’Organisme Marocain de Justification et de Diffusion at www.ojd.ma/Chiffres/(category)/ payante  Although affiliated to larger corporations, these newspapers self-report as “independent”.  2013–2017 change since al-Akhbar was established in 2013.

*

**

Ideology and beyond 61 newspapers (all languages and all periodicities). Le Matin’s circulation numbers have only decreased by 9% in the five-year period (2012 and 2017) compared to a drop of 26% and 23% respectively with Libération and L’Opinion. The national press has dutifully followed the state’s storyline of nationalism, state-formation and modernization, territorial integrity and monarchial hegemony. A new breed of “independent” press has emerged with a different set of “functions”. The new regional press3 (as-sahāfa al-jihawiyyah) has emerged in the context of the “local democracy” project initiated by the central state and is intended to serve as a “contributing factor to economic and social development” of the region (Royal Address to Press Corps, January 23, 2010). Despite high hopes, there are several structural hindrances for the local press to achieve its intended goal. In a conference report on media and policy prepared by Marrakesh’s Cadi Ayyad University, the contributors drafted a list of over a dozen issues plaguing local media production. These issues include: the persistence of state censorship through obstructive “journalism codes”, local authorities’ lack of support due to their suspicion of the “real” intentions of journalists and the lack of a “national plan” which takes into account the “regional and local specificities”, in addition to socio-economic impediments which relegate local (Arabophone) journalists/ reporters to the margin of the profession (Jari & Lagrini, 2011, pp. 350–356). As a result, the content produced in local Arabic-language media is of (relatively) weak news values. The central state has taken note of these structural problems. Following the monarch’s directives to “encourage investments in [the sector of] regional press”,4 the central government has issued in its 2014 Projet de Loi de Finances (Government Budget Bill) a commitment to “upgrade . . . regional media” through the “consolidation of the economic model” organizing this sector (Ministère de l’Economie et des Finances, 2013, p. 123). Overall, the media structure described here reveals a set of postulates. First, the critical voice once characterized by the partisan press (albeit obedient and self-censoring in its heyday) has tremendously lost its credibility in the “new” media landscape. Second, the withdrawal of the old opposition parties and their “organs” has not been supplanted with new ones. Rather, the media landscape is overwhelmingly “commercial” under the guise of non-partisanship. Third, the so-called independent media has benefited from state-induced, and careful, liberalization to position itself as a “harbinger” of free speech and reformism. Fourth, despite the central state’s plan, the local press is far from fulfilling the ideological function of acting as a conduit for local development (however one might define this essentially contested concept). Finally, and importantly, while the new brand of journalism is not homogeneous or monolithic, it is far from being evidence of pluralism or equal opportunity access to mediating the power relations and social processes in the country. In his 2009 study, Douai reminds us of the sobering reality that “this brand of journalism reflects a crisis among members of the Moroccan political elite, and the absence of a legitimate and strong political opposition” (2009, p. 8). Indeed, and contrary to Ennaji’s claim that the proliferation of the French-language press in Morocco “attest[s] to the multicultural aspect of Moroccan society and to the plurality that characterizes the country on the political,

62  Ideology and beyond social, economic, cultural and linguistic levels” (2005, p. 103; emphasis mine), it is rather an expression of the saliency of hegemonic discourses in (and beyond) the media landscape.5 Ultimately, as this section will demonstrate, the “new” media structure reinforces inequalities already entrenched in Marrakeshi society.

Mediating the city: events, frames and discourses To reiterate my approach in this section (discussed in detail in the introduction), I analyze the ways in which media content is reported from the points of view of news promoters, assemblers and consumers to determine whether a given journalistic source acts as a proxy for one or more extra-journalistic entities. To that end, the variable “content” is understood as “events” (occurrences that happen in space and henceforth become “objects of the social world”), “issues” (matters which call for action) and “trends” (general course of a given phenomenon). Second, through a focus on language, frame and form, I analyze the ways in which Marrakesh-related content is represented through discourses of, inter alia, classification, normalization, pathologization, in-/out-group bias and (inter)subjectivity. The end goal of this analysis is to shed light on how media discourses ideologically represent Marrakesh and its neighborhoods through what I call “symbolic topographies” – that is, framing Marrakesh and its neighborhoods as a set of symbolically organized, discrete places, each with a distinct identity, function, set of problems and so on. The local press: group subjectivity and the stifled individual The only local newspaper analyzed in this section is Murrakush al-Ikhbariyyah (Marrakesh News; hereafter MNews); a bi-monthly, half broadsheet in Arabic. MNews went in circulation in 2009 and is a hybrid between tabloid-style reporting and social commentary couched, in a reformist guise, as a civil society champion and anticorruption watchdog. MNews is not a member of the Office de Justification de la Diffusion (OJD), and therefore there are no circulation figures. MNews reporting practice exhibits the following distinctive elements: First, in terms of the content reported, there is a tendency for MNews to focus primarily on issues – that is, matters that need to be addressed – and, although not explicitly, call upon the reader to “do something about it” (recall my methodology discussion in the introduction, p. 15). As its tabloid-like format suggests, MNews focuses extensively on scandals writ large: those intentional activities which are enacted by certain parties but promoted by their antagonists. Signifiers like “crisis”, “phenomenon” and “malfunctions” (azma, żāhirah and ikhtilālāt) are often used to construct an image of the local authorities (with the exception of the police force) as incompetent, conspiring and belligerent. For instance, one MNews article accuses Cadi Ayyad University’s president of practicing “administrative terrorism” and “oppress[ing] freedom of expression” (issue 88–89, p. 37). MNews casts the monarchial order as particularly magnanimous toward the city which, on every occasion, “renews its loyalty” (tujaddid al-wafā’) in return for

Ideology and beyond 63 the monarch’s “noble patronage” and “exalted guardianship” (‘ināyah karīmah, ri‘āyah sāmiyyah). The central government is framed in MNews as a formidable watchdog against local corruption and incompetence. Blatantly sensational language is ubiquitous in MNews’ reporting of the issues. For instance, the “phenomenon” of absenteeism among the region’s representatives in the parliament is described as a “shaming humiliation” (shouha, f’diha) (issue 84, p. 1). In its 102nd issue, the main report on the city’s municipal market reveals a set of “legal, financial, administrative malfunctions” which are said to “push” the market and its vendors toward the “infernal abyss” (al-hāwiyyah). Further, MNews reporting often echoes long-standing problematic constructions of marginalized populations as immoral, deviant and in need of disciplinary intervention. It is clear that the dynamics in MNews’s reporting styles are, by and large, oppositional. Although there are a variety of articles which highlight cooperative and “positive interactions” among various actors in the city, these reports often involve a non-local entity – whether it be the national government, the monarchy or the “international community”. For instance, on September 2, 2013, MNews reported on the Marrakesh Declaration for a national strategy to reform the judicial system (issue 89, p. 4). The article concludes by heralding the event as a “tafā‘ul ījābi” (positive interaction) in which the “participatory and inclusive approach” reinforces “dawlat al-haqq” (the state of [legal] right). The “inclusiveness” in this report unambiguously refers to the participation of elite organizations (National Association of Judges), academics and representatives from the Ministry of Justice. In other reports suggesting dynamics of cooperation, we read about Spain’s Instituto Cervantes “interacting with Marrakesh” and an Emirati magazine “in love with the city” as a result of its attractiveness (ibid, p. 28). Expectedly, the spaces in which those “cooperative” event take place are “Gueliz” (the central business district and site of the city’s government). The trends reported in MNews, albeit a minority, are couched in sensationalism and hyperbole. The front page of the 102nd issue features an article “tracing” patterns of “legal, financial, and administrative malfunctions” that reveal “tentacles of corruption” within the communal council. MNews’ last 2013 issue features a headline declaring 2013 a “year of events and deviances in the city”, promising the readers to reveal “grave accusations”. MNews reserve the referent “events” to the various activities involving social in-groups (the royal family, the mayor’s office, city promoters) while the label “deviance” refers to those behaviors and activities of social out-groups. Trend-reporting is a device which MNews uses to weave the narrative of Marrakeshi exceptionalism. MNews often cites foreign diplomats, European religious leaders or renowned Western residents “testifying” to Marrakesh’s renown as “the best model for tolerance and religious coexistence” (issue 99, January 13, 2014). The tactical use of “civil society” Another important theme in MNews reporting involves “local activism”; in this case there is a pattern by which MNews implicitly “endorses” certain forms of

64  Ideology and beyond activism while dismissing others as “illegitimate”. For example, all protests originating from the marginal neighborhood Sidi Youssef Ben Ali (SYBA) are framed as illegitimate – due to their diffuse but simultaneous nature – while the ones led by state-approved “civil society” groups are framed as legitimate. To better understand the question of “civil society” and how it is framed in MNews – and to a large extent, all Arabic-language press – it is helpful to situate it in comparison to French and American press usages. MNews uses the referent “civil society” in ways that mirror the former, but it is radically different from the latter. A simple search in the New York Times reveals that most references to “civil society” are either qualified by the term “concept” or are deterritorialized outside the United States – particularly China, Africa and Russia. Its uses in French press are more diverse: first, unlike the New York Times, Libération (a French daily) speaks of civil society as a French practice, but only to make (abstract) arguments as to its capacity to “mobilize” against the interests of the political class or against private interests. The Moroccan press does the exact opposite; the risk of antagonizing the political or economic elites is too high. Second, when the French media deterritorialize “civil society”, it often juxtaposes it against “state oppression” (in infamously repressive states like Russia and Egypt). In other words, French media are “closer to the Habermasian ideal” of civil society and are suspicious of politicians’ cooptation thereof (Benson, 2013, p. 133). If Americans, as New York Times columnist Flora Lewis claimed, “don’t talk about civil society because they take it for granted”,6 Moroccans (if one could indulge in such benign essentialism) clearly do not feel the same way about “civil society”. Feelings aside, MNews’ analysis suggests that the motivation behind the term’s ubiquity in the Moroccan (Arabic-language) press is primarily tactical. First, a few translational remarks are in order: • • • •

Civil society is often used as the equivalent of non-profit, local nongovernmental organizations (NGOs). Civil society is often equated with the defense of human rights. Its practice is extensively codified in the 2011 Moroccan constitution. It is considered a new “acquisition” (muktasab) for Moroccans in their path to democracy.

MNews uses the referent “civil society” in a number of ways that reflect its own (and societal) anxiety with the newly acquired “constitutional right”: anxiety about the fallout from (potentially) antagonizing the state. First, MNews reifies, and then anthropomorphizes, the concept: as an ostensibly single actor, “civil society” is endowed with agency and human-like qualities and is predicated with action-verbs like “implores” “demands” and “writes” (MNews, issue 94, pp. 14, 15; issue 100, p. 14; issue 102, p. 15). As a result, this rhetoric contributes to the problematic understanding of what “civil society” can/cannot do. For instance, in one article (May 2014, issue 107, p. 14), civil society is said to have “helped local authorities in liberating public property” (emphases mine). The article describes the way this cooperation took place; “civil society” was essentially

Ideology and beyond 65 instrumentalized in the surveillance and discipline of street vendors often stigmatized as “illegal occupants of public property”. Second, MNews frames “civil society” as a metonymy: MNews adopts a framing strategy by which the parts (i.e., participants, individuals) are substituted for the whole (i.e., civil society). In the same article cited earlier, while the exact “local authority” was mentioned – and indeed praised for its efforts – no names of individuals or NGOs involved in “liberating” public property were mentioned. Third, for its own sake, MNews embeds itself and the field in which it operates (i.e., local journalism) within the country’s nascent civil society. MNews advocates, and often pleads, on behalf of local journalism to occupy a safe space within civil society: “civil society’s strength is in its partnership with the local media”, claims one article (issue 95, p. 7), and the two “have the same beginnings”, claims another (issue 95, p. 9). Thus, the media discourse transforms the abstract (civil society) into a subject while the individual is rendered a passive object, determined by an abstract force. But one need not think of these processes (reification-anthropomorphism, metonymy and embeddedness) as “social pathologies” associated with the quest for recognition (Honneth, 2005, p. 84). They are neither “epistemic” mistakes nor a “distorted form of praxis” (Honneth, 2007, pp. 96, 25). Put simply, MNews is neither misinformed about its place within power structure nor acting in morally objectionable or strategically misplaced fashions. Rather, the three modalities discussed here are tactics which postpone recognition for the more immediate need of self-preservation. MNews realizes its own financial, political and existential vulnerability and opts for mere survival in its journalistic practice. In the civil society parlance prevalent in MNews’ reporting, the individual, in so far as he/she acts meaningfully in society, is often referred to in terms of his or her adoptive organization. The phrase “fā‘l jam‘awī” is composed of the terms “fā‘l” (actor, doer, subject) and “jam‘awī” (belonging to, or bound by, a group/ organization), which reveals a paradox: the singularity of “fā‘l” and the totality of “jam‘awī”. Following the phrase’s logic, one can only act if one belongs to a group, and an individual’s capacity/legitimacy as a social agent, a subject, is predicated on his/her belonging to a regime-approved group. Subjectivity, in the Arabophone media discourse, is therefore a group subjectivity where the purposive stifling of individual particularities acts as a tactic to protect the individual from a potentially violent state. The francophone press: the privileged individual as subject In the words of their editors-in-chief, Le Matin and L’Economiste cast themselves as “intermediaries between citizens and government” and agents of “militancy for democracy and free enterprise” (ibid, p. 58, translation and emphasis mine). L’Economiste, as its name suggests, comments on the “commercial and economic” life in the country. With no party affiliation, L’Economiste is owned by Eco-Medias, and its circulation numbers have increased by 22% between 2005 and 2012 (Audit Bureau of Circulation). Although its circulation numbers have declined every year since 2012 L’Economiste still attracts the highest

66  Ideology and beyond percentage (5%) of an already low francophone readership (Media Ownership Monitor Morocco). With regard to its mode of reporting, L’Economiste primarily focuses on “trends”: news content involving some level of analysis to determine stability or the trajectory of how a topic evolved in time, often as a result of purposive accomplishment by its promoters. However, unlike its European exemplars (e.g., France’s Les Echos), its “economic” focus is done in the strictest sense possible. First, it makes itself only beholden to its “share-holders”, whose goal is “gagner de l’argent” (to make money) (Kraemer, 2001, p. 59). Second, unlike France’s Les Echos or Britain’s Economist, Morocco’s L’Economiste devotes no space for “the economy” writ large: that is, science and technology, medicine, education politics society and the law (cf. lesechos.fr). Third, L’Economiste steers away from seriously addressing the deleterious effects of the country’s economic policy. While L’Economiste’s niche primarily reports on (economic) trends, the newspaper intermittently devotes some of its articles to issues. Often phrased as “crises,” L’Economiste’s issues are particularly concerned with Marrakesh’s image as a world city. In its 4438th issue (dated January 12, 2015), the newspaper expressed its “Grosses craintes sur le tourisme” (great apprehensions about tourism) following the Charlie Hebdo attacks in Paris which may “discourage French tourists from traveling”. Further, L’Economiste’s issues are not without solutions, in fact they are not the worst possible scenario. Halfway into the 400-word article expressing “apprehensions” about tourism, the readers are soon reassured by a tourism official expressing certainty, mingled with fatalism, that “the French will not eternally give up traveling . . . and Marrakesh will always be able to seduce”, and soon enough, the tourism professionals are on the top of it. les professionnels de Marrakech . . . devraient justement gérer ces incertitudes . . . pour la reconquête des marchés . . . il y a ceux qui se sont lancés dans des campagnes de promotion depuis quelques semaines anticipant ces périodes creuses et qui réussiront à s’en sortir. Marrakesh professionals. . . should, in fact, manage these uncertainties . . . in order to reconquer the markets . . . there are those who are engaged in promotional campaigns for several weeks anticipating these low periods and manage to get by. (translation and emphasis mine) L’Economiste’s crises are not incapacitating – unlike those reported in MNews, they are merely a reminder that the city’s fate is in good hands despite the (temporary) adverse conditions. In the quote prior, the conditional “devraient” (should) isn’t just a hypothetical, or a wish, as basic French grammar dictates; it is a statement of fact and an iteration of truth which transcend the moment of their pronouncement. The professionals’ capacity to act (manage uncertainties) is in fact independent of whether crises occur. Similarly, knowledge of this “truth” is independent of what the reporter thinks of it. The reporter need not verify such “truth” as its facticity is “there” without journalistic evidence. The crisis is, therefore,

Ideology and beyond 67 trivialized, not due to its own insignificance, but because the “professionals” who should handle it are true Weberian Berufsmensch: they are able to “manage uncertainties” and “conquer the market”. There is an implicit paternalism, or claim of mastery, made on behalf of the “professionals” as L’Economiste places them (qua problem-solvers) outside the temporal frame of crisis-occurrence. The “professional” then becomes the universal subject: one who can “master all things by calculation” in a disenchanted world (Weber, 1946, p. 141). More persistent social problems are also subject to trivialization and oversimplification in L’Economiste’s editorial practices. Poverty, unemployment and urban precariousness are framed either as statistics or short-lived “difficult conjunctures” associated with the international market, relegated to “pockets” in urban areas and explained away with confusing statements like “la pauvreté territoriale est notamment due au développement de la commune, aux activités, à l’associatif” (Territorial poverty is mainly due to the development of the municipality, to the activities and non-profit [sector]).7 L’Economiste’s recommendations to resolve the problem of poverty are not only detached and paternalistic, but they often rehash the deflective and formulaic language of the global banking magnates. In Marrakesh, urban poverty only exists in “pockets” and is only visible as a “misère ceinturant le plus souvent les quartiers chics ou les réserves touristiques haut de gamme comme la Palmeraie de Marrakech” (wretchedness surrounding upscale neighborhoods or high-end tourist spaces of the caliber of Palmeraie in Marrakesh).8 It is clear in this example how L’Economiste’s editorial impulse reverts to “branding mode” even when it “analyzes” social issues like poverty. The Ministry of Culture was not mistaken when, in its annual “Diagnostic de l’économie du patrimoine culturel” it celebrated the francophone independent press as a leading promoter of the country’s “cultural events” to position the country’s “cultural product” internationally (Ministry of Culture Reports, 2010, pp. 100–102). Aujourd’hui Le Maroc (AjM) is another French-language daily focusing on “general news”. AjM is “popular among the ‘pro-monarchy’9 readers interested in coverage of the national and regional political scene” (Malbois, 2010, p. 33; Skalli, 2011, p. 482). AjM owners and editorial staff are simply ardent apologists of the king’s birthright to be sovereign, legislator, Commander of the Faithful and entrepreneur-in-chief. This means that AjM’s readership is by and large politically conservative and socially liberal. AjM positions itself in Morocco’s media landscape at the intersection, and as a bridge, between the “centuries-old Moroccan tradition” and “modernizing” aspirations of the country’s elite (Malbois, 2010, p. 40). In its treatment of Marrakesh, AjM primarily focuses on the image of the city as the “meilleure destination au monde” (the best destination in the world), relying on global regimes which produce knowledge and have significant sway on the social structure of the travel industry (March 25, 2015). The French daily also concerns itself with the occasional “disruptions” in Marrakesh’s trajectory toward success. In its reporting on those “disruptions”, AjM adopts a literary strategy of allegorical descriptions: using opaque titles, enigmatic formulae and rhetorical questions of the moralizing type to deliver a “surprise effect” and entice the

68  Ideology and beyond readers’ curiosity (Malbois, 2010, p.  33). For instance, it is common for AjM to circumvent the legally cautious language of journalism and label the alleged antagonists as “outlaws”, “fraudsters” and “murderers”. AjM, like most independent newspapers in Morocco, capitalizes on over-reporting and over-sensualizing all things related to the topic of sex. AjM has a colorful nomenclature when it comes to sex-related news (sexual scams, sexual vengeance, sexual destination, sex-tours). Sex tropes, however, are a common (and exaggerated) feature in most general news sources and therefore a focus on their analysis may have little import in understanding the spatial power relations in the city – other than the overused claim of “breaking social taboos”. Because Aujourd’hui Le Maroc positions itself as the bridge between modernity and tradition (both of which are claimed and appropriated by the monarchial order), my claim of its political conservatism and social/economic liberalism must be tested. On February 20, 2013, the daily published an article reporting on the postponed trials of 10 individuals involved in the December 2012 riots in Sidi Youssef Ben Ali (SYBA). The article reads: La Cour d’appel de Marrakech a décidé lundi de reporter au 4 mars prochain l’examen de l’affaire de 10 individus condamnés en premier ressort à des peines d’emprisonnement allant de 18 à 30 mois, suite à leur implication dans les événements de Sidi Youssef Ben Ali, a-t-on appris de source judiciaire. Ce report a été décidé dans le but de permettre à la défense de préparer ses plaidoiries, précise-t-on de même source, qui rappelle que deux individus avaient été condamnés, le 21 janvier dernier, par le tribunal de 1ère instance de Marrakech à 18 mois de prison ferme chacun, alors que 8 autres ont écopé d’une peine d’emprisonnement de 30 mois chacun. Le tribunal de 1ère instance avait poursuivi les 10 accusés pour “rassemblement non autorisé”, “coups et blessures à l’encontre de fonctionnaires publics”, “destruction de biens d’autrui et de biens publics”, et “incitation de mineurs à la violence”. Les événements de Sidi Youssef Ben Ali avaient eu lieu les 28 et 29 décembre dernier, lorsque des individus ont participé à une manifestation non autorisée pour protester contre la cherté des factures d’eau et d’électricité, qui a dégénéré en actes de violence et de vandalisme causant des blessés parmi des citoyens et des éléments des forces de l’ordre. Marrakesh’s Appeals Court decided on Monday to postpone, until March 4, the examination of the case involving 10 individuals sentenced to prison terms ranging between 18 and 30 months; following their involvement in the Sidi Youssef Ben Ali events, according to judicial sources. The rescheduling was decided in order to allow the defense to prepare its argument. Aujourd’hui Le Maroc notes that two individuals were convicted on January  21 by Marrakesh’s lower court and [were given] an 18-month prison sentence each without parole. Eight others were sentenced to 30 months each. The lower court had prosecuted the 10 defendants for “unauthorized gathering”, “assault against public officials”, “destruction of private and public property” and “inciting minors to [commit] violence”.

Ideology and beyond 69 The Sidi Youssef Ben Ali events took place last December 28 and 29, when individuals participated in an unauthorized demonstration protesting high water and electricity bills, which degenerated into acts of violence and vandalism causing casualties among citizens and members of the security forces. (Aujourd’hui Le Maroc, February 20, 2013; translation and emphases mine) Several elements must be delineated here. First, the article appears under a weekly column titled “au fil des jours” (as the days go by) which generally features economic trends (e.g., news of corporate mergers, banking news, corporate fora, etc.). Second, in terms of its syntactic structure10 (i.e., the arrangement of words, phrases and sentences), the article title and lead tell the reader about a “postponement” of the court date. However, and despite the fact that Marrakesh’s Appeals Court is located in the Gueliz district, the article’s title is prefaced with “Sidi Youssef Ben Ali” (SYBA), the site in which a “transgression” took place. Third, the body of the article transitions from a straightforward “reporting” of a court decision to what can be characterized as a maneuver to discredit the 2012 SYBA protests and stigmatize the protestors. To illustrate, the first paragraph is a repetition ad verbatim of the lead: we are told that the high court had decided to postpone the re-trial. The first paragraph ends with the formulaic “a-t-on appris de source judiciaire” (as learned from a judicial source), whose rhetorical function is to establish credibility by relating the story to an official source. The second paragraph ostensibly provides more specifics of the court decision: the defendants stand in court on the account of their “illegal” participation in the riots. The second paragraph (again, ostensibly) maintains neutrality by referring, for a second time, to the official source and by reciting the court’s language: “unauthorized gathering”, “assault”, “destruction” and “inciting . . . violence”. The same paragraph begins with a statement on the court’s purpose for postponing the re-trial: that is, “to allow the defense to prepare its argument”. This statement reassures the reader that unlike most anti-protest trials of the so-called Arab Spring, this trial was not arbitrary and followed democratic (and fair) judicial procedures. The nature of the accusations, however, belies all claims of journalistic impartiality. The third paragraph provides, in a narrative form, the “background” leading to the court decision. But in an abrupt shift in tone, the article embraces the accusatory language of the security apparatus – as the high court has not decided yet. The demonstrators were, irrespective of the legitimacy of their demands, unauthorized, and therefore their act was unlawful. The reporter took the liberty to add an additional charge (vandalism) to the list of court-mandated charges. Further, the (already) unauthorized demonstrations are said to have “degenerated” into violent and destructive acts. The verb choice “to degenerate” functions in the discrediting maneuver on multiple levels. To begin with, as the verb’s etymology (both in French and English) suggests, the “loss of natural qualities within the same genus” and the “fall from ancestral quality” (OED) imputes an origin to the most “degenerate” form of collective action: unauthorized protest. As such, the entire genus of “demonstration” (since the verb points to the genetic field)

70  Ideology and beyond has fallen into perversion, lowliness and illegality. Therefore, all (adult) demonstrators have become violent thugs who manipulate minors, destroy property and victimize citizens. Those violent acts could not be a separate incident because illegality can only breed violence, manipulation and destruction. If the protest had degenerated into destruction and the harming of security forces, it was the protestors’ responsibility and not connected to the militarized riot police presence in an already stigmatized neighborhood. Finally, the report that there were “casualties among citizens” does not encompass all non-uniformed individuals who were injured. Rather, only “citizens” were injured, and therefore the demonstrators who may have engaged in violence and have been wounded by the security force no longer qualify as citizens. In sum, the article did not report on the court decision as much as it did discredit the demonstration and stigmatize SYBA residents. L’Opinion is a party-affiliated French-language daily and the official mouthpiece of the nationalist party al-Istiqlal. Kurzac-Souali (2007) reports that in the early 2000s, L’Opinion had adopted a particularly “fiercely hostile” stance toward foreign presence in the medina, voicing “tourism professionals’ anger” at the unfair competition posed by the riads (pp. 72–73). Kurzac-Souali quotes a 2001 article in which the “foreigners’ morality” was questioned to conclude that L’Opinion fans “xenophobic sentiments” on a daily basis (ibid, p. 75). While Kurzac-Souali’s causal connection – between one newspaper article and xenophobia – remains questionable, L’Opinion does in fact rely on a moralizing rhetoric to justify its position on social issues. For instance, one article claims the city’s rise of “female population” during New Year’s Eve is due to “loose women assaulting the city” for immoral objectives. The article justifies its observation that “one need not be a clergy to know [these women’s] motivations” (January 5, 2015). The concern, however, is beyond a few moral pronouncements on how individuals should behave; L’Opinion’s reporting is replete with callous rhetoric which stigmatizes social out-groups and normalizes the policing of their spaces and activities. L’Opinion has a special column titled “Les Potins de Marrakech” (Marrakesh Gossip) which devotes much of its content to positioning Marrakesh in the global tourism market. However, unlike what one might expect in a gossip column, L’Opinion focuses less on the private lives of the rich and famous and instead devotes itself to justifying and promoting a disciplinary order to fix city’s the social ills. For instance, in treating the lack of traffic safety in the city, one article blames moped-users for the chaos and labels them as “anarchists” who must be disciplined (February 2, 2015). In another article, the reporter expresses his relief that “a systematic hunting campaign against stray dogs” has been effective and recommends that a similar strategy is needed to deal with “hordes of the homeless and the insane” (December 15, 2014; January 26, 2015). In his comprehensive analysis of the French-language press in the Mediterranean (outside France), Gilles Kraemer (2001, pp. 57–60) outlined six ideological “functions” of said press. Kraemer observes that said press serves as a watchdog, with a degree of vigilantism, by proxy of the state and represents the commercial interested of its owners.11 As demonstrated in this analysis, Morocco’s francophone press features, with varying degrees, in all ideological functions

Ideology and beyond 71 with one exception. Contrary to its counterparts in the region, Morocco’s francophone press does not adopt “a critical voice” in the face of the “platitudes [characterizing] politics and culture” and, hence, contributes very little to the general well-being of society (ibid). What makes Morocco’s francophone press stand out (through Kraemer’s analysis) is its unrelenting determination to “surveil the [political] environment” against “regressive” ideologies: Islamist and anticapitalist claims (ibid, p. 58). It is no surprise that a predominantly commercial press (AjM, L’Economiste, La Vie Economique) is invested in the economic and political interests of the elite. What is novel, and indeed puzzling, in the findings is that the once oppositional party-affiliated press has turned into a mouthpiece of the most regressive voices within the elite. With its calls to criminalize women’s movements, dehumanize the “homeless and the insane” and normalize state violence against them, L’Opinion deviates from its historical editorial line of holding power to account. Table 4.2 summarizes the corpus analysis of news promoters, content and audience of all news articles in this study. The analysis of L’Economiste, Aujourd’hui le Maroc and L’Opinion confirms the assertion that French-language press in Morocco routinely endorses the promoters’ angle, and it does so by framing its content in accordance to a narrative established by said promoters. National Arabic: gossip, morality and social control The two Arabic-language national dailies considered in this analysis are Assabah (the Morning) and Almassae (the Evening), which were established, respectively, in 2000 and 2006. The private corporation Eco-Médias – owner of L’Economiste, a radio station, a printing company and an elite journalism school  – launched Assabah in order to “upset the media world by providing its readers ‘fresh and concrete news, written in simple Arabic’ ” (L’Economiste, emphasis mine).12 Assabah rose to the second-most circulated daily in 2014. Assabah’s owner constructs it as “le quotidien d’une société marocaine moderne, arabophone et ouverte sur le monde” (the daily of a modern Moroccan society, Arabic-speaking and open onto the world) (Assabah’s Fiche Technique, Eco-Médias, 2012). Nadia Salah, Eco-Médias’ editorial director, distinguishes between the “elitist” editorial line adopted by L’Economiste and Assabah’s “very mass market” niche (interview with the Arab Press Network, 2007). Assabah vies for Almassae’s mass Table 4.2  Corpus analysis of news promoters, content and audience of 200 news articles

Promoters’ angle Content Agency/Subjectivity Audience

French national

Arabic National

Arabic local

High Trends The expert Elite, international

Medium-low Events The disciplinarian National, non-elite

Low Issues Totality of groups Local non-elite

72  Ideology and beyond readership by offering an alternative (liberal) reading of the social issues raised by its more populist competitor (Assabah’s Fiche Technique, Eco-Médias, 2012; Douai, 2009, p. 18). Almassae, the most highly circulated daily in 2013 and 2014, is considered a “recent success story in independent journalism” (Skalli, 2011, p. 482). Although Almassae isn’t the first publication to use Moroccan colloquial Arabic, it succeeded in deploying it as a means to “speak truth to power” in an often satirical tone (Douai, 2009, p. 17). The Arabic daily engages in a populist form of “social criticism  .  .  . delivered in a ‘soft’ tabloid-like” format (Skalli, 2011, p. 482). Both Assabah and Almassae have a national focus, but rely on local correspondents to report on local stories and main events pertaining to Morocco’s largest cities. The correspondents are “knowledgeable” eyewitnesses about the city’s goings-on, and they serve as the strategic linkage between the national and the local: the country’s administrative capital with its state apparatuses and the commercial capital as site of the newspapers’ headquarters – on the one hand – and Marrakesh – on the other. The correspondents’ expert knowledge operates in both directions: from the national angle, their “being on the ground” attests to the veracity of their “eyewitness” testimony; as well, their affiliation to the centers of political and economic power asserts their authority as expert “eyewitnesses”. Hence, the media mythologies which Assabah and Almassae concoct, through their correspondents, about Marrakesh not only shape images of Marrakesh from the outside but also the way in which Marrakeshis perceive themselves and their city. When asked about correspondents’ mission in Marrakesh, Adil, the Marrakesh correspondent of a national newspaper, states, “We are primarily interested in the work of the local council and its achievements . . . we are also interested in the domains of police and justice because they reflect the security status of the city. There was a rise in crime rates, but the problem was dealt with upon the appointment of a [police official] who adopted a proactive and effective policing strategy” (personal interview with Adil). There is a tendency for both Assabah and Almassae to focus primarily on events – that is, facts the reporter has “caught in the moment” and delivers to the readers. The ways in which the two dailies treat local and regional news is different. First, while Almassae devotes a main column titled “Jihāt” (Regions) to discussion of various topics, Assabah contents itself with an ancillary column problematically titled “Jarā’im ul-Aqālīm” (Crimes of the Provinces). To illustrate, on February 10, 2014, Almassae ran three articles dealing with Marrakesh-related events. The most important, and most talked about, event, an “anti-corruption march”, was featured on the daily’s front page. The article reported on the protestors’ call to “end rent-seeking system” and unwarranted “privileges” appropriated by the political and economic elites. The articles also quotes the march’s organizer (Mohammed Meskaoui, president of the Réseau Marocain de la Protection des Biens Publics) arguing that there is no political will to “recuperate the embezzled monies” and that the “focus on elected officials [in corruption cases] is evidence of a failure in the logic of anti-corruption measures” (emphasis mine). In the same article, Meskaoui was also critical of

Ideology and beyond 73 the “guardianship” role played by the ministry of interior. Assabah, on the other hand, chose to ignore the event in which 500 individuals protested the systemic embezzlement of “34% of the country’s GDP” and, instead, focused on the arrest of a hotel accountant who embezzled the equivalent of US$35,000. In a symbolic gesture, Assabah featured a summary, or rather an interpretation, of Transparency Maroc’s report by localizing the issue of corruption – “it appears”, Assabah concluded, “that local and regional authorities are the sectors against which most citizen complaints are filed” – emphasizing that Marrakesh ranks fourth in all anti-corruption complaints nationwide. This analysis is premised on the position that the words, and statements, in a text (as well as the symbols in an image, table or a map) are received and processed non-uniformly by their audiences. The text/image is therefore a situated use of language in which a tense interaction between mutually implicated “participants” takes place. In other words, the text is no mere written (content) but also, and more important, a “lived” one. Language and linguistic inscriptions are instrumental in the formation of power relations and are expressions of an ideological stance. The concept of “corruption” is a relatively recent concept in the reformist media nomenclature; its Arabic equivalent “al-Fasād” poses an additional challenge: it means both (political) corruption and (moral) deviance, particularly related to sexual license. Assabah’s usage of the term “al-Fasād” is relatively loose as it relies on its polysemy: the term is often (but not exclusively) equated with “prostitution”, “rape”, “homosexuality”, “sex trade” and so on. Almassae, on the other hand, is selective in its usage of the term; it refers to political, administrative and systemic corruption. A search of each correspondent’s contributions between 2014 and 2015 reveals that while the themes of local crime, court chronicles and police work persist in both newspapers, Almassae correspondents’ contributions are more diverse than its competitor’s. For illustration, Table 4.3 features a sample collection of Marrakesh stories covered by each correspondent and synchronically juxtaposed. Notwithstanding the artificiality of synchronic analysis, it is useful, in this case, to compare and contrast the two dailies’ framing techniques at a given point in time. In other words, the kinds of stories that are prioritized, and the ways these stories are reported to the local and national readership, inform the degree to which each of the two dailies adhere to their stated ideologies (i.e., liberal-modernist and critical-avant-guardist). Indeed, while both dailies engage in sensationalized reporting on gang arrests, drug confiscations and financial scams (S1, S2, S6, M5, M8), they diverge on the ways they frame such topics as corruption when committed by state versus non-state actors. Assabah trivializes systemic (administrative) corruption and directs blame away from the political and economic elites. To illustrate, while there were protests organized under the Moroccan Workers’ Union (UMT) against what some considered “dictatorship of capitalist [hoteliers]” (personal interview), the only “protest” Assabah reported was one enacted by shopkeepers against street vendors (S9). Slightly more daring, Almassae gives voice to local activists who are critical of (local) political parties (M2, M4), the state of human rights in the city (M7) and councilmembers’ absenteeism (M9).

74  Ideology and beyond Table 4.3  Marrakesh stories covered by correspondents of Assabah and Almassae Assabah (S)

Almassae (M)

S1: Drug dealers arrested by “tourism police” (July 6, 2015)

M1: Student caught cheating “armed” with sophisticated tools (June 16, 2015) M2: Salafi leader calls for the dissolution of PAM (political party) for “assaulting religion and king” (June 16, 2015) M3: Academics call on Moroccans to endow their real estate, wealth in favor of public universities and scientific research (July 2, 2015) M4: Activists accuse political parties of “opportunism” regarding the Amazigh (minority) question (July 5, 2015) M5: Turks behind the largest scam on Marrakesh’s wealthy (July 6, 2015) M6: Fire in Marrakesh market destroys Moroccan Dirham (MAD) 3,000,000 worth of merchandise (July 13, 2015) M7: “Experts” in Marrakesh “analyze” challenges facing journalism and the judiciary in a workshop on human rights (July 14, 2015) M8: Gang members arrested (July 16, 2015) M9: 90 councilmembers (out of 96) absentees from July session (July 19, 2015)

S2: Young girls turned professional prostitutes and drug dealers (July 8, 2015) S3: 41 stores burned down in Marrakesh market (July 12, 2015) S4: “War” on drug trafficker in Marrakesh and “Judgement Day” in court for “foreign” drug traffickers (July 12, 2015) S5: Two imams (mosque preachers) jailed for “sorcery” charges (July 13, 2015) S6: Two gangs arrested for illegally excavating “old treasure” and fighting (July 14, 2015) S7: Unauthorized business inside apartment building (July 15, 2015) S8: Corpse found in flooded valley (July 17, 2015) S9: “Protests” against “occupations” of public property by street vendors . . . public property “liberated” and “sanitized” from the “chaos” of local vendors (July 17, 2015)

Further, and unlike some francophone newspapers, neither Almassae nor Assabah feature a “gossip” column in their issues. This indicates a host of salient social and discursive norms among Moroccan media consumers: first, the Arabic-language press remains nervous about extracting the Arabic equivalents of “gossip” from their religious register. The concepts of “namīmah” (calumny, malicious misrepresentation) and “ghaybah” (evil speech in one’s absence) are both major sins in the Qur’anic discourse. Second, that the only reference to “gossip” appears in L’Opinion’s “Potins de Marrakesh” bespeaks the ability of the francophone press to circumvent religious and societal “redlines” without triggering criticism. Third, while branded “gossip of Marrakesh”, the said column bears little resemblance to the typical gossip columns in newspapers outside Morocco. This does not mean the newspapers under analysis in this section do not engage in unrestrained and

Ideology and beyond 75 unsubstantiated talk about social events. Rather, “gossipy” content is ubiquitous in said media and takes on the form of “truthful testimony” whose ideological function is to construct an image for the city while sanctioning certain moral codes. Aside from the morality, or lack thereof, of gossip, it serves as dispositif of social control where, in urban contexts, “social maps” of power, wealth, identities and reputations are in the “drawing” stage (Merry, 1982, p. 295). Almassae’s motto claims to foster “free opinion” and bring “tidings of certitude” (ar-ra’y al-hurr wa-l khabar al-yaqīn), in clear reference to the Qur’anic tale of the biblical king Solomon and his quest for wisdom. In the story, Solomon engages in a conversation with a hoopoe in which the latter pledges to “bring tidings of certitude” from the kingdom of Sheba (Qur’an: 27:22). Qur’anic exegetes suggest that Solomon’s conversation with the hoopoe, in his quest for “certitude”, takes on an esoteric meaning whereby the listener is illumined, and comforted, by such glad tidings. In contrast, Almassae’s use of the parable is less than comforting when applied to Mohammed VI’s kingdom of the twenty-first century: King Solomon’s dominion, the story goes, relied on his extraordinary abilities to make all things (animate and inanimate) subservient to him and provide him with information on the minutiae of sovereign power. In modern Morocco, parallels to prophetic, sacerdotal powers are often deployed by the regime to normalize, and indeed justify, the monarch’s divine right. Further, the parallelism suggests an unsettling realization that “the king’s eyes are everywhere” and that “severe punishment” shall befall those who fail to submit. In contradistinction to the antiquarian reference in Almassae’s motto, Assabah’s stated mission is that it advocates for “a modern Moroccan society” that is both “Arabic-speaking and open onto the world” (emphases mine). The mission statement presupposes an equivalency between “modernity” and “openness” as well as a mutual-exclusivity of “modernity/openness” and “Arabness”. Hence, only Assabah is able bring those disparate elements together in its journalistic mission. Yet it would be a mistake to think of either publication as exclusively “modernist” or resolutely “traditionalist”. As we saw in the use of the polysemic “al-Fasād” (with its many signifieds), Assabah relies more on a moralist and moralizing denotations which diverge from its modernist claim, while Almassae’s usages of the same signifier reflect reformist overtones and position itself as a “watchdog” newspaper in the journalistic sphere. None of these myth-making discourses are without implications on the Marrakeshi social and spatial systems.

Symbolic topographies To reiterate a point made earlier in this chapter, the media corpus under study is committed to promoting capitalist interest and serves as an outlet for the normalization of the branding discourses. However, the promotion/branding of Marrakesh requires; (1) stigmatization of its marginal residents (as we saw in the case of L’Opinion); (2) surveillance and discipline (cf. MNews); (3) trivialization of the city’s social issues (cf. L’Economiste); and (4) normalization of the monarchial regime (cf. Assabah). The final step in this analysis discloses important

76  Ideology and beyond observations on the ways in which the media, although not singlehandedly as we shall see, participate in a process of (re)signification of the spatial units of the city. What I call “symbolic topographies” neither begin nor end with the media’s discursive processes. Rather, these operate as an initial assemblage through which Marrakesh’s neighborhoods are framed as a set of discrete places, each with a distinct identity, function, set of problems and so on. The following are some media frames of Marrakesh’s different neighborhoods: The medina: as an identity-space, a space which is necessarily and essentially bearer of “our” cultural identity; therefore, no medina resident can be justified in deviating from that identity. Concerns about morality and sexual rectitude are often amplified when foreigners and the medina are involved. M’hamid: a residential space with “neo-traditional” housing units, this neighborhood is cited in the local press to demonstrate the national state’s vision for human development. M’hamid is framed as a “model” for solutions to education issues. Its school pupils are taught “how to win teacher’s trust”, and its residents “benefit” from training programs on parenting, the “value of time management” and “family factors in success” (MNews, issue 90, pp. 5, 7–11). The local press has enthusiastically mediatized the two occasions, between 2014 and 2016, where king Mohammed VI was in attendance in M’hamid to unveil a number of “socio-cultural projects” (housing units and sporting facilities) as part of “His Majesty’s vision” to turn Marrakesh into a “City in Permanent Renewal” (Cité du Renouveau Permanent). Bab Doukala square: a square adjacent to the medina’s western gate carrying the same name, Bab Doukala is one of the medina’s entry points from the first Ville Nouvelle, where three axial roads converge: The National Routes N7, N8 and N9 going, respectively, northwest toward the coastal city of El-Jadida via Tamansourt, westward to Essaouira and north to Settat and Casablanca. Sidi Ghanem: a characterless conglomerate of workshops, showrooms, garages and art galleries and a surreal mix of blue-collar properties and a minority of expatriate-owned chic boutiques – easily noticeable from the construction materials, signage and awning designs – this industrial zone caters to busloads of international shopping enthusiasts. A detailed map of Sidi Ghanem features over four dozen “chic” businesses with such names as Poétique, Art de la Table and Les Glaces de Marie to the exclusion of the Moroccanowned small businesses numbering over 100. The only Moroccan-operated points of interest recognized on the map are two banks (one of which is a regional subsidiary of the French banking giant Société Générale) and a police station. Sidi Ghanem is thus framed as the city’s economic “safety net”, a site where foreign investments, along with the local government, contribute to the plan for the economic resuscitation of the city. L’Hivernage: designed in the late 1920s as an exclusive villa district for French officials and their guests, L’Hivernage today houses the city’s most

Ideology and beyond 77 luxurious resorts, boutiques and spas. The media frame this district as a sanctified space for conspicuous consumerism and a space which needs to be purged of the city’s riffraff. Village touristique: east Marrakesh is a “strategic area” the city cannot afford to lose to “deviance”. After an “increase in prostitution cases”, police and court authorities reinforce the decision against renting to bachelors. Buyers in the “village” are said to have been swayed by real estate promoters to settle there although 120 out of 939 apartments were “prepared for other purposes” (nightly occupancy for pleasure-seekers) (MNews, issue 90, p. 4). Sidi Youssef Ben Ali (SYBA): A marginal neighborhood located in the southeastern corner of the medina, SYBA has acquired its notoriety as a space of lawlessness, subversion and disobedience after the late king Hassan II dubbed its residents “human refuse” (awbāsh). The media (both national and local) framed the 2013 protests against energy price hikes as “manipulated riots” (L’Economiste, January 2, 2013). SYBA is often set as an example where the authorities’ “zero tolerance” policies against “anarchism” have proven effective (L’Economiste, January 10, 2013). Always in the context of protesting, MNews frames SYBA as “black zone” where “civil society demands . . . initiatives to ameliorate policing services” (MNews, issue 89, p. 6). In the midst of the social and political influences on Moroccan media, there is a general sense that a profiteering ethos has become prevalent in the media field. To this, journalist Adil commented that “the press is subject to the same pressures [from above] . . . what applies to the society as a whole also applies to the press . . . so there is a kind of press that connives with the [forces of] corruption and there is a press that exposes these forces” (personal interview with Adil). In Adil’s view, the media world is a mirror image of the social world upon which it reports. The two worlds, as a result, are subject to the “same pressures”: pressures on the latter to remain committed to the state’s version of modernity and pressure on the former to adopt a discourse which normalizes the micro-technologies of state power. Indeed, the media structure reinforces inequalities already entrenched in Marrakesh’s urban landscape. First, by endorsing the promoters’ angle (French press) and over-privileging a narrative of salvation through technocrats’ intervention. Second, by reiterating long-standing problematic constructions of the subaltern as immoral, deviant and in need of disciplinary intervention. Third, by maintaining a discursive practice of “invisibility” and “hypervisibility” (Richardson, 2007, p. 137). In the French-language press, the marginal groups are rendered invisible, their grievances trivialized and their agency to confront them diminished. In the Arabic-language press, the marginal groups are over-represented, even stigmatized, their grievances often delegitimized unless they are expressed within state-sanctioned venues. Finally, by normalizing a form of governmental reason where both traditional-mythical sovereign rule and modern-rational processes of governance can co-exist.

78  Ideology and beyond

Notes 1 In 2014 Morocco’s Ministry of Communication promulgated the new law organizing the press; in its first page, it prefaced the “reformist” project rests primarily on His majesty’s directives in . . . 2002, 2004 and 2009. Retrieved from www.mincom.gov.ma/ media/k2/attachments/Note_de_presentation_CPE.pdf. 2 Rugh’s estimates may have relied on dubious, at best, and inconsistent methods of calculation provided by political parties; hence, the 70,000 figure seems a little exaggerated. For consistency’s sake, all other estimates cited in this section are drawn from Morocco’s own L’Organisme Marocain de Justification (Audit Bureau of Circulation) established in 2004. 3 By new, I mean the most recent installment of the regional press, since there was an old, city-based press as early as 1904 in Tangier (Kraemer, 2001, p. 34). 4 Ministère de la Communication. (2013). Message de Sa Majesté le Roi Mohammed VI à l’occasion de la célébration de la Journée Nationale de l’Information. Rabat: Maroc. 5 Corner (2011, p. 28) supports my claim by arguing that “diversity of outlets by itself is” hardly indicative of a “diversity of coverage and of opinion, and there is an increasing recognition of the hollowness of ideas of ‘choice’ when these are simply part of the ideology of an increased market competition, often resulting either in more ways of obtaining the same thing, or the restriction of optionality to a privileged few”. 6 Lewis, F. (1989). Foreign affairs: The rise of ‘Civil Society’. The New York Times. June 25. http://www.nytimes.com/1989/06/25/opinion/foreign-affairs-the-rise-ofcivil-society.html (accessed 07/06/2015). 7 Aït el Haj, R. (June  11, 2012). La première étude sur la pauvreté «ressentie»! L’Economiste. No3802. http://www.leconomiste.com/article/895370-la-premi-retude-sur-la-pauvret-ressentie (accessed 10/31/2018). 8 Thiam, B. (March  1, 2011). Cartographie de la pauvreté: La fracture régionale. L’Economiste. No. 3476. http://www.leconomiste.com/article/cartographie-de-lapauvrete-la-fracture-regionale (accessed 10/31/2018). 9 I find the label “pro-monarchy” misleading as it suggests the presence of, and tolerance for, an anti-monarchist movement. 10 See Pan and Kosicki (1993) for a detailed discussion of the different structures of new discourse. 11 According to Gilles Kraemer, these functions are (1) to act as the watchdog or vigilantes on behalf of the state; (2) to portray an “image of the world” to its readership; (3) to transmit, and educate on, national culture; (4) to provide a platform for francophone readers to form a community; (5) to represent the commercial and economic interest of its owners/shareholders; and (6) to contribute to the general well-being of society by adopting “a critical voice” in the face of the “platitudes [characterizing] politics and culture” (2011: 57–60). 12 El Ouafi, F. (December  12, 2012). Eco-Médias: Une success story made in Maroc. L’Economiste. No. 3932. https://www.leconomiste.com/article/901673-eco-m-diasune-success-story-made-maroc (accessed 10/31/2018).

5 The city’s essence and the reform imperative

Attractiveness as a policy priority The Agence Urbaine de Marrakesh (AUM) was created in 1994 by a royal decree (dahir: 2-93-888) and was charged with the mission of handling urban crises through demographic/spatial engineering (Bogaert, 2011, p. 200). Within a year of its creation, AUM participated in drafting the city’s first master plan, Schéma Directeur d’Aménagement Urbain (SDAU). The 1995 SDAU was expected to provide a long-term vision (1995–2020) regarding land policy, housing, economic development and the environment (SDAU, 2008, p. 69). The organizing law designates several phases for the elaboration of the SDAU. Each phase gradually involves more representatives of the national state. In addition to AUM, the palace-appointed regional and provincial governors and the ministries’ regional representatives all complete in the formulation of the city’s master plan. In principle, the SDAU is designed to express, to some degree, the political/ideological inclinations of the communes as elected bodies – as they are involved in the early and final stages. However, the elected officials play but a rubber-stamp role as the final draft is submitted to the communal council for final approval. The AUM, like all its homologues in other cities, had far-reaching juridical and administrative powers. However, a decade after its start, AUM fell short of its mission and has been blamed for the 2004 real estate crisis and for hampering local government’s effort to create jobs. Within four years of its operation, the agency had rejected more than two-thirds of land development and construction requests. Since then, in 1999 the agency’s power to reject development projects was diluted by another central government’s bureaucratic “ad-hoc commission”. The commission reevaluates investment projects promising a “socio-economic impact” and issue approvals based on the principle of “derogation” – an oftenused technical term referring to legal “exemptions” by which land developers can sidestep AUM’s aménagement guidelines and regulations (Abouhani, 2011, pp. 227–229). Since 2003, the central state has given the power to accord the right of derogation to the regional governor (Wali of Marrakesh-Tansift-el-Haouz). Today, with regard to the use (and abuse) of derogation procedures, many Marrakeshis express their concern that such procedures have become a handy tool to circumvent transparency in investment arbitration and undermine (local) efforts to enforce its zoning regulations. Former mayor Fatima-Zahra Mansouri summed it

80  The city’s essence and the reform imperative up by stating that the presumed “state of exception” is, in fact, the “rule” (Mayor Mansouri in an interview with L’Economiste, July 2013). According to a 2008 addendum to Marrakesh’s SDAU, the historical conjuncture which calls for a modern urban policy is a “national effort to catch up” with the “strategic choice” to “modernize the economic structures” (SDAU-II, 2008, pp. 8–11). In this context, the policy document predicates its strategy on the assumption – or, rather, the truth claim upon which the policy rests – that Marrakesh is endowed with an intrinsic value and a “vocation première” (antecedent vocation) (SDAU, 2008, p.  5). Marrakesh’s vocation, calling or greater purpose rests on its being an essentially tourist destination (ibid). Consequently, every decision, plan of action or policy agenda must emanate from this premise. In the SDAU, Marrakesh’s AUM uses extensive data to support this claim about the city’s essence. The number of construction projects destined to tourism approved by the state between 2003 and 2007 was 913 out of 1,597, equal to 71% of all investment cost. The new tourism projects absorbed 82% of the jobs created within the same period (SDAU, 2008, p. 42). The city’s accommodation capacity makes up 24% of the entire nation’s (ibid, p. 50). The total arrivals increased by 12% from 2005 to 2006. The SDAU also features a special mention of the riad niche whose “economic, socio-spatial impact” is gaining momentum due to increasing demand (ibid, p. 176). The technical knowledge reported in the city’s SDAU, as we shall see, is not univocally transferred or disseminated from its fountainhead – that is, the “knowledge elites” of urban planning – it is rather a product of a “transactional” process by which “the truth, relevance and cogency of [its] claims” are negotiated (Dunn, 1993, p. 266). Urban policy, therefore, becomes a transacted and negotiated regime of knowledge claims where the “worldviews, ideologies and frames of reference” of its stakeholders are at play (ibid, p. 267). Let us, as a first step, re-map AUM’s construction of the city’s image and its policy recommendations as a negotiated narrative containing truth claims and appealing to certain values.1 AUM’s policy recommendations are very much in line with the national state’s vision: “the city should focus on its attractiveness” (SDAU, 2008, p. 38). In this way, the claim that Marrakesh has a “calling” stands in the face of all nay-sayers on account of empirical data alone. To AUM, however, there are additional warrants to invigorate its claims and, ultimately, justify its policy direction. One such warrant is, in essence, an appeal to jump on the global bandwagon: attractiveness is, presumably, a global trend by which cities worldwide are redefined. We are told that “because cities are no longer defined as geographic or administrative” units and have instead earned a more “economic and managerial” essence, investing in Marrakesh’s image and attractiveness is the most effective policy orientation in the twenty-first century (ibid, p. 7). In what follows, we see a feedback loop to the initial recommendation, but this time, the recommendation (premise) is reintroduced as a data-based conclusion: Encore une fois, les données les plus récentes permettent de constater que, plutôt que l’enjeu de la compétitivité c’est celui de l’attractivité qui paraît majeur pour la santé économique de la ville.

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 81 Once again, the most recent data point to the fact that, rather than aiming toward competitiveness as a goal, it is the strategic choice of attractiveness which seems important to the city’s economic health. (ibid, pp. 7, 39) The focus on “image and attractiveness” is essentially a policy direction privileging consumption-centric investments over production-centric ones. The appeal of the argument offered in this case isn’t necessarily a result of its coherence or internal consistency – as one can clearly see the tautological connections involving data, claims and warrants. Rather, the recommendation relies, to a great extent, on: (1) a shared myth about the city’s standing nationally; (2) an assumed “shift” in what cities in the global era mean; and, more important, (3) the legitimizing effect of the policy elite by virtue of their symbolic/political capital.

The discursive uses of “strategy” There is a consensus in postpositivist literature that policy documents are discursively constructed as a problem/solution dyad where “solutions” precede “problems” rather than the other way around. Marrakesh’s SDAU founds its “problem-solution” strategy on an interpretive grid which first provides the context of a policy issue and then argues the necessity for “a local development model”. The document refers to the “context” part as a “problématique” (SDAU, 2008, p. 7). The French term “problématique” isn’t necessarily a “problem” that needs to be fixed, but rather a “reality” which the policy elites normalize as the background of their “solution”; a “macro-trend” which calls for a concerted strategy. In turn, strategies2 are multilayered social constructions whose meanings, usages and functions go far beyond the institutions deploying them. As seen in the previous section, strategies marshal “sets of actors and their relational networks”, refashioning them into “new policy communities” whose policy input runs “across governance landscapes and through time” (Healey, 2006, p. 180). The SDAU’s problématique and its implications are ordered in the following narrative. Problématique The city, we are told, witnesses a double-shift: (i) away from creating wealth to attracting and retaining (outside) revenue sources and (ii) away from competitiveness to attractiveness (SDAU, 2008, p. 7). AUM is aware that Marrakesh’s wealth is not the result of any independent “productive capacity within the city” (ibid). In other words, the bulk of Marrakesh’s sources of income relies on its “image” as a tourist and gentrifiable attraction rather than its productive capacity. Yet, as the SDAU reveals, the city is plagued with “indefinite population growth which, apparently, is not suitable with the city’s attractiveness” (ibid). Constructions of strategy “The field of urban policy”, write Castells and Godard, “encompasses the set of practices through which the dominated classes attempt to bend, sometimes with

82  The city’s essence and the reform imperative success, the logic behind the dominating social reproduction of the workforce” (1974, p. 294). The city’s planning elite narrativizes its own failure to adequately address the issue of pauperization through overuse of the word “strategy”. Whereas the term “strategy”, in public policy parlance, denotes a set of purposive operations whose goal is to achieve a policy outcome given the means available, in Marrakesh’s SDAU, “strategy” loses its denotative value. In a deflective tone, the SDAU reports that based on prior “diagnoses of the strengths and weaknesses, assets and limitations” as well as an “understanding of the national economy’s evolution”, AUM is unable to resolve the aforementioned “problématique”, it can only manage it by “mobilizing all parties on the ground”.3 To that end, the SDAU advocates an “integrationist urban strategy” turning policy agendas into “development objectives” and preparing the “viable space for their fulfillment” (SDAU, 2008, p. 6). The real estate and construction industries are called upon to maintain their commitment to this strategy. Here, we have the first two constructions of strategy as: (a) a coping mechanism with a great deal of deferment to economic pressures at the national level and (b) a selectively integrationist, or yet accommodationist, political choice to the exclusion of other, equally important, stakeholders. In the context of “national economy”, Marrakesh’s strategy is one of “openness” and “deep liberalization” as dictated by the 1980s Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs) (ibid, p.  38). Within this conjuncture, the challenge of Marrakesh is to devise a “territorial strategy” to remedy its economic passivity: that is, turning the city into a “territory . . . endowed with human and material resources” (ibid). To that end, SDAU calls for a territorial development policy which mobilizes private and public actors “around a strategy where citizens, communities, corporations and non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and administrators” serve the “common interest” (ibid). Additional constructions of strategy emerge: (c) as a World Bank fait accompli leaving the country with no other viable options; (d) as a kneejerk reaction to the side effects (and not the essence) of the unbridled economic liberalization of the 1980s; and (e) as an expression of the corporatist understanding of public interest. Another construction of strategy emerges where the SDAU reiterates Marrakesh’s “capacity of developing a strategy of attractiveness” (ibid, p. 40). In this sense, “strategy” is confounded with (or at least attendant to) what was earlier termed an “antecedent vocation”. Because Marrakesh is aware of the human capital needed to invigorate its attractiveness, the city “has a roadmap” to deal with the question of professional training; the “roadmap” is part of a “strategy” devised by the Ministry of Tourism, tourism professionals and the L’Office Pour la Formation Professionnelle (OFPPT). This “training strategy” focuses on “[foreign] language training and communication techniques” (ibid, p. 168). Further, and in order to promote the city’s cultural heritage, the SDAU advocates a strategy of investments toward sustainable development of the historic sites (the promotion of rudimentary economic activities for tourism’s sake) (ibid, p. 183). Far from being a strategy, foreign language training is merely a euphemism to detract from the state disarray in expenditures on human capital development. To

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 83 cite a few examples, the average expenditures on associate degree–level technical training went down from the already-meager 1,052 MAD (approx. US$100) in 2004 to 437 MAD (US$44) in 2008. The average annual expenditure (per trainee) on vocational training amounts to 29 MAD (US$3) has increased by 18 MAD (US$2) for the same period (ibid, p. 166). The levels of public facility constructions are equally staggering: the ratios of public libraries, elementary schools and high schools per capita are respectively 1/225,000, 1/5,807 and 1/42,857 (ibid, p. 171). In the midst of this atrophied state-sponsored education, a new wave of private schools and “high institutes” have proliferated since the late 1990s. These private, for-profit ventures offer a gamut of superficially Americanized bachelors and masters programs in management, marketing and tourism-related services. The city is full of unemployed or underemployed, such as “specialists” in the socalled “Métiers de la Culture” (culture-promotion trades), many of whom would settle for any temporary job position in the field of tourism. The SDAU acknowledges that Marrakesh lacks a “strategic vision” in the field of urban planning where private “opportunism” overtakes “development goals” (ibid, p. 52). Yet, somehow, AUM engages in an “urban planning strategy” to control land values and combat land speculations in partnership with real estate and tourism sectors (ibid, p. 94). Further, the city lacks a strategy for the construction of new public facilities because the land earmarked for development, and approved in the master plan, is never fully used in the project completion (ibid, p. 170). The SDAU concludes that “such strategy [practice] needs to be supplanted by a suitable urban governance” leading to a “proper and integrated development” (ibid). “Strategy” in the SDAU’s parlance also refers to, or rather masks, the undesirable (and failing) courses of action in the areas of land management, public facilities and urban planning. Table 5.1 summarizes the different strategy constructions listed in Marrakesh’s master plan and their respective justifications and intended objectives. In its unintelligibility, or loss of denotative Table 5.1  Strategy constructions in Marrakesh’s master plan (SDAU) 2008 Strategy as. . .

Its justification

Its intended objective

managing weaknesses accommodationist choice passivity

Marrakesh’s calling/essence National economy

To better serve the city’s calling To secure corporate cooperation

reactionary half-solutions corporatism

Liberalization/global economy Territorial and social engineering Spatial governance

trope euphemism

Global consumption Attractiveness

good policy/bad policy dyads

Need for urban governance

To position Morocco in the global market To mitigate the adverse impact of global market economy To mobilize forces of economic interest To make the city more attractive To provide (quality) services to global consumers To facilitate proper development

84  The city’s essence and the reform imperative value, “strategy”, in Marrakesh’s SDAU, acquires a logic of war (as in the Foucauldian thesis), of coding, intensifying and governing a multiplicity of power relations, protagonisms and antagonisms. To illustrate, when the city’s policy elite normalizes “economic pressures” from above, when it accommodates certain interests – whether they be the national state, the World Bank or the city’s private sector – all while relegating the city’s active population to the social role of touristic product, it wages a sort of insidious “war by other means” against the dominated class (Foucault, 2003, pp. 15–17, 278).4

Reforming subjects The urbanism documents discussed in this chapter are the voice of the technocratic elite whose members adopt a highly proscriptive (technical) language using statistics and spatial and geomorphological analyses. As a result, the knowledge elite of urban planners monopolize the ways in which urban problems are defined and their solutions prescribed. In the process, the subordinate social groups are confined to a set of predetermined and deferential roles and behaviors.5 By the end of 2008, AUM published “Phase II” of the SDAU focusing on Marrakesh’s relationship with its peripheries. The opening section resurrects the old question of the relationship between knowledge and policy and acknowledges that the “technicoadministrative” approach, alone, is insufficient to secure a “harmonious economic and social development” (SDAU-II, 2008, p. 11). Although the document deems a second “multidisciplinary and participatory” approach necessary, the voices of other (non-technical) disciplines and social actors remain silent. Under a section on housing, the report asserts that the citizen (in the singular form) is “hardly interested in urbanism” (ibid, p. 81). The presumed “citizen’s” lack of awareness is coupled, according to the same source, with the state’s inaction in “engaging” and “educating” him/her in the area of urban policy (ibid). In this situation, when the state shirks its duty to “mobilize, engage and educate” citizens, the planners’ mission is compromised. Such cognitive imbalance, we are told, is part of a larger urban predicament in modern Morocco. Here, technocratic expertise gains legitimacy from convincing its audience (both the citizen and the state) of its apolitical and acultural efficacy. Yet its technical solutions are doomed to fail in the absence of like-minded interlocutors. The essential question which the policy elite raises in the SDAU is not the cognitive requisites for self-government, but what the individual ought to know for her to be governed effectively. The report on the Marrakesh-periphery relations attributes some of the problems of security and the environment to the “invading hordes of undisciplined youth” from the surrounding areas – deemed beyond the disciplinary scope of the state (ibid, p. 54; emphasis mine).6 It is therefore not enough for the policy elites to simply “disseminate” (theoretical) knowledge, this elite deploys a kind of (practical) knowledge according to which individual bodies must act. The report goes on to justify the inadequacy of Marrakesh’s urbanism on account of a new kind of incongruity: “Les mentalités et les pratiques évoluent moins vite, dans notre pays, que les réformes” (the mindsets and practices evolve

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 85 slower, in our country, than reforms) (ibid, p. 81). Again, in the absence of the most basic empirical evidence, the document redefines what constitutes “reform” and sets it apart from already-existing practices and attitudes. Reform as a discourse of change is negatively defined as neither a mindset (mentalité) nor a practice; it is therefore in the intersection of collective perception and institutional action. Indeed, the thrust of reformism in the 1980s was focused on the “physical environment” – targeting the slums as a potential, and natural, milieu of lawlessness (Bogaert, 2011, pp. 170–199). After the 2003 terrorist attacks in Casablanca, urban reforms took on the new task of biopolitical intervention – that is, intervention which seeks to control, discipline and manage the population by way of scientific means. In other words, reformism is no longer exclusively invested in urban renewal (practices) but also, and more importantly, in reforming the “mindsets”. Ultimately, AUM’s complaint about the “slow mindsets and practices” serves as cover for its failure to meet the commitments it had made in the SDAU some years prior. Its pledge to “engage” and “educate” the citizenry masks the realization that the new governmental imperative necessitates intervention at the society’s level. Reforms, therefore, require taking action upon the social body in order to “create living conditions” in the city and its periphery (SDAU-II, 2008, p. 81).7 Dunn (1993, p. 262) aptly sums up the argumentative structure implicit in the use of reform in policy formulations: Because reforms are symbolically mediated and purposive social processes aimed at changing the structure and functioning of some social system, they necessarily involve outcomes that are valuative as well as factual in nature. The success of reforms therefore depends on a rationally motivated consensus that some projected future social state is both possible and desirable. . . . For this reason reform is appropriately viewed as a process of reasoned argument and debate where competing standards for assessing the adequacy of knowledge claims include . . . rules for making valid causal inferences. With the increasing pressures to modernize and securitize the city, the knowledge elites of urban policy call for a mass mobilization by which the state imparts new forms of urbanity. While the reform rhetoric is gaining currency among the elites, Marrakesh’s built space continues to sprawl beyond its SDAU-mandated boundaries  – an anomaly-cum-trend, legitimized by AUM’s Rapport Diagnostic of 2008 (see abrogation in previous section). The biopolitical impetus for reform becomes all the more necessary when villagers are being integrated into the city space by way of rural migration and (extra-legal) incorporation of neighboring douars.

Urban actors and their preoccupations Urban policy in Morocco is a field in which the central state intervenes to mitigate the urban contradictions that inhibit its vision for economic development. To that end, the SDAU is, for the most part, an ex post facto instrument to legitimize prior decisions already in operation within the urban space. Marrakesh’s SDAU of

86  The city’s essence and the reform imperative 2008 argues that “each transition in the economic development” of the city “triggers sudden mutations” at the population level (SDAU, 2008, p. 250). Therefore, any inquiry on the city’s development must take into account its impact on the population (ibid). Such rhetoric simply relegates the “population” to the status of “non-actors”, a dominated subject in service of technocratic rationality. Case in point, the inconsequential views expressed by Marrakesh’s “population” are discussed in a separate section. The section titled “Urban Development and Men” is prefaced with an outright dismissal of the views of “natives” as “inopportuns” (misplaced) (ibid, p. 250). To the exclusion of the city’s residents, Marrakesh’s SDAU gives voice to a selection of “urban actors” who express their views on the city’s problems from the vantage point of their political standing vis-à-vis the centers of power. The SDAU delineates four such sets of actors: Group 1: the technocratic elements within the political/state apparatuses (the governorate, the mayor’s office, arrondissements and rural communes). Group 2: the state’s administrative arm at the local level (regional representation of ministries, AUM, etc.). Group 3: city-planning professionals not affiliated with the state (architects, topographers, urbanists, etc.). Group 4: the state’s capitalist allies (al-Omrane Holding, Compagnie Générale Immobilière [CGI], Addoha, etc.). The SDAU then proceeds with a “problem-solution construction” whereby each group of actors list their respective “preoccupations and expectations” regarding the city’s current and future state and make policy recommendations (ibid, pp. 242–248). For actors in Group 1, the problems are constructed as follows: •

Marrakesh is a “victim” of its extensive, incoherent and irrational urbanism (ibid, p. 242). • The city’s arrondissements either lack the proper urbanism documents (Plan d’Amenagement) or adopt obsolete ones. • The “vacuum” in urbanism documents occasion certain urban practices which compromise the unity and harmony of urban space. • Both the “vacuum” and “practices” engender a spatially “fragmented” city. • Spatial fragmentation is worsened by the “shocking” demographic shifts within the city and its peripheries. • As a result, the city’s “rich patrimony” (i.e., medina, riads) is threatened and necessitates “rehabilitation and renewal” (ibid, p. 243). Actors in Group 2 conceive of the problems in the following way: • •

Spatial dysfunctionality as a result of the infringement on the 1995 SDAU. The anarchical urban development is due, in part, to the bureaucratic “vacuum”, extra-legal practices and non-conciliation of “political interests” (ibid, p. 244).

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 87 • • • •

Social imbalances caused by the tourism industry (high cost of living, proximity of gentrified riads to mosques). “Structural problems” in the job market: tourism, already a non-stable source of revenue, determines job-training needs and investment in human capital (ibid, p. 246). Haphazard zoning adjustments do not take into account the infrastructure needs for many neighborhoods. Depletion of the water supply associated with the tourism and leisure industries (golf courses, waterparks, resorts, etc.).

Actors in Group 3 limited their problem-construction strategy to the double issue of “derogation” and “lack of urbanism documents” (ibid, p. 248), while actors in Group 4 were primarily concerned with the lack of “an optimal control of land-use” which would allow them to “complete their real estate mega-projects” (ibid). Each group of technocratic actors constructs the policy problems in accordance with a cohesive narrative and relying on powerful rhetorical devices whereby each of the contending constructions of problems justify a “policy recommendation”. The first element of this construction of reality involves a statement on the nature of the “main issue” affecting Marrakesh. As such, for Group 1, the issue is, in essence, a crisis of rationality which triggered a chain of detrimental effects (ibid, p. 242). For Group 2, the city suffers spatial dysfunctions and urban practices which impede its path toward development. For Groups 3 and 4, the main issues are, respectively, opportunism and obstructionism. Then it follows that, for each group, Marrakesh is redefined on the basis of how the main issue negatively affects it. Hence Group 1 uses the deflective language of victimhood to say that Marrakesh’s fragmentation is a result of its own unbridled sprawl. The group’s “recommended” solution to sprawl is the “creation of satellite cities, positioned along the important points of access”, as a way to “dampen the high population densities in the center” (SDAU p. 243). The rationale for this group’s intervention is both paternalistic and objectivist. Paternalistic, first, because the recommendations are an expression of the central state’s dictates already in operation. The construction of the so-called satellite (dormitory) cities had already been underway at the national level three or four years prior to the creation of this document – for example, Tamesna and Tamansourt on the outskirts of Rabat and Marrakesh. Second, Marrakesh is designated as a “victim” and as all proverbial victims necessitates a rescue narrative in which the state plays the role of a benevolent paternal figure. Implicit in this rationale is a certain objectivism where a “clean, calculating and homogenizing” course of action (from above) trumps the deliberative processes of non-elites for the sake of rationality (Dryzek, 1993, p. 213). To be sure, the practices of Marrakesh’s residents are no longer (spontaneous) expressions of their everyday needs and aspirations, but rather cast as a “threat” to the city’s “functions” predetermined by technocrats (Lefebvre, 1960, p. 190). Further, Group 1 advocates a set of solutions whose intended outcome is a demographically and spatially engineered urban society.

88  The city’s essence and the reform imperative Group 2 acknowledges the harmful effects of a host of purposive activities and practices within the city: tourism, zoning practices and developmental policies. This group alludes to statist rhetoric in its call for more bureaucratization (against the “anarchy” of urban development). Further, the concern over the gentrified riads’ proximity to the mosques smacks of populism as it plays to popular anxieties over the moral fabric of the medina – exemplified in its mosques. Marrakesh is, as a result, a space whose regulation lacks “statutory coherence”; that is, coherence of policy objectives, the policy actors and means to achieve them, the outcomes (both desired and adverse) and accountability.8 One AUM spokesperson reprimanded his critics that “instead of thinking about city limits, it is worth thinking about a [complete] city project” before he continued, “I am a proponent of city sprawl, if its continuity can be assured” (SDAU, 2008, p. 247). Notwithstanding the deleterious effects of certain policies, Group 2 shifts focus to the potentially favorable outcomes of those same policies – if only they could be implemented properly. Hence, the basis for this group’s intervention is utilitarian, as expressed in the following claims and warrants: first, there is no such thing as an intrinsically good or bad policy, whether it be zoning, aménagment or touristification. Second, policies are only good or bad by virtue of their economically measurable outcomes – that is, cost of living, job market, infrastructure needs. Third, instead of repealing policies that have harmful effects on the people and the environment of Marrakesh, this group advocates a reformist agenda whose subject is, also, individual action. Group 3 is composed of urbanism professionals, the majority of whom are selfemployed architects, topographers and self-styled urbanists. Sometimes at odds with the policy elites in the city, this group’s concerns and recommendations are not discussed in the master plan. It is widely assumed that this group suffers systemic exclusion by the state and the real estate and tourism investors who prefer to recruit large international firms to local professionals (L’Economiste, January 17, 2014). The national state, by law (Loi No 016–89), prohibits architects from turning their offices into corporations with limited liability – as only 4% of such corporations exist nationally (L’Economiste). My analysis relies on in-depth interviews and a focus group I conducted with members of this group of policy outsiders. Members of this group conceive of the city as primarily a non-meritocratic space. To begin with, one such member speaks of his cohort’s predicament in the following way: Architects are, in a sense, an instrument in the hands of the decisionmakers . . . he makes available his own creativity to the decision-makers . . . we play the role of a gynecologist; who must help accoucher [deliver, give birth to] an idea from those pregnant minds out there . . . so with bad ideas, we give birth to nightmares. . . [in addition] you have some bad gynecologists to begin with . . . because of nepotism, whereas there are some competent people who have nothing . . . people with vision and they are not valued. When asked about the root causes of such a nightmarish scenario, my interlocutor’s response took a technical as well as a historical turn. The architects’

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 89 dystopian diagnosis can be summarized in the following dyads: (1) regime stability is achieved at the expense of urban coherence; (2) gullible politicians are subservient to cunning state power; (3) meritocracy is sacrificed on the altar of “electoral fiefdoms”. In the architects’ own words: ARCHITECT 1: 

One issue you have to understand is that the political world isn’t mature enough to work closely with the artistic world . . . so you have aesthetic distortions . . . we are working in a city without a plan d’aménagement . . . and are dealing with derogations . . . everything is “derogated”, it’s a mess . . . this one wants a hotel in proximity of douar . . . and for politicians, this is where the money is . . . where they get bribes . . . so, it all comes from here . . . already the political world is rotten . . . and recently you have some imposed restructuring programs from above, with money from the central power. AR. 2:  You have to look at the root of the problem, and the problem began in the time of Hassan II where he wanted to avoid a catastrophic situation. . . . Then [minister of interior, Driss] Basri was looking for people [politicians] who he could manipulate, and elections were manipulated . . . why? Because they didn’t want the power to be questioned, they didn’t want any contestants of power. . . they didn’t want individuals who would call into question Hassan II’s urban policy . . . the king had other priorities . . . he suffered three coups d’état and needed to reposition Morocco internationally. AR. 1:  So, Basri devised an administrative zoning [by which] he brought the sea to his own city [by way of spatial, gerrymandering-like manipulation]. . . . A guy with little education . . . all he wanted is to keep people under his control . . . for example, they asked this well-known medical doctor in the medina to run for local elections against a municipal worker, who digs graves . . . and the doctor lost to the grave-digger. ME:  You’re giving me the impression that the elected officials are naïve. AR. 2: They are worse than that, they are a bunch of “incultes” [uncultivated brutes], ignorant and unlettered. AR. 1:  They go to politics to get rich and not for the citizen. AR. 2:  Just as an example, the one guy who approved urbanism projects and signed all the documents relating to urbanism in Marrakesh is a brute; he was a drug dealer in the 1990s . . . and he had his own mob. AR. 1: He turned the city into a pile of shit; he created phantom cities [villes-fantômes]. ME:  Tell me more about this . . . what are these? AR. 1:  Constructions projects that were authorized, but they are bidonvilles . . . without/outside [the provisions] of urbanism documents, and without infrastructure anyone can get what they wanted in his “fief electoral” [electoral fiefdom]. In a language reminiscent of reformist criticism of a certain form of urban politics in North American cities, the architects likened Morocco’s urban policy to a

90  The city’s essence and the reform imperative “machine qui est entrain de bouffer” (busy eating/consuming excessively). When used as metaphor, the machine consumes, processes, regiments and alienates, but it also produces. The Moroccan urban machine, in the architects’ view, does all but produce; it traps its victims in a parasitic relationship and then “wrests our sovereignty from us” (personal interview). The actors in Group 4 – composed of private and semi-public real estate development and construction holdings, investment banks and their subsidiaries and private housing companies – insist that the city suffers a lack of “land-use control” which results in unwarranted obstruction of capital’s full territorial potential. Group 4 exemplifies the entrepreneurial public-private partnership which sees land through an instrumentalist lens. Land is closely tied, but only ancillarily, to a “political economy of place” by which mega housing projects promise not only greater economic returns, but also social and cultural benefits, than the land upon which they stand (Harvey, 1989, p. 7). Ten years after the 2008 report, the “land issue” still frustrates the real estate interest. According to the president of the Fédération Nationale des Promoteurs Immobiliers (FNPI), Kamil Taoufik, “[real estate] sector suffers . . . several constraints, notably relating to land, financing and taxation” (Le Matin, May 31, 2018). It is not clear how taxation could have been a constraint when the real estate sector received, in the years from 1994–2008, generous exemptions from corporate, patents, value added and urban taxes, as well as other duties (Zaki, 2011, p. 255; Finances News Hebdo, June 28, 2017). With only a one-year moratorium, in 2010, the FNPI successfully lobbied the government to reinstate exemptions for another 10 years where, in 2016, the real estate sector was able to pocket 25% of all exemptions given by the central state (Finances News Hebdo, June 23, 2017). Table 5.2 provides a summary of how the four groups of urban actors, acknowledged in the SDAU, construct their problem-solution narratives. In what follows, one group of urban actors, whose views are neglected by the technocratic elite, express a host of other preoccupations.

Table 5.2  Problem-solution construction by groups of actors SDAU 2008 Sets of actors

Main issue Marrakesh, as a result, is. . . Basis for intervention Desired outcome

1

2

3

4

National state Local apparatuses administration

Urbanism professionals

Capitalist interest

Irrationality Victim, fragmented Paternalistobjectivist Demographic/ spatial engineering

Nepotism Obstructionism Non-meritocratic Lacking

Dysfunction Lawless Utilitarian

Interventionist – Entrepreneurialistintegrationist instrumentalist Land Modernist Optimal return on appropriation planning investment

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 91

A city broke(n) The SDAU gives no voice to the city’s elected officials; thus my interview with Brahim, an elected member of Arrondissement Menara (a sub-division of the city), helps us “see” things from a perspective that might otherwise be missed. For Brahim, the biggest challenge the city confronts is twofold; first, failure in matters of governance where urban management is highly centralized,9 and, second, the proliferation of douars: We operate in the largest arrondissement in Morocco (Menara), it brings in the most revenue to Marrakesh . . . yet, it is still marginalized. . . . It turned into a quasi-rural area because urban sprawl has reached the surrounding rural communes . . . with the new “decoupage” of 2004 [spatial administrative restructuring], some douars, example M’Hamid-9, initially part of the rural communes, have now entered the arrondissement’s jurisdiction. Menara’s [surface area] is now 78 km2 and its population is approximately 460,000 against 200,000 ten years ago . . . and this is due to the nuzuh [exodus] from medina and [the periphery]. So Menara became a construction site for urbanization . . . due to these pressures, I think Menara should be divided into two arrondissements. (Brahim, interviewed in Marrakesh, July 2014) According to Brahim, the 2002 administrative unification of the city10 imbalanced the ways in which the general budget is distributed. In its current state, budgetary appropriations are far from being equitable. For instance, under the 2002 law, it is not permissible for any arrondissement to use its budget (which is meager to begin with) on important sectors such as infrastructure or sanitation. Instead, the arrondissements are permitted to disburse their funds on “trivial matters” such as some small-scale sporting events and national holidays’ street decoration. The arrondissements’ competencies remain overall celebratory. To deal with issue of douar proliferation, in 2014, the Communal Council appropriated 20 million MAD (approx. US$2.1 million) with contributions, or commitments, from other partners such as the Wilaya (governorate), the INDH (Initiative Nationale de Développement Humain) and al-Omrane.11 However, the latter has not fulfilled its commitment and, according to Brahim, “has no intention to fix the problems it caused; it is becoming a hotbed of corruption” (personal interview). In addition to al-Omrane’s alleged corruption, the second real estate giant Groupe Addoha also triggered resentment among its customers. By the end of June 2014, Addoha was operating in Menara with a 400-hectacre housing project in Abwab Marrakesh. The local authorities issued “permis d’habiter” (certificates of occupancy) while the units were still in the construction phase. It took the mayor’s intervention to repeal the certificates until some basic conditions, beyond electricity, are met. Most of the problems Arrondissement Menara has with al-Omrane or Addoha were passed down by the previous council. For

92  The city’s essence and the reform imperative instance, the task of restructuring douars was al-Omrane’s responsibility. However, by July 2014 only 50% of the existing douars (32 douars housing 12,617 families) were re-settled. What remains to be done, in addition to basic infrastructure services, is a concerted effort to “relocate those families on terms agreed by all parties” and to “reform the legal status of the land in question as these lands are guish or communal lands” (personal interview with councilor Brahim). As expected, budgetary issues come the fore when politicians talk about their (potential) role in addressing/solving urban problems. Brahim alleged that “the previous council had left [the new council] with zero dirham in the account and a debt of MAD 9.5 million in the form of a communal loan [loans disbursed from the central state funds]”. Brahim then concluded that the previous council “left [them] with a broke city”. Five years after leaving office, ex-mayor Omar Jazouli and his co-conspirators were still battling corruption and embezzlement charges in court while the current city council was still making payments on loans. Attempting to start with a clean slate, when Mayor Mansouri was elected in 2009, she refused to start before the Court of Audit intervened to assess the financial situation inherited from her predecessor. According to Brahim, the audit’s findings reveal a broken city: phantom corporations, financial breaches, cases of embezzlement and public corruption. Every annual audit report since 2007 confirms Brahim’s characterization of his city. The 2007 report documents that between 2004 and 2006, Marrakesh’s Commune has concluded 541 markets in partnership with private and semi-public partners. Many such construction projects were initiated “several months” prior to official bidding. For instance, the renovation of the city’s main thoroughfare (Avenue Mohammed VI) and the overlaying gardens, the street lighting along Avenue des Ramparts as well as street pavement in M’Hamid, were all executed in “disregard of public procurement procedures” (Cour des Comptes, 2007, p. 433). The 2009 audit report also documents many instances of malpractice, financial breaches and abuse of power. This includes shady real estate deals (Cour des Comptes, 2009, pp. 34–35) and mismanagement of a major real estate and tourism investment bank (ibid, p. 40–48). In one four-star hotel alone, for a renovation project that was supposed to cost a grand total of $1.5 million, $3.5 million was reported “paid to suppliers” with an additional $1.5 million in debt (ibid, p. 59). The 2012 audit is no different: underhanded transactions and over-billed and subpar construction projects persist, only this time they moved to the periphery  – rural communes and Tamansourt (Cour des Comptes, 2012, pp. 61, 65).

Symbolic topographies revisited The previous sections (city branding, media and place-making and policy analysis) analyze the various ways in which the city and its neighborhoods are ideologically framed as spaces of (among others) consumption, poverty, threat, illegality and so on. Historically, the state has adopted a typology of the spatial forms attendant to the political and ideological power in place. Hence, all forms of spatial and urban restructuring have always been connected to the prevailing political orders

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 93 throughout Morocco’s history. In the current era, the process of (re)signification of the spatial units of the city continues, and Marrakesh has become a site to (at least) six models of symbolic topographies. Areas of commodified memory: In the first place, the medina (Area A in Figure 5.1) was a product of the proto-state (from the city’s founding to, roughly, the early twentieth century). This was the time when sultanic sovereignty needed consolidation and Marrakesh served to invigorate the image of “imperial power”. As occupiers of an identity-space, the bearer of “our” cultural identity, medina residents are expected to perform that identity – be welcoming and tolerant, traditional and cosmopolitan. Outside the medina, the city takes shape in a radialcorridor structure (see Figure 5.2) where the northwest main axes pass through the Gueliz neighborhood (old French quarters) toward Targa (very low-density urban space for high-income families) toward the blue-collar and industrial zones of Sidi-Ghanem and the surrounding douars. A second area of commodified memory is Gueliz (Area B). Built in 1913, Gueliz is a product of the colonial order wherein urban policies focused on creating a system of cultural apartheid and dealing with hygiene concerns. In 2013, the city’s boosters celebrated the “decennial of a mythical neighborhood”, in reference to Gueliz. The celebration took the form of a commercial center (Carré Eden) housing over 60 stores, a parking garage and, for the “first time in Morocco”, a Radisson Hotel and Starbucks Café – in addition to the obligatory spa fitness center and a lounge bar. This downtown mall is promoted in an overzealous entrepreneurial language. The mall-goers are told that the “women and men who thought out, imagined and created [the shopping center], were determined to preserve [Gueliz’s] soul” (Promotional Brochure, p.  7). So why is Gueliz a mythical neighborhood? The shopping mall “visionaries” overzealously pack their development project with an irritating gamut of signifiers: C’est du chic, du trendy, de la tendance . . . Un chic, qui ne renie pas son passé, loin des clichés de Marrakech, loin du folklore. Un chic qui puise sa force et sa beauté dans la modernité de l’orientalisme, un chic résolument pensé vers l’avenir. Chic, trendy, fashionable . . . a [kind of] chic, which does not disown its past, beyond the clichés about Marrakesh, beyond the folklore. A [kind of] chic that draws its strength and beauty in the modernity of orientalism, a [kind of] chic resolutely oriented toward the future. (Carré Eden promotional brochure, p. 14) The deployment of “myth” involves a sort of dépolitisation and deterritorialization from history and geography: Orientalism is not what it is, colonialism is folklore and consumerism is forward-thinking. As Roland Barthes (1957) writes, “le mythe est constitué par la déperdition de la qualité historique des choses: les choses perdent en lui le souvenir de leur fabrication” (myth is constituted by the loss of the historical quality of things: things lose in it [the myth] the memory of their making) (p. 216). There is, in the prior promotional slogan, an “ideological reversal” of the very things that define, dominate or mystify the space in question

Figure 5.1  Four models of town-making

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 95

Figure 5.2  Marrakesh radial-corridor structure

and its people. Indeed, the sort of historicity that Carré Eden is not only willing to tolerate but also, and more important, is intent on sanitizing and commodifying, is one which empties folklore, modernity and Orientalism of their all hitherto existing significations, social meanings and usages and force new ones onto them. Area of state intervention: As discussed above, Bab Doukala square is adjacent to the medina’s western gate carrying the same name. Bab Doukala separates the “justice district” on the eastern side (within the medina walls) from the first European settlement on the western side. It is at Bab Doukala where the modern city’s three axial roads converge (National Routes: N7, N8 and N9). The square acquired its renown in the media, and perhaps through the media, as a space of protest. Anti-corruption rallies, union-led protests and sit-ins organized by student groups, street vendors and civil rights activists have all taken Bab Doukala as their prime site. In addition to its being a space of dissent, Bab Doukala is also qualified by the SDAU as a dystopian space with: (1) the largest concentration of dilapidated buildings outside the medina (and within the city perimeters) (SDAU, 2008, p. 128), (2) the most disordered traffic intersections in the city and (3) one of the highest levels of air pollution (ibid, p. 231). These image-damaging malfunctions constitute the basis on which the state intervenes by heavily policing the area and removing the city’s bus station to the periphery. Enclaves of leisurely consumption: These are the spaces whose redevelopment is a product of what Mullins (2003, p. 127) calls “tourism urbanization”. The prime site of such activities is L’Hivernage, in addition to the renovated section of Gueliz where the mall is located. Designed in the late 1920s as an exclusive villa district for French officials and their guests, L’Hivernage today houses the city’s most luxurious resorts, boutiques and spas. Today, within those enclaves, consumption is expressive of one’s social status. The media frames this district as a sanctified space for conspicuous consumerism and a space which needs to be purged of the city’s riffraff. The city’s master plan of 2008 lists L’Hivernage as

96  The city’s essence and the reform imperative one of the few “successes” of the recommendations by the SDAU of 1995 which called for the “enhancement of its selective touristic function” (p. 74). In addition to L’Hivernage, the city also boasts new zones where golf clubs, massive resorts and a shopping mall are concentrated (the Agdal zone south of the medina). Areas of modernity/tradition synthesis: Al-Massira neighborhood (Area C in Figure 5.1) was created in the early 1980s, after King Hassan II issued orders to build a neighborhood which would express his “vision” of a “modern” architecture “en plein marocanité” (immersed in Moroccan-ness). The reason for Hassan II to initiate this urbanist project was twofold: first, to enhance the “aesthetics” of Moroccan towns and cities in ways that “keep with the spirit of the time” and, second, to maintain tradition in order to fight “moral decay” (royal address, Marrakesh, December 18, 1979). The plan to build al-Massira (Figure 5.3) came after the state had completed a “redistribution” program involving land recuperated from French settlers, many of whom were compensated for their loss. As the name indicates (massira lit. Ar. the march), the plan was a symbolic reference to the Green March of 1975 which Hassan II had ordered to “peacefully recover” the Western Sahara from Spanish control – an event memorialized as evidence of Hassan II’s political genius. During the 1980s, neighborhoods bearing names like “al-Quds” (Jerusalem), “Essalam” (Peace) and “Ar-Riyyad” (Gardens) sprouted in many cities around the country as a means to inscribe, upon the urban space, the king’s urban policy and also remind the Moroccans of his domestic and international political savvy. For over a decade, these neighborhoods were hailed as the architype of Moroccan architectural heritage. Spatially, however, they amounted to no more that “carbon copies of the colonial model of the 1920s” under the guise of “neo-traditional” Moroccan houses (Abouhani, 2011, p. 221). Al-Massira, for instance, is a grid of repeated street patterns with a “monotonous architectural language” (SDAU, 2008, p. 85). Urban planning in al-Massira served four functions:

Figure 5.3  Al-Massira neighborhood east of medina

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 97 hygiene, localization of certain services, connection to external markets and surveillance. It may be said that with al-Massira-like model, urban form entered a new era of control. Its most rudimentary unit – the street – ceases to be a “leftover” passage between dwellings. Avenue Hassan II (see Figure 5.3), with all its parallel and perpendicular thoroughfares, became a disciplinary space with specific usages and functions central to urban power. Urban aesthetic coherence is also deployed as a testimony of sovereign (despotic) regime. Today, al-Massira is a dense, underserved and disconnected urban area (SDAU, 2008, p. 79). As an upcoming neighborhood, Daoudiate (Area D, Figure 5.1) neighborhood dates back to the 1990s where the national state had given up all attempts to craft a modern Moroccan urbanist and architectural model. Daoudiate is simply the “modern” section of the city, where low-rise apartment buildings line up along Boulevard Allal el-Fassi. Areas of fledgling neoliberalism: Abwab Marrakesh I and II (Area E) is representative of the more recent mega housing projects in which swaths of land have been ceded to real estate holdings for the purpose of creating the latest installment of “modern” living. This particular section is approximately 1,600 acres in size. The social housing project was completed by Groupe Addoha and is composed of several small apartments (550 sq. ft. each) at the subsidized price of 200,000 MAD (approx. US$22,000). Within a year from its completion, Addoha increased the selling prices to 300,000 and 450,000 (Zaki, 2011, p.  279). Similar “economic” and “social” housing neighborhoods have mushroomed everywhere in the city’s periphery (e.g., al-Azzouzia farther northwest of the city; M’hamid southwest, see Figure 5.4). This new generation of housing projects exhibits a damning contradiction: (1) they are destined for the most part to low-income buyers yet are

Figure 5.4  El-Azzouzia housing project

98  The city’s essence and the reform imperative located away from the city where most low-income laborers find employment, and (2) they adopt a spatial arrangement of streets that allows vehicle circulation and parking, yet most buyers do not own personal vehicles. M’hamid is a mega project executed in nine installments according to an agreement between al-Omrane Holding and the state. The agreement provided that the state would facilitate land appropriation as a part of its nationwide slum eradication program. As a result, several hundred families were targeted by the state using a 1980s resident transfer strategy called “recasement”. Recasement is a costeffective way of removing slum-dwellers in which they are given land parcels where they can build a new home (Bogaert, 2011, p. 206). The 2008 SDAU reports that over 4,600 households have been already relocated and 4,000 more are in process. Over 600 families have been relocated as a result of M’hamid phases 4, 5 and 9 alone (SDAU, 2008, p. 126). As mentioned before, the media frame M’hamid a “model” for effective cultural and educational policies and parenting and time management skill as well as the uncoerced deferral to authority (cf. chapter  4). M’hamid, by virtue of its designation as a neo-traditional residential space, serves the local politicians to remind its residents of sovereignty’s temporal continuity. M’hamid is also a space for biopolitical intervention, which, ostensibly, seeks to develop human capital. Area of social stigma: Under a section titled “Human-Caused Nuisance”, the SDAU lists the medina, Sidi Youssef Ben Ali (SYBA) and the douars as the only spaces where high-density, “unhealthy” housing contribute to the security concerns (SDAU, 2008, pp. 226, 180). The marginal neighborhood SYBA, southeast the medina, is sandwiched between a large cemetery to the north, a tributary of the Tansift River to the east, the walled Agdal Gardens to the west and two douars to the south (see Figure 5.5). With only a few walkable access points, SYBA is uncontestably the urban space in which the repressed and rebellious masses are ghettoized. The neighborhood is vulnerable to regular floods from the nearby river which repeatedly cause structural damages to its infrastructure second only to the non-regulatory douars of the periphery. The social stigma attached to SYBA still persists decades after Hassan II’s infamous reference to its residents as “awbāsh” (human refuse). The city’s security apparatuses retrieved the epithet in 2013 when SYBA’s residents protested against energy price hikes. After the violent repression of these protests, SYBA became, yet again, a testimony to the effectiveness of the “zero tolerance” policies against lawlessness, subversion and disobedience. As mentioned previously, the local press frames SYBA as a “black zone” but also acknowledges that certain elements of civil society call for policy “initiatives”. However, the local press seems to emphasize only those “initiatives” whose purpose is to discipline and police the population. The “black zone” epithet only reinforces the decades-old stigma of “human refuse” bestowed upon SYBA by the late monarch. On August 19, 2011, SYBA residents took to the streets chanting “the people refuse the constitution of slaves” – a chant that resonates, in words and tone, with the Tahrir Square chants preceding the 2011 sacking of Egypt’s strongman Hosni Mubarak. The protestors, in the most blatant terms, denounced the

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 99

Figure 5.5  Sidi Youssef Ben Ali: a neighborhood under siege

palace-imposed 2011 constitution and demanded the re-drafting of a constitution involving all social strata. On December 28 and 29, 2012, SYBA again became a space for urban protest. Unofficially referred to as “ahdath dār ddo” (events of the electric house), SYBA residents took to the streets protesting the exorbitant water and electric bills of utilities company RADEEMA (Régie Autonome de Distribution d’Eau, Assainissement & Électricité – Marrakech); the two-day protest was violently handled by the authorities. Hamo, a native of SYBA, is a migrant worker in Italy who returned to settle in Marrakesh and has been a taxi driver for three years since his return from Italy. Hamo resents the stigma attached to his neighborhood and wanted to do something about it. He started a non-profit organization (SYBA’s Youth) whose main goal is “to prove to his majesty that we are true citizens” (personal interview with Hamo). Subsequently, instead of focusing on

100  The city’s essence and the reform imperative protests, SYBA became visible during national holidays through the organization of events celebrating throne day, independence day and one highly mediated sporting event (Raja Casablanca soccer team v. Bayren Munich, December 2013). Despite the sporadic attempts to reposition SYBA in the outlook of state apparatuses, the neighborhood still exemplifies the spatial projection of the antagonistic relationship between urban policy, as a technology of power, and the diffused, non-collective (subversive) action of the masses.12 Areas of pseudo-industrialization: Conceding that “Marrakech n’a pas pour objet de devenir une grande ville industrielle” (Marrakesh does not aim to become a large industrial city), the city’s elite seems ambivalent on whether the (already existing) industrial sector is an asset or a liability (SDAU, 2008, p. 47). Even after having repurposed the old industrial quarter west of the city, the new industrial district, Sidi Ghanem, is one of the symptoms of miscalculated suburban growth. Already Sidi Ghanem was already saturated in 2008, al-Omrane Group initiated an extension project, annexing an additional 185 acres (45 land parcels) to the already-existing 432 acres (500 parcels) the governorate offers as investment incentives (Marrakesh Commune official website; SDAU, 2008, p. 68). To that end, the district is celebrated as the city’s economic “safety net”, a site of investments, particularly foreign investments, which contribute to the plan for economic revitalization of the city. However, the hopes for Sidi Ghanem are disproportionate with its actual, and potential, productive capacities. Sidi Ghanem is a major source of air and water pollution, and its location, halfway between the city-center and its exurb Tamansourt, further complicates the issue (SDAU, 2008, p. 228). There are predictions that Marrakesh and Tamansourt will eventually make up an uninterrupted urban corridor once the slum-clearing operations are completed. Yet Sidi Ghanem and an adjacent open landfill, where all Marrakesh’s solid waste is deposited and burned daily, are nowhere to go for the time being (personal interview with a city official). The political elite uses the referent “industry” to indicate the so-called “şinā´h taqlīdiyyah” (traditional industries) or crafts. When asked about Marrakesh’s most valuable assets, one senior elected official in the Communal Council of Marrakesh stated that şinā´ah taqlīdiyyah: constitutes a fundamental source after tourism . . . and . . . is the source of sustenance to a large number of residents but also because Marrakesh is “madina munfatiha” [an open city] open to all artists and innovators; this traditional industry has improved in the last few years as foreigners have added qualitative aspects in design and usages, either by Moroccans or foreigners there is also an expansion of the areas of its consumption as well . . . hotels and maisons d’hôtes use [artisanal] products improving their [profitability]. (Personal interview with Menara elected official) According to this politician, there are three (or more) domains that make Marrakesh unique: its aménagement, hygiene, culture, tourism and crafts (traditional industry). The latter domain is “very important” because it is, after tourism, a

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 101 “fundamental source” of income to the city. Already meager in returns, it is the only source of income for its practitioners who constitute the lowest-paid laboring force in the city. The one question that comes to mind is, what makes an industry “traditional”? Is it being a country-/city-specific practice, learned in guilds and handed down from one generation to the other? If so, many such determinants may also include the car or steel industries in the northern United States. From my interviewee’s explanation, it appears that what makes Marrakesh’s industry “traditional” is its being a subsistence industry; no “modern” industry would only generate income to the worker and his family. The improvement of which foreign artists are active agents is qualitative; they are not merely making an extra few thousand artisanal trinkets (tagines, pots or plates) to increase Marrakesh’s productive capacity. They are making “better” tagines, pots and plates in ways that expand their use beyond their “traditional” functions – food preparation and presentation but also as decorative motifs and as a props in the global gastronomic scene. Although the technocratic elite of AUM envisions no plan for industrializing the city beyond its “traditional” niche, city politicians seem hopeful that a robust “industrial production” would countervail tourism’s inherent vulnerability to economic and political conjunctures. My interviewee added that while “tourism and traditional industries are important sectors”, they would like, in the future, “to develop the industry . . . industrial production . . . because it will allow us another type of creativity and innovation and a strong economy” (personal interview).

Conclusion As I argued earlier in this chapter, far from being a straightforward apolitical guide of standard operating procedures, Marrakesh’s urbanism documents conceal beneath their technical language a set of ideological elements within the political processes it promotes. Because Morocco’s SDAUs were fashioned on the French model, both were intended to integrate the policy choices and political tendencies of the electorate through deferment to the communes. In an extensive analysis of Dunkirk’s 1972 SDAU, Castells and Godard (1974) argue that despite the claim that said document reflected a leftist (pro-worker) political leaning of the municipal body, much of the “strategies” were in fact prior decisions made by the state in order to co-opt the workers’ interests (p. 390). SDAU is an “ideological moment” in which working-class interests are masked and subsumed within the “institutional circuits which control them” (ibid, p. 410). In the case of Marrakesh’s SDAU, my analysis reveals that the latter not only marginalize the working class and the political subleaders (recall rep. Brahim), but also stifles dissent from within the policy-making circles (independent architects). Further, when compared to the 1995 SDAU, the 2008 version attenuates any changes in power relations within the institutions involved in the production of these documents. Ultimately, the SDAU amounts to no more than a blueprint for the state-operated urban machine to monopolize policy.

102  The city’s essence and the reform imperative As the market conditions remain a concern for Marrakesh’s economic environment, the city grapples with its strategy to attract, and keep, investors. Such strategy remains unsustainable due to its dependence on land incentives. The already-existing housing development projects that suffer high vacancy rates, coupled with its one-dimensional economic vocation and high unemployment rates, all pigeonhole Marrakesh in the category of “clientelist regimes”.13 Further, this chapter has also provided a closer look into the ways in which local authorities follow suit with dictates at the regional, provincial and national level as they attempt to influence market forces. Marrakesh, much like most cities in unitary systems of government, is wholly integrated: there is a strong vertical integration between the central state and its regional and local representations. Despite this integration, and while Marrakesh is completely reliant on national policy planning systems, there is a great deal of miscoordination among its decision-making circles. With regard to the citizens’ ability to hold the political and administrative elites accountable, there is clear evidence from the city’s SDAU that the citizenry is relegated to a passive role. Turning urban space into places for global tourist consumption is not without its implication on local values and practices, particularly among the marginalized class. In sum, unfavorable market conditions, (inter)governmental miscoordination and low citizen capacity constitute the backdrop against which city officials take bargaining positions in order to achieve the best (possible) development outcomes.14 As we saw in the case of Marrakesh, its officials are left with no option but to bargain from a disadvantaged position as they seek (with the central state’s approval) to attract and retain business at all cost: derogation, lax fiscal codes and labor laws and favorable zoning practices. This chapter has also expanded on previous sections (city branding, media and place-making and policy analysis) to underscore other aspects of the symbolic representations of space. It is important to recall that the aforementioned representations, as Castells and Godard remind us, are not a matter of natural occurrence (1974, p. 263). Rather, they are the expression and outcome of ideological and political hegemonies operating on the city’s space. As such, a full understanding of the ideological control can only be complete if, in addition to space, an analysis covers the ways those hegemonies operate in Moroccan society. The following section will focus on how the housing market is produced, promoted and advertised not only to create a “demand” for new housing units but also to restructure society in accordance with the power structures in play.

Notes 1 I find Toulmin’s model of argument-construction and use (Toulmin, 2003) and Dunn’s (1993) application of the model to policy analysis extremely useful in this analysis. 2 My use of “strategy” here does not refer to an analytic category, but rather as a term deployed by the SDAU to refer to various meanings: “a more or less intentional plan of practices (including discursive practices) adopted to achieve a particular social, political, psychological or linguistic goal” (Reisigl & Wodak, 2009, p. 94). 3 “La stratégie proposée par le schéma Directeur d’Aménagement Urbain peut constituer la réponse à cette problématique. Elle devra s’appuyer sur des méthodes et des

The city’s essence and the reform imperative 103 démarches qui mobilisent toutes les parties présentes sur le terrain et, qui englobent tous les domaines à travers un croisement sectoriel et une analyse transversale des sujets abordés.” (SDAU, 2008, p. 9). 4 According to Foucault, political power perpetuates (in peace) “a sort of silent war to reinscribe that relationship of force, and to reinscribe it in institutions, economic inequalities, language, and even the bodies of individuals” (2003, pp. 15–16). 5 See Michael Peter Smith’s exposé on Theodore Roszak and Richard Sennett’s critique of contemporary urban life in the shadow of technocratic planning in: Smith, M. P. (1980). The city and social theory (pp. 127–163). Oxford: Blackwell. 6 “le mouvement des habitants de Marrakech à la recherche d’espaces de loisirs et de détente. Ce phénomène peut, dans certains cas, avoir des effets très négatifs sur les communes périphériques. C’est le cas par exemple des effets ‘dévastateurs’ des mouvements des jeunes sur la commune de Lalla Takerkousst pendant la période estivale. L’envahissement des cohortes de.   Jeunes non disciplinés pose des problèmes de sécurité et porte atteinte à l’équilibre environnemental” (SDAU-II, p. 54). 7 “Se mobiliser pour des affaires de société, telle que la création du cadre de vie revêt pourtant une importance extreme” (p. 83). The use of the polysemous “cadre de vie”, rendered here as “living conditions”, becomes problematic when it is (a) predicated with the noun “creation” (rather than “amelioration”, for instance) and (b) not attached to a qualifier like “suitable” or “dignified”. It implies that, like on the planet Mars, no “living conditions” are yet to be found in the city’s periphery and that it is the elite’s prerogative to “create” those conditions ex nihilo. 8 Smith and Larimer (2009, pp. 166, 171) discuss this concept first argued by Mazmanian and Sabatier (1981, 1983) and later tested and expounded upon by McFarlane (1989). 9 This also seems to be one of Mayor Mansouri’s concerns; in an interview with L’Economiste, she contends that “la gestion de l’urbanisme demande une vraie décentralisation avec un transfert de compétences réel aux communes” (urban management requires a real decentralization [and] real transfer of powers to the communes) (L’Economiste, July 3, 2013). 10 A “reformist” law (loi 00–78 October 3, 2002) applicable to cities with 500,000 residents or more, by which a city’s sub-divisions were unified under one city council with an elected president (mayor). 11 The figures and dates are also reported on the Marrakesh Commune official website but are slightly different from Brahim’s estimates. 12 Asef Bayat points out that as non-collective agents’ grievances coalesce, their sporadic actions morph into what looks like a concerted “collective action” forming what could be called a “social nonmovement” (2010, p. 14). 13 Here, I borrow Savitch and Kantor’s nomenclature; clientelist regimes “view public dependence as a way of accommodating, rather than changing, adverse economic conditions” (2002, pp. 161, 224). 14 Ibid, pp. 43–54.

6 Mythologies of new (and old) housing

The housing market and state intervention Let us, for a start, consider the various ways in which the Moroccan state contributes to what Bourdieu calls “a twofold social construction” of the housing market: that is, its demand and supply (2005, p. 16). On the supply side, Morocco’s housing policy of the 1960s focused on absorbing the influx of rural migrants who fled the unfavorable rural conditions triggered, for the most part, by drought. Soon enough, the state admitted the failure of its 1960s policy and began, in the following decade, to devolve its operations to specialized agencies. In 1974 the state created Etablissements Régionaux d’Aménagement et de Construction (ERAC): regional agencies in charge of the execution of government construction programs on behalf of the central state and the local communes. In 1984 the task of slum clearance was assigned to yet another national agency, the Agence Nationale pour l’Habitat Insalubre (ANHI). The so-called unsanitary housing (Habitat Insalubre) was to be “treated” following a tripartite mode of intervention (see previous section): (1) resident transfers half-built housing units; (2) restructuring of the built environment and; (3) resident transfers to empty land parcels (Effina, 2011, p. 21). With the 1980s structural adjustment programs’ first installment, the state doubled its efforts to involve the private sector in housing production. The state also included the real estate sector in its “Investment Codes” by extending fiscal advantages to private investors in the housing market (cf. chapter 5). By the early 1990s, the central state realized that its supply of land within the urban perimeter was about to be exhausted. Meanwhile, it determined that the (social) housing market suffered a deficit of 980,000 units. As a result, state policy with regards to social housing has shifted focus away from state-centered provision of land parcels (back) to slum clearance mega-projects in partnership with the private sector. In 2001, King Mohammed VI addressed the nation in an alarmist tone, warning against the dangers of (yet again) “insalubrious housing” on the basis that it constitutes a “threat to the cohesion and balance of the social fabric and a source of frustration, exclusion, deviation and extremism” (Morocco’s official web portal). In July 2004, the state launched a newer edition of slum clearance program, Villes Sans Bidonvilles (VSB) (Cities without Slums), which targeted 85 cities and 348,000 households occupying 1,000 slums nationwide and at the cost of

Mythologies of new (and old) housing 105 25 billion MAD (approx. US$30 million) (Ministry of Housing and Urban Policy, mhu.gov.ma). In 2011 the state declared 43 cities “slum-free” (ibid). What accounts for this self-proclaimed “success” is that the state adopted an aggressive public-private partnership strategy in which real estate developers benefit from a package of several competitive advantages (cf. chapter 5), from “special derogative rights” to full restitution of the tax on added value and 50% exemption of income tax for the first five years of operation (Effina, 2011, pp. 29–30). In the process, the outdated and unprofitable agencies of the 1990s (ERAC, Société Nationale d’Équipement et de Construction [SNEC] and Attacharouk) were “bailed out”; their public debt was paid back to the Crédit Immobilier et Hôtelier (CIH) – a palace-owned investment bank whose practices lack transparency – and merged under the “modernized” conglomerate Al-Omrane (L’Economiste, December 11, 2003). On the demand side, the state has intervened by increasing the financial resources allocated to social housing programs. The state restructured the loan system and relaxed the criteria by which prospective homeowners receive loan approvals. Also, the state created “guarantee funds” (fond de garantie logement) in order to “guarantee loans accorded by banks” absorb insolvable accounts (Caisse Centrale de Guarantie, ccg.ma). In addition to creating and structuring a modern mortgage market, the state also intervenes at the technical level by streamlining the architectural production process. After having both saturated the real estate market and benefitted from generous fiscal exemptions from the state, the National Federation of Real Estate Promoters (FNPI) breaks with the usual (supply-side) “doléances” and shifts focus to what its leadership characterizes as a “[housing] demand crisis” (L’Economiste, no. 5372, October 16, 2018). The FNPI places responsibility on the buyers’ “passivity and opportunism” and the declining “solvency” among households (ibid, interview with vice-president Rachid Khayatey). To deal with the demand crisis, the FNPI assumes a new role; it is no longer in the business of turning land into housing commodity, but rather is involved in promoting “technical, urbanistic and financial” schemes to “restore trust” among buyers following in the footsteps of “European countries that have experienced the same phenomenon” (ibid).

The dār and its semantic field In Morocco, there are a wide variety of housing types depending on the milieu and the time period in which the house was built. In the case of Tamazight-speaking milieus, rural dwellings are referred to as “ighrem”, “tig’mmi” or “taddert”. In urban milieus, the medina dwellings are “dār” and “riad”, while ville nouvelle or new developments are “shuqqa”. This typology is fluid, and its elements change as the time period in which the house was built changes – from precolonial to colonial to postcolonial architectural styles. The house type assumed to be traditionally Moroccan is the dār: a square-shaped dwelling with a windowless exterior wall and several sets of apartments and a patio. A second interior wall, with windows, demarcates the multiple rooms and leaves an open space in the middle

106  Mythologies of new (and old) housing called “L’mrah”. The dār is called riad if the central patio is composed of an enclosed garden and a water fountain. The dār is home to the extended family; the grandparents and parents each occupy their specific quarters, and children including married sons also live in the dār. Traditionally, Moroccans did not treat their houses (dār) as an economic investment but rather as a familial patrimony which would be transferred down the younger generations. The dār (still) occupies a place in Moroccan imaginary that translates into permanence, genealogy and connectedness – in the religious discourse, the “permanent” abode of the hereafter is referred to as “Dār al-Baqaa” (the house everlasting). The dār’s significance in Moroccan popular imaginary is also expressed in the vernacular proverb “dāri yā dāri, ya ssātra ʿwauri!” (My house, O my house . . . O concealer of my many imperfections!) When I asked Linda – a recent graduate in the Métiers de la Culture – to explain to me the nature of social and cultural transformations that affected the shaabi (traditional) neighborhoods in Marrakesh, she evoked her childhood experience growing up in her grandparents’ medina house. Life, she said, was “eventful” in both the “shaabi” (popular) neighborhood and her grandparents’ “dār” (house). The dār and the medina, as living spaces, acquire their quality of being sha´abi (popular) not on the basis on their occupants’ income level but on the type of interpersonal relations that bring them together. For Linda, those bygone relations leave current social life in a “desert-like” condition: things are “un petit peu desertique”, “to each their own . . . it is now common for people to avoid any interactions with their kin or neighbors”. Linda explained this “transformation” in terms of the conflict between the exchange value and the use value of the family house: Things have changed now, there are many other problems . . . people are no longer interested in keeping the familial relations, some become greedy and want to sell the grandparents’ dār [house] . . . the family esprit [spirit, memory] of the past – meeting and remembering grandparents – is no longer valued. For Linda and her siblings and cousins, living in the grandparents’ dār is an attempt “to retrieve that lost esprit and revive the old memories”. Indeed, it would be erroneous to expect social relations within the sha´abi neighborhoods and in the dār to remain intact in the spatial context of the apartment or the “modern” neighborhood. After independence, upper-class Moroccans were introduced to another type of housing unit which was left by the French in the nouvelle ville. Contrary to the symbolism of dār, the apartment (Shuqqa) operates symbolically and semantically as the exact opposite: first, the term Shuqqa connotes (as does its English equivalent) division and apartness. It is also connected, semantically, to hardship and adversity (mashaqqa). Second, as a practice, living in an apartment means one has to forgo living with extended family. When the central state first decided to create new housing projects in the late 1970s and the 1980s, it maintained that its plan was to create a new generation of Moroccan houses. Many urbanites kept

Mythologies of new (and old) housing 107 referring to the new neighborhoods of the 1980s as simply the new houses, “dior j’dad”, instead of their official names.

Promoting a new kind of house experience Housing supply is also constructed and produced by the state; construction companies, real estate developers and banks are proliferating in numbers while many are concentrating under powerful mega-corporations. For instance, commercial banks are mushrooming in the country (see Figure 6.1), yet financial assets are increasingly concentrating within a few financial institutions (see Figure 6.2). As Figure 6.2 illustrates, the total assets1of the three largest commercial banks have evolved from 51% in 1997 to 90% of total commercial banking assets in 2011. These corporations, by virtue of their financial and economic power, have become heavily involved in the political processes.2 According to International Monetary Fund (IMF) reports, since 2005 Morocco’s central bank “spearheaded a comprehensive effort” along with the commercial banks and business interest to implement and execute a series of measures aiming to encourage credit. These measures include: the creation of a credit bureau, simplifying the application processes to obtain credit, streamlining the financial information for borrowers and implementing a recovery plan for bad real estate loans. As a result, consumer credit and credit for real estate acquisition have been the fastest-growing credit categories (Oulidi & Allain, 2009, pp. 7–8).

21 19 17 15 13 11 9 2004

2005

2006

2007

2008

Figure 6.1  Number of bank branches (per 100,000 adults) Source: World Bank

2009

2010

2011

108  Mythologies of new (and old) housing 90 85 80 75 70 65 60 55 50 45 97 98 99 00 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 Figure 6.2  Percentage asset concentrations for the top three banks (1997–2011) Source: World Bank

As mentioned earlier, the nomenclature referring to real estate developers (prometeurs immobiliers) is indeed telling. The signifier “promoters” denotes more than just the creation, or the launching, of a housing product (as the verb “to develop” suggests). To promote (Fr. promouvoir) is to create, initiate (the need for) and push for – that is, to advance the cause of a gamut of consumer behaviors, dispositions and choices. By the 2000s, the trend became to encourage the consumption of apartments and small single-family houses. The new housing policy privileges the apartment as the ideal family space. The housing projects produced by public-private coalitions are promoted as the ideal alternative to living in shared, dilapidated and outmoded houses in the medina or informal douars. The real estate developers choose names for low-cost housing projects that make strong associations to pseudo-religious promises of a happy life: al-Iman (Faith), Jinan al-Khayr (Gardens of Righteousness), al-Firdaous (Paradise), Ar-rahma (Mercy) and al-Ghufrān (divine forgiveness). The “mid-range” and “high-end” products are given secular, worldly names – many of which are in Western languages: Les Jardins de L’Atlantique, Targa Gardens and Jacaranda. The newly constructed housing units are advertised on national TV and radio, real estate flyers and city-wide billboards. Newspapers reserve entire centerfolds for commercial advertising as a source of income. Common in all of the advertisements is that they “play on, stimulate. . ., or arouse . . . pre-existing dispositions” in the collective imaginary of prospective consumers (Bourdieu, 2005, p. 56). For

Mythologies of new (and old) housing 109 instance, many advertisements have deceitfully positioned the slogan “A small house in ruins is worth more than a palace in common” as a Moroccan proverb. Many have emphasized the virtues of home ownership as a sly, frugal and more secure option than renting. Semiotically, the printed materials (brochures) rely heavily on an iconography of the ideal family: modern, small (by Moroccan standards) and, most important, happy (see Figure 6.3). The brochures are full of what Bourdieu calls “mockpoetic” vignettes ubiquitous in housing advertisement grammar (ibid, p. 64). The models recruited to pose for the photos are unmistakably fair-complexed – as dark-complexed characters are virtually absent in the Moroccan media and advertising sphere. It is clear that the models depict ideal Moroccan families by mirroring/enacting Western values. For instance, the models are dressed in Western attire and pose as if they are vacationing. The message which seemed most important for Al-Omrane to convey is not the physical sturdiness of the apartments (as it turns out, their units are far from being structurally sound) but rather the emotional “robustness” of the happy family. As demonstrated in the figures that follow, the vignettes rely heavily on what Fairclough (1989) calls “simulated personal address” (p. 128): exclusivity, (your) comfort, (your) happiness. The goal here is for the advertiser to devoid these concepts from their abstractness and strike some kind of conversation at the end of which the viewer is informed about the commodity. One peculiar aspect in all the promotional material, including TV advertisements, is the over-emphasis on the narrative of a happy homeowner at the expense of showcasing the apartments’ features. While the top two visuals (Figure 6.3) feature panoramic views of the apartment buildings, their importance within the overall advertising space is minimal. In the bottom left visual, al-Omrane capitalizes on the powerful iconographic “house key”, which is associated with independence, the ability to open/close one’s own living space at one’s convenience and securing one’s future. The house key’s appeal is that it incites the consumer’s imagination to skip through all the unnecessary, boring and burdensome details of acquiring the home: the loan approval process, the bureaucratic procedures and unscrupulous practices (paying bribes to get an apartment facing the sun or on the first floor) one has to go through to “fulfill the dream”. Advertising, as Fairclough has argued, “firmly embeds the mass of the population within the capitalist commodity system by assigning them the legitimate and even desirable role of ‘consumers’ ” (ibid, p. 36). Al-Omrane is not the only promoter investing a significant portion of its revenue in the field of advertising. The other two real estate giants, Addoha Group and Espaces Saada, are competing to control the market by deploying a variety of media in their promotional efforts. Television advertising comes to the forefront of this competition. In four distinct advertising videos – three by Addoha and one by Saada – the two corporations partnered with four celebrities: (Video 1) features Shah Ruh Khan, a Bollywood actor/choreographer; (Video 2) features Khaled, an Algerian (recently naturalized Moroccan) world music icon; the up and coming “Moroccan pop” singer (Saad Lamjarrad) and the veteran Moroccan “Arab pop”

Figure 6.3  Al-Omrane promotional brochures

Figure 6.3 Continued

112  Mythologies of new (and old) housing star (Samira Said) appear in Videos 3 and 4 (see Figure 6.4; Figure 6.5). All four advertisements are produced as music videos in which each of the celebrities sing modified lyrics to the tunes of their own popular hits. The videos are filled with characters, colors and motifs (standalone doorframes in Video 3, flower petals in Video 1, trucks in Video 2 and potted plants in Video 4) and many extras/backup dancers who, along with the celebrities, engage in performative theatricality. The four advertisements are given each a particular, and partial, narrative through the lyrics. Khaled, who performs for Addoha, is cast as a single homeowner. He repeats a refrain in which he equivocates his love for the real estate giant: “I am a lover . . . a buyer/homeowner. . . Addoha accommodates me”. The product line advertised in the video is a range of apartments ranging in size between 50 m2 (low-cost) and 110 m2 (high-end). However, Addoha avoids the use of the term “shuqqa” (apartment) in the promotional song. The entertainer insists that his is a house (dār): “my house pleases me . . . my house indulges me”. Addoha also casts Saad (Video 3; Figure 6.5) to address another category of prospective homeowners: young couples. In the advertisement, the singer begins by telling his partner that if she “want[s] [her] own house [dār]” where she “can live [her] life” and have “peace of mind”, she should “follow [him] and say nothing”. The performer comes across as a controlling, narcissistic club-goer: “Listen to me, woman . . . they will take advantage of you!” in an intimation to other sellers who happen to be men. Even when he asks her to “belie what they say about him”, he maintains a grin that casts doubts on his sincerity. The woman, on the other hand, is silent, deferring and seems mesmerized by his sleek moves. Against the constant euphoria of her male partner, the woman’s facial and bodily expressions change in every frame. As he begins to courts her on the street, her mood changes from “unimpressed” (first 6 seconds) to “slightly charmed” (sec. 11). Then she becomes “worried” as she begins to think about buying a home (sec. 16). Three seconds later, she becomes “captivated” as he uncovers her eyes to show her the apartment building. The video then shows her worried about down payments – the thought bubbles with dirham amounts and the word “down-payment” make the point clear (sec. 41). Halfway through the video, her facial expressions begin to convey relief, guarded happiness and then approval (of both the apartment and her partner’s dancing skills). The chorus is a repetitive pattern of the word “Addoha” but serves as a foil to the most important message in the advertisement: the social meanings attached to owning Addoha’s product: [Let] each know his rank [in society] [shāan] His status and station [in life] [m’qāam] The signs of quality are clear Addoha is the best fit for me [rhyme, here, is prioritized over inclusive language] Addoha’s claim that its products are a sign of one’s “social rank” stands in contradiction with the realities experienced by its working-class customers. The woman is finally persuaded by her partner’s passionate plea, and soon the video cuts to a

Figure 6.4  Shah Ruh Khan and his Moroccan romantic interest in Saada TV ad (Video 1)

Figure 6.5  “Listen to me, woman!” Addoha TV ad (Video 3)

Figure 6.5 Continued

116  Mythologies of new (and old) housing

Figure 6.5 Continued

nighttime dance scene. Here, the performer is partying by himself; in one frame only, his partner is on the side of the stage applauding him. The video ends with the same repetitive chorus and a male voice announcing the following: “buy an apartment from Addoha Group, down-payment is just 5,000 MAD [US$600] . . . and more, Addoha gives you furniture as a gift”.

Mythologies of new (and old) housing 117 The next video simulates one of Khan’s most successful dance sequences in a 2001 Bollywood movie.3 In this video, Khan courts a Moroccan woman; as they both dance, he pleads to her: “I intend a serious [relationship], look at me!” The woman retorts in a rather abrupt manner, “If you don’t have the best house, just leave me alone”. She goes on to describe what a house-dowry should look like: A living room and a kitchen [where] I can show my handy skills. . . aaah! A house . . . the best that can ever be. Everything would [thereafter] be easy. Gardens, a marketplace, a [public bath] and a school nearby. . . aaah! The groom-to-be quickly responds that he has “found what would please [her]” in Saada properties. Here, again, the advertisement avoids attaching the referent “apartment” to the name brand in question. The bride-to-be makes it clear that she wants a dār (house), and her suitor confirms her request. Saada Holding avoids the dār/shuqqa conundrum altogether and, instead, uses the ambiguous language of “spaces” (Ar. faḍā’āt/Fr. espaces) to describe its commodity. The space in Video 1 is clearly gendered until the end, when only the two main characters “break through” the segregated space. In Video 4, popstar Samira Said begins with the words “ajiw derbou liyya” (come beat [the drums] for me). She continues, “come and look with me . . . see this with me” – the singer is a single woman who shows the house and acts as a real estate agent. A later scene shows Said with another couple and two children running around, suggesting that she sold them the apartment. Video 4 is unique in that it features a single woman rather than a couple, but we soon realize she is not the buyer. As the stigma on single women renting or owning property persists among many Moroccans, the female character in Video 4 cannot be both single and a homeowner (unlike Khaled in Video 2). The first line in the song, not lacking the double-entendre and sexual innuendo, was construed in social media as a “test to our manhood”. The “test” may not be of a libidinal nature as the social media activists in question feel trapped in apartments that fall short of their expectations. The video features (the lower halves of) two children running indoors, suggesting the abundance of space (hardly a feature in the 48 m2 apartments) in Addoha’s low-cost product line. All four videos exhibit several common traits: first, all four advertisements rely on, and recycle, successful hits by their respective performers; they contain the same melodies and rhythms with new lyrics to fit the advertisement’s subject. Second, they all feature a plotline which develops from day to night. During the day, the characters are negotiating (either with one another or with the viewer) some sort of relational arrangement. The male characters attempt to persuade their (prospective) partners (Videos 1 and 3); a female character sells the apartment (Video 4); and a single male character declares he is in love (Video 2). The main characters do not evolve; they are cast as one-dimensional pleasure-seekers who, perhaps, may “settle” for a married life if the “right house” comes along. Third, the videos lack a plot/problem/denouement and instead take on a simple

118  Mythologies of new (and old) housing formula: courting, and some apartment hunting, by day and party by night. The nightly scenes give a sense that some agreement has been reached; the characters/ homebuyers are shown “partying” in celebration after having signed the mortgage contract. Fourth, the advertisements lack any dialog among the characters except through the performed lyrics and choreographed dances. Finally, all advertisements deliver a promise of social mobility, or at least access to “higher” social ranks, just by buying the housing commodity. The gendered dynamics that emerge in the videos are, at best, ambivalent. The main female characters, in two of the four videos, are ostensibly “modern” working women; one carries a handbag to suggest some degree of economic independence, and the other “seals the deal” with the homebuyers. Yet we see in Video 4 – and in other Addoha and Saada commercials beyond the scope of this analysis – other women performing stereotypical roles (in the kitchen preparing food), some of which are patently problematic (gossiping in the kitchen, five daughters desperate to get married while their controlling mother refuses suitors without a house). Overall, the exchanges observed in the videos exemplify neopatriarchal4 political-economic power structures where men remain the prime movers of all things relating to the housing market but tap into women’s strategic importance as consumers. In 2008, Morocco’s Haute Autorité de la Communication Audiovisuelle (HACA) has disseminated a policy document, based on the 2005 Law (No77–03), outlining fair use of audiovisual media for advertising purposes. The document rehashes some of the provisions already outlined in said law, but it acts as a “contract” between HACA and the advertising firms and the media. The documentcontract also iterates HACA’s authority as the watchdog against “illegal, unethical or immoral” uses in matters of advertising (HACA, Prototype de Cahier de Charges, 2008). In the first place, the document-contract emphasizes the “editorial independence” of all third parties but prohibits them from (among others): (1) advertising of political nature; (2) “exploiting minors’ trust” in “legitimate authority”; (3) engaging in “false or misleading advertising”; and (4) disrespecting individuals on the basis of their “origin, sex, ethnicity, nationality or religion” (ibid, pp. 10–12). This list of prohibitions comes as part and parcel of a state-induced bundle of reforms targeting (among others) the broadcasting sector: La réforme du secteur de la communication audiovisuelle est, en effet, une composante essentielle de ce mouvement général de réformes engagé, étant donné l’importance de son rôle dans la consécration des valeurs de liberté, de pluralisme, de modernité, d’ouverture, de respect des droits de l’Homme et de sa dignité, de qualification de notre pays, aussi bien sur le plan politique que sur le plan économique, social et culturel. The reform of the communications sector is, in fact, an essential component of a comprehensive reform . . . given [the sector’s] importance in sustaining the values of liberty, pluralism, modernity, openness, respect of the human rights and human dignity [as well as] our country’s political, economic, social and cultural worth. (Law No77–03, 2005, p. 2, emphasis mine)

Mythologies of new (and old) housing 119 Thus, for advertising to be in line with the state’s vision of “liberty, pluralism, modernity and openness”, it has to operate in a manner which is respectful of “human dignity” (ibid, p. 8). The document-contract, as well as the law, operate at the most irreducible level of social intervention – such as the concern over minors’ trust in (parental) authority. However, it can be said that the relationships among the bureaucracy, the advertising corporations and consumers are circumscribed by ideologically determined concepts.5 To be sure, “political nature” in advertising is limited to overt statements concerning the monarchy and its “red lines”. Likewise, the “truth/falsehood” dichotomy becomes even more blurred when advertisers rely on convoluted constructions of their products. Consider the following slogans imbedded within the TV commercials discussed prior: “Saada spaces: the right to quality housing” and “Addoha is suitable for you and . . . for me!” Every Saada, Al-Omrane or Addoha customer I interviewed made it clear to me that the advertisements were, at best, misleading. A cohort of ostracized architects (cf. chapter 5) expressed to me their sense of indignation with the “undignifying” living conditions of the so-called “quality housing” units: I’ll give you an example from our own profession . . . we are struggling to get our voice heard that a citizen doesn’t deserve to live in 50  m2 despite his limited means . . . but the problem is caused by les financiers because they scatter the families so that family consumption increase and they make money off of that. Bourdieu reminds us that all human practice is embedded (echoing Polanyi’s concept) in a “social order” (2005, p. 1). Consequently, every practice must be conceived – notwithstanding claims of “pure economic” facticity – as “total social facts” (ibid). The analysis of the housing market presented in this section confirms that the “social world” is indeed immanent in political decisions and economic (trans)actions in relation to housing. The housing commodity chain provided by the corporate housing “promoters” is the result of a synchronized “double social construction” involving the state and its bureaucratic apparatuses. One the one hand, the “supply” is a product of land and investment policies while, on the other, the “demand” is constructed through a concerted effort involving the proliferation of banking services and the reshaping of social attitudes, individual tastes and dispositions. The social spaces in question – whether it be the neighborhood, the apartment or the traditional house – emerge as “fields” of hegemonic power, ideological control and class struggles (ibid, p. 199). Further, real estate property in the new housing rhetoric belongs to a symbolically charged field in which the new domesticity is framed within the discourse of modernity, individualism and openness.

The riad, a dream of another kind At the same time working-class Marrakeshis were introduced to the apartment as the ideal housing unit for a modern family, the rich (particularly Westerners)

120  Mythologies of new (and old) housing were “discovering” the riad as the ideal space to live the Orientalist dream. The perfect riad, as Life in Marrakesh magazine advertises, is “rare”, “ideallysituated” and one whose previous owners cared to “conserve its original character” (March 2016, p. 56). The promotional literature of the gentrifiable/gentrified riads bears several distinctive characters not found in the other housing categories discussed prior. First, since the commodity in question is not mass-produced, the promotional literature is limited in scope and scale. Outside a limited number of prestigious tourism and real estate magazines, there are no TV segments, newspaper sections or billboards adverting riads. Second, the advertisements include detailed information on the product: distance (in meters) from historic sites, livable surface area, century built, direction vis-à-vis sunrise and sunset and, unsurprisingly, the price in Euros. Third, contrary to the “mass housing” case, the riad advertisements make no promises of climbing the social ladder as a result of becoming a riad owner. In fact, semiotically, these ads acknowledge, defer to and capitalize on an assumed sophistication of taste exclusive to the upper class. In an attempt to theorize the “encounter” between gentrifiers and locals, Logan and Molotch (1987) distinguish between the use value of a place and its exchange value which renders it a marketable commodity. Elements of use value include support networks of trust, attachment to a place and the willingness to defend it, culture and family life. On the other hand, exchange values include marketable commodities within the neighborhood. These processes of capitalist restructuring will eventually manifest in a particular kind of spatial conflict between those who defend the “old space” and those who seek to modernize it (Lipietz, 1994; Brenner & Theodore, 2002). Within the same vein of spatial contestations, Betancur (2011) argues that gentrification undercuts the prospects for low-income groups “by diverting their social fabrics from the task of community building into that of defence of place, [and] by fragmenting their social fabrics from within and from without” (p. 383). The impact of displacement on communities is not limited to endogenous relations. Displacement also upsets the ways these communities interrelate with the state, on the one hand, and other communities, on the other – thereby re-configuring citizenship, class, race and gender. As Samara (2012) aptly put it, all “forms of displacement are threats to home precisely because they break the relationship between people and place; they banish the citizen who finds (if she did not already suspect) that her citizenship counts far less than we are typically led to believe” (p. 47). Reclaiming historic neighborhoods endowed with “symbolic capital” is an important aspect of gentrification since it purports a retrieval of communal patrimony (see Figure 6.6). The new occupants seek the acquisition of such symbolic capital through “product differentiation” (Bourdieu, 1977, pp. 171–197; Harvey, 1987, pp.  273–274). For the Western gentrifier, living in a seventeenth-century riad in the middle of old Marrakesh instantiates a “new” identity by way of the symbolic treatment of the place (Venturi et al., 1972, p. 154, cited in Harvey, 1990, p. 375). The newcomer, for instance, hires renowned architects and interior designers and carefully selects “symbolically charged” décor in order to conceal the fact that beneath “culture and taste” there is a process of money capital

Figure 6.6  Old and renovated riads

Figure 6.6 Continued

Mythologies of new (and old) housing 123 transformation (Harvey, 1990, p. 374). Further, central to the political economy of the riad phenomenon is a culture of “simulacrum”, which, in Baudrillard’s critique of late capitalism, “governs the relations of exchange, production and consumption through the elision of reality” (Diodato, 2012, p. 49). In August 2010, French television station M6 took one of its most watched programs to Marrakesh to inform its audience on this process. Philippe is the founder of a Paris-based elite interior design firm which prides itself on “giving or recreating life to the soul” of its clients’ dwellings “through . . . know-how which respect[s] the tradition of luxury” (Mis en Demeure official website). On a 2010 spring weekend, Philippe’s firm received an order to design and furnish a Marrakesh house in its entirety, from the silverware to the drapery, tables and chairs. The centerpiece in Philippe’s decorative armature is a “fauteuil de theatre” from the Louis XVI era redesigned for more coziness. The fauteuil, like all Philippe’s hundred-or-so pieces, were “objets authentiques chargés d’histoire” (authentic objects endowed with history) (Emission Zone Interdite, M6 TV). Philippe’s reproductions are “artistic renditions” rather than “counterfeits”, as is the case in the early stages of simulacra (Baudrillard, 1993 [1976], p. 71, 1994 [1981], p. 2). Prince Fabrizio Ruspoli, the owner and founder of “La Maison Arabe”, tells the story of how the first (French) owner of his riad had turned it, in the 1940s, into “the first restaurant [serving] Moroccan cuisine” (La Maison Arabe official website). Before La Maison Arabe, there were no “Arab” houses or “Moroccan cuisine”, just houses occupied by Arabs and food prepared by Moroccans, and, as if by a divine act of creation, the two are brought into existence – “the desert of the real itself” (Baudrillard, 1994, p. 1). As Marrakesh’s industry of chic is heavily invested in the reproduction of simulacra, the gentrified riad and its new décor is “no longer a question of imitation, nor duplication”, but rather a substitution “of the signs of the real for the real” (ibid, p. 2). In other words, the only real riads are the ones that are reconstituted – that is, renovated, redesigned, re-furnished and advertised – as “authentic”. In this process, a host of abstractions take place – abstractions of the first order where commodities no longer have their “intrinsic use-value” and acquire new forms of “social currency” as well as abstractions of the second order where “simulacra of things” are swapped in their stead (Jameson, 2015, p. 116). Consequently, the industry of chic involving riads and their corollary services both simulates and dissimulates many aspects of the dār (home). (Dis)simulation takes place both at the aesthetic and social levels. So what kind of social relations are enacted in the riad? What aspects of “shaabi” (popular) life are being simulated?

Howl in the medina On a Sunday afternoon, I set out toward the medina to visit Riad X,6 where a “cultural event” was going to take place. The event was a casual gathering, hosted by a group of young European artists, and consisted of poetry recitals simultaneous with an in situ art installation. On my way to the riad, I met three Europeans (two Swiss artists and an Oxford University anthropologist whose work was on

124  Mythologies of new (and old) housing tourism in Marrakesh) and walked together through the narrow streets, relying on their knowledge of the riad’s location. X is a non-descript house in Derb Mikhi; the new owners chose not to change anything about its shabby entrance except for a bright-red square carrying the house number, which was also marketed as the riad’s brand-name. Inside is a small traditional house with old-chic furniture, whitewashed walls and open arcades with no doors. An open kitchenette with simple utensils. Fresh mint tea was served in teapots and (old style Moroccan) tea glasses. In sum, a hippie-chic, minimalist décor was adopted by the new owners. After a few minutes of meeting and greeting the guests, Hamid (the Moroccan riad manager) welcomed the crowd in French and introduced the main guest: Emma, a Londonbased artist whose parents own another riad. Emma read a poem which she wrote on a brown paper bag, then informed the audience about her installation. Another young Londoner, self-described as a “classic little English gal”, recited a “classic English poem” from memory. Then an American Arabist recited an original poem followed by the English translation. The poem, titled “between here and the hotel, I am not free”, tells us of the protagonist’s struggle to gain accessibility in a foreign environment: an environment, we are told, riddled with secrets, passwords and vanishing dreams. A Spanish man followed; he chose to recite “Howl” by Allen Ginsberg. The recital was rather a dramatic performance, with a heaving Spanish accent, and, at a certain point, the Spanish performer didn’t seem to care whether the audience understood his performance; he started shouting his own (mis)pronunciations of Ginsberg’s words. Hamid was the only Moroccan (one of three) who read an Arabic translation of a French short story, “the woman who said farewell”, in broken Arabic, indicative of his education at the elitist “lycées de la mission française”. A Spanish woman recited a Pablo Neruda poem, and another recited Shakespeare from memory before a Moroccan youth read his own “sad” poem. It sounded like a hodge-podge of heavy metal lyrics and a sprinkle of romanticism à la Edgar Alan Poe: “I am [this and that]; hate is my. . .; your soft skin .  .  .” This young man’s attempt to poetically express his anxieties by way of a language clearly (still) foreign to him was followed, like everyone else’s performance, by generous applause. The last performer (another Moroccan man) chose to recite a known French story which involved “pissing and ejaculating” on a woman’s body, and that was the moment I decided to leave. What was remarkable about this event is that, despite the use of an amalgam of languages (at some point after I left, I am told, there were poems in Wolof, Basque and Lithuanian), there was an overarching theme which connected all the performances. The event could very well have been titled “musings of the postmodern subject”: a subject who engages in the critique of both “self” and “other” but acknowledges no “core component” to selfhood and no clear distinction between a “genuine” self and a “real” other (Frug, 1999, p. 92). To be sure, the illusive “I” in “I am not free” (recall the American poet who recited his work in Arabic) leaves us with no reason to think the American, Ivy League trained Arabist is deprived of his freedom “between here and the hotel”. Consequently, there is doubt whether the poets were expressing their own feelings of (privileged) alienation, loss and

Mythologies of new (and old) housing 125 the like. A few days after the event, I had the chance to conduct a focused interview with the organizers atop the roof of another privately owned riad overlooking parts of the medina.7 I informed the young artists that I attended the Riad X event and expressed my appreciation of the various artistic expressions exhibited in the event. I asked them for their take on how the event went and what kind of after-party conversations they had in this regard: ME: 

I hear that the event wasn’t planned . . . what would be the overarching theme of the event if you were to think in retrospect? W1:  Emma called it a space for thinking and weaving together ideas. W2: A dream catcher catching thoughts and the process is an important part of our work, thinking together and by having an open theme and asking people to read a poem of their choice is quite intimate. . . . . W3:  I think

the thing that stood out for me. . . “Howl” kind of represented the evening to me. It was interesting because the Beatnik idea is practically clichéd these days and having him read it in that way was so brilliant . . . he read it as I would feel it’s meant to be read . . . and there was humor and passion and he added linguistic slippages, which he recognized, and passion. ME:  So, Ginsberg and T. S. Eliot and . . . the Arabic pieces, I sense there was a bit of solitude and nostalgia. W1:  A bit of loss. ME:  What’s lost? W1:  A sense of loss, yeah, the translation. W3:  It was about roots and identity and trying to regain it. . . . . M1:  What’s lost, I think, is seeing process . . . seeing things in front of you and tak-

ing part in the process instead of things just appearing in front of you like an object . . . or like this end-thing that we get and we don’t see how it’s made . . . and . . . Marrakesh as a city is really amazing for that made you see, quite openly, how the different processes . . . but, maybe in London we have it all given to us on a plate, whether it’s food or . . . so, when she’s weaving, the process is done in front of us.

There was a certain satisfaction in the ability to see the medina from above. The rooftop fulfilled the desire to cast a “totalizing gaze” upon the medina, a fulfilled desire which triggers yet another curiosity among the artists: the ability to “capture” the hitherto lost “processes” in their modern lives.8 Mirroring the Beatnik generation’s grievances with its own society, our Western performers and their Moroccan enablers quite convincingly spoke of themselves as non-conformist “outcasts”. The event’s details – the poems to be recited and in what order and what languages – were not previously outlined by the organizers. Yet all the performances seemed preoccupied with very similar concerns: themes of the self, longing and belonging, nostalgia and sorrow as if none can hear the gentry suffering. Echoing Emma’s (W3) reflection, it was clear to me that “Howl”, in a

126  Mythologies of new (and old) housing way, “represented the evening”, although, unlike Emma, the “representation” here means a reproduction of simulacra. Indeed, the “linguistic slippages” feign (that is, both simulate and dissimulate) that the outward mispronunciation is, in fact, a sign of an esoteric “brilliance” on behalf of the performer. My walking out in the middle of the ejaculating scene must have been indicative, to some, of my discomfort with bodily functions, but nay! The Maghreb Athan9 from the little mosque across the alley dominated the cacophony of languages in the riad, and I had to see for myself whether the social distance separating the mosque-goers and the poets was commensurate with the short distance between the mosque and the riad. In the mosque, there was a completely and radically different crowd: Jellaba-clad men reciting the Qur’an. The mosque-goers are not Ginsberg’s men “who . . . saw Mohammedan angels”, and their Qur’an isn’t (particularly) the same Qur’an which rendered Philip Lamantia “comatose”.10 I take the cultural event discussed here to be a spatial practice whereby space isn’t merely a “venue” or “container” in which the event takes place. Rather, space in Riad X emerges as a constitutive element, an integral part of the ways in which our Western performers and their local enablers imagine and negotiate their identities, positionalities and struggles. There were doubts whether a London audience would extend the courtesies of acceptance and suspension of judgment, and the reason our performers felt accepted and not judged is because (in their own words) Marrakesh is “still” a frontier for such activities – an “unstoried wilderness” from which they can mend the “broken thread” of culture (Arendt, 1961, p. 204). The frontier motif, a familiar theme in gentrification literature, “erases the social histories, struggles and geographies” that made the medina and relegates “social conflict into the realm of myth” (N. Smith, 1996, p. 17). But in addition to erasure, such spatial practices both simulate and dissimulate many aspects of the home, not just aesthetically but also in terms of the social relations they attempt to replicate and the ones they (inadvertently) produce. Our Western performers’ “being there” was not motivated by purely material-capitalist incentives – in the classical sense. They did not come together at Riad X to produce, exchange or consume any material commodities. Rather, the Riad X scene, and to a larger extent the riad industry in the medina, is structured around a “system of images and signs”, revealing a (hyper)reality in which (dis)simulation takes over authenticity (Baudrillard, 1994, pp. 129, 143).

What’s being dissimulated? As stated before, the small fraction of foreign real estate owners who report their property as commercial, and the “maisons d’hôtes” niche which remains outside the fiscal policy’s purview, make this profitable economic activity, at best, informal if not clandestine. A 2015 Aljazeera documentary titled “The New Conquest: Marrakesh” confirms that many riads have been sold three or four times among foreigners to the exclusion of Moroccans (Aljazeera, 2015). Such informal business ventures operate outside the purview of (the already lax) labor laws, evade taxes and contribute to the shrinkage of tourism income despite the constant rise of international tourists entering the country since 2000. Further, like all forms of

Mythologies of new (and old) housing 127 casualized/informalized employment regimes (Theodore, 2003, p. 1812), the riad labor market is fraught with precariousness – from low pay to low job security – but is disguised as a form of communal activity in an economy of mutual aid and reciprocity. What this means in terms of the linkages between gentrification and social restructuring is the refashioning of social relations in terms of proximity/difference, whereby spatial proximity is far from being commensurate with social distance. It also indicates the rise of a global middle class with “clear economic and occupational identity” and a distinct ethnic/national one whose “significance is exaggerated in such highly visible experiences as gentrification” (Smith, 1996, p. 97). Those identity markers such as class, gender and citizenship are, as a result, further complicated since they converge from relatively different national contexts (France, Spain, the Netherlands and so on) to “mingle” in a radically different host space. This reproduction of simulacra points not only to the (material) exchanges among the social agents in question, but also symbolic practices which disguise the concrete interactions of reproductive labor.

Notes 1 They include: earning assets, cash and due from banks, foreclosed real estate, fixed assets, goodwill, other intangibles, current tax assets, deferred tax, discontinued operations and other assets. World Bank, Bank Concentration for Morocco, retrieved from FRED, Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis. Retrieved February 4, 2015, from https:// research.stlouisfed.org/fred2/series/DDOI01MAA156NWDB/. 2 Bourdieu (2005, p. 89) argues that “building companies . . . banks . . . influence the political decisions that are likely to orient agents’ preferences”. 3 Visual anthropologist and film scholar Tejaswini Ganti has qualified Khan’s motion picture Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (Sometime there is happiness, sometimes sorrow; 2001) as one with “vastly improved production values and very slick and stylish visual style” and whose plotlines “centered around the love lives and relationships of extremely affluent protagonists” (2013, p. 230). 4 A synthesis of traditional patriarchy and modernity, Hisham Sharabi (1988) defines neopatriarchy as an “indigenous phenomenon resulting from contact with European modernity” (p. 22; emphasis original). 5 Fairclough argues a similar position in his extensive study of the British codes of advertising (1989, pp. 200–207). 6 Riad X is a pseudonym for a “boutique” riad whose activities are not exclusively commercial. Likewise, Derb Mikhi (Mikhi Street) is a fictional street name. 7 The owners, a well-to-do London couple, make the riad accessible to their daughter, who uses it as a place for artists and poets to gather and exchange ideas and “experience” the medina life. 8 De Certeau (1984, p. 92) talks about the “totalizing gaze” from above as a desire “to be lifted out of the city’s grasp”. 9 The call to late evening congregational prayer. 10 Beatnik Philip Lamantia, after his 1953 travel to Morocco, talks about his “experience” while reading the Qur’an in the following terms: “I was suddenly physically laid out by a powerful force beyond my volition, which rendered me almost comatose: suddenly, consciousness was contracted to a single point at the top of my head through which I was “siphoned” beyond the room, space and time into another state of awareness that seemed utterly beyond any other state before or since experienced”. The commentary was appended to a 1986 edition of Ginsberg’s “Howl” (Lamantia, 2013, p. xxxvi).

7 Counter-conduct Standing, acting and speaking

Female labor and “taking a stand” In the introductory chapter, I suggested that Marrakesh has become a “contested terrain” in which local residents attempt to modify or resist policies and practices that favor external investment and gentrification over local priorities, social practices and urban culture. The conflicts taking place in Marrakesh, expressed primarily through gentrification and its consequences, create an urban dynamic that is altering the spatial and political dynamics of Marrakesh. Indeed, as chapters 2 through 5 reveal, the dynamics of control emanate from various loci (the state, media, private sector and so on) and take on various forms (tourism industry, branding strategies and policy and media discourses). The current chapter suggests that the forms of resistance are far from monolithic across all segments of Marrakeshi society: the medina folks “resist” in distinct ways to the residents of Tamansourt, and, likewise, women adopt distinct ways of counter-conduct compared to their male counterparts, even within the same spatial context. According to official reports, Marrakesh’s population is predominantly feminine; the male/female ratio is 97.6/100 (SDAU, 2008, p. 29). Yet women account for less than 30% of the officially recognized “active” population against 80% of men (ibid, p. 44). In 2005 the 300 industrial units operating in Marrakesh employed a total of 13,837 permanent and 476 seasonal workers, with the proportion of women being respectively 40% and 16% (Ministère de l’Industrrie et du Commerce, Interface Magazine, 2008, p. 25). Women are also underrepresented in the informal sector; only 16% of informal businesses are headed by women. The number of foreign residents in Marrakesh reached 3,500 in 2004 at a growth rate of 71% since 1994 compared to 2.5% nationally and an estimated 5,000 and 6,764 in 2007 and 2014 respectively (Haut Commissariat au Plan, 2009, 2015). In its 2008 Schéma Directeur (SDAU), the city’s Urban Agency warns about “a strong social and spatial disparity . . . more apparent between the rehabilitated quarters and others, reinforced by turning traditional homes into guest houses” (SDAU, 2008, p. 85). It is true that in many cities of the global South, the shift from manufacturing to service industries is somewhat reversed. Many women are absorbed in factories previously located in the industrialized North – e.g., apparel, electronics and

Counter-conduct 129 aeronautics/mechanical plants. Marrakesh, unlike other Moroccan cities, hosts but a small number of such industrial plants – compared to Casablanca or Tangier. The bulk of the active female labor force is pulled into the service industries: hotels, riads and call centers. In Marrakesh, the shift in the global labor market is rather multifaceted and more nuanced than suggested in most accounts. In other words, the story of capitalism’s encroachment on the dār (home) and its blurring the line between home and work takes on a unique form when it comes to the gentrified medina. Dalila and I met at Association L’Espoir, a non-profit organization whose mission is to train disadvantaged women (widows, divorcées and single mothers) to enter the labor market. L’Espoir’s mission is to “empower . . . disadvantaged women through . . . job placement”. The kind of training given to the women in this organization consists primarily of food preparation and service, as well as small scale accommodation services. After the introductions, Dalila, in her midtwenties and the youngest of the organization’s beneficiaries, shared her excitement about learning new life skills which would allow her to provide financial assistance to her family, particularly her aging father. The new life skills Dalila learned in this process were, arguably, basic interpersonal skills and work ethics she did not have to learn when her father, the sole breadwinner, was in the labor force. Thus, in addition to the occupation-related skills (food preparation and service), L’Espoir women are primarily trained on how to be “good” employees (time discipline, developing a positive attitude and comportment). Dalila disclosed to me that her childhood “life was beautiful [and] the head was empty, with no worries”; now, she continued, “you worry about many things”. When I asked Dalila about her main worries, her answer was, “First, I need to find a job to help my parents . . . they’ve grown older and are in need of help . . . I want to try to give them a monthly pay . . . or get my father a small shop so he can be independent and not have to go all the way to the souq . . . this is my main concern”. Dalila expressed her hopes to find a job working at a nearby riad after completing her three-month training. For Dalila, working at a riad is an ideal job by virtue of – among other advantages – its proximity to home, yet she has mixed feelings toward the proliferation of riads in her area (a more detailed discussion of the “fears” will follow later in this chapter). Aziza and Wafa are recent trainees at L’Espoir. Both women were in their mid-thirties, and both introduced themselves as “single, living with mother and siblings”, with either a deceased father (Aziza) or husband (Wafa). Like many women in their social class, the two women identified themselves as members of a (nuclear) family and a “child” of their respective neighborhoods. They both emphasized that they never felt compelled to seek employment while growing up –an indication of the family’s economic stability. Wafa, a university-educated woman, stated that she “worked before, but not out of need”, but in order to “n’haqqaq dati” (affirm [her]self/personhood), she “entered the workforce, to meet and make contacts with people”. When asked about her job situation, Aziza observed that she had a job and then she sat (g’lest). Sitting down is opposite to having a job; to be sitting down is to be unemployed or between jobs. The action

130  Counter-conduct (or rather, passion) of sitting down, of waiting, can be indicative of the kind of job occupations Aziza and many disadvantaged women occupy; manual labor which requires hours of “standing”. But it is also indicative of Aziza’s attitudes toward having a job; she had a job, and that allowed her to “stand” both literally (stand up) and symbolically (stand out; stand up to). By losing her job, she is forced to back down and not take a stand anymore. Taking a stand (w’quf) in contradistinction to sitting down (g’las) is a recurring theme in many of the conversations I had with the women and men who experience urban marginalization. As a result of a precarious job situation, Aziza has experienced tremendous emotional stress: “there is pressure from home . . . I used to work in a hotel. . . . I’d work and sit down [n’gless] back and forth, nothing official, just [working as] extra . . . seasonal work”. Aziza tried other jobs deemed “of questionable reputation” by some social standards. For instance, working in hair salons is considered immoral due to suspicions of certain objectionable behaviors such as “smoking”. Aziza remotely alluded to sexual license as tantamount to working as a coiffeura (hair stylist), as I should be able, as a Moroccan man, to understand without crossing the line of gender propriety. After her father’s death, Aziza felt all the more pressured to get a permanent hotel job with benefits. Earning a sustainable wage during her father’s active years was never an issue, but with her father’s death, Aziza became the sole provider in her family. Hence, she felt increasing pressure to secure a better wage and a long-term contract. However, each time Aziza attempted to climb the professional ladder, she encountered hostilities from coworkers who thought of wage labor as a zero-sum game: Some older women were [threatened] since I had experience they thought I  was going to take their jobs  .  .  . you know how old people’s mentality [works] . . . they thought I was going to be their boss . . . and I just withdrew [left the job]. Joining L’Espoir has been a welcome change in Aziza’s life. In the beginning, “it was difficult for me to adjust”, said Aziza, elaborating on the nature of this change, “but along with the other girls, the environment became warm . . . it was like family . . . like a mother who receives you. . . . I found good people, learned new things . . . cooking, food service . . . they bring psychologists . . . we study French and other things . . . so I don’t have time to think or worry about the problems I had in the beginning”. The family motif triggered my curiosity; I wanted to know in what way a workplace cohort could simulate or, in many cases, supplant the family and, ultimately, in what way home and work begin to look the same. Aziza prefaced her answer with a rhetorical question with which I could not disagree: “well, you are sitting here and you feel relaxed, right?” Likewise, she continued, “we all feel m’rtaheen [relaxed, pressure-free] . . . it is like working with the family . . . the people that are here, take interest in us”. Aziza’s understanding of family dynamics is far from being simplistic or naïve; she is well-aware of the potential difficulties, or “pressure” (daghţ), to use her term, of working with one’s own family. But in her case, the workplace was the locus of emotional fulfillment,

Counter-conduct 131 and there was a healing quality to being together with the “other girls”: “each one of us came with a lack . . . some lack affection, others love . . . but when we get together . . . we learn and support one another”. Wafa has also expressed a “lack” in her private life; it manifests in her being a widow, and her four-year-old child is a constant reminder of that absence: Personally I had a problem . . . whenever my son sees a man he calls him daddy . . . so he looks for a father [figure] in other men . . . sometimes on the street he would reach out to a random man and grab his hand . . . and this causes me a lot of anxiety . . . so the doctor showed me how I can teach my child that his daddy is no longer with us. Wafa’s anxiety comes from her fear of being judged as having a fatherless child. A four-year-old who calls every stranger “baba” (daddy) may be tolerated by some nās (people), but can also elicit accusatory stares from others. Consequently, being around the right kind of nās (good folks) is important for Wafa to negotiate her new persona laborans (laboring personhood). Despite the unpromising financial rewards, Wafa is hopeful that: In the service [industry], you work with nās . . . there is a chance to start with MAD 1,500 [approx. US$160] and there are [pay] increases . . . also, in the domain of tourism, you’d have contacts with nās, you’d have the chance to meet new people, unlike factory work, new people every day, which will allow you to keep up with taţawwurat al ’asr [modern advancements] and not remain munţawiyya [introverted]. The nās Wafa hopes to meet in the service industry are either transient (tourists) or folks from higher social strata. In this ideal environment, not only will she be safe from the cruel judgmental gaze of others, but she will also be exposed to modern tastes and, ultimately, become a new person – modern and extroverted. There is clearly a redeeming quality to the service work environment and a moral worth to being a tourist or a petit bourgeois. Both Aziza and Wafa seem to internalize this logic and take it upon themselves to reinvent their personhood with a strong belief that the riad industry is a pure meritocracy where hard work, self-improvement and honest self-reflection ultimately pay off.

“It’s just like dār” (again) Meet Rabha! An “authentic” cook in her mid-forties, she has been working at Riad du Sable (her first experience of paid employment) since 2009. The Italian riad owner knew of Rabha through her husband, who is a tailor. The owner had some work done by the husband and let him know that she was looking for a woman who could cook and be available to do other tasks in the riad. Rabha’s motivation to join the workforce after years of having been a homemaker was purely economic: the daily expenses of maintaining a home have increased, and

132  Counter-conduct her husband alone is no longer able to provide. Rabha is the mother of two children, one of whom was in college at the time of the interview. Both children depend on Rabha’s allowances for school expenses, as well as a moped for the school commute and its maintenance. At Riad du Sable, Rabha, like all her colleagues, is employed under an “open contract”; an expression she did not understand. When I inquired about the meaning and implications of such a contract, she paused and responded, “That’s what they told me”. The employment contract is undeniably “open” in many ways. With no job description, Rabha and her colleagues are expected to “do it all” whenever anything is needed. Rabha has been primarily preparing “authentic” Moroccan meals, but she also does maid service. What is striking about this job arrangement is many employees’ attitudes toward a secure employment contract, which is required by the Moroccan law. Rabha’s feelings toward the topic are by no means an isolated case: I feel that a work contract would constrain me more in my job . . . so, with or without a contract, the most important thing is for me to work in a suitable environment . . . the contract would give you more rights and you would benefit more . . . but if I am mrtaha [comfortable], I would give more. The riad owners adopt a sexual division of labor on the basis of certain assumptions about what men and women are “naturally good at”. While women are asked to focus on food preparation and cleanliness, the men are expected to multitask such “masculine” tasks as security, maintenance and the night shift. One particular European employer was seeking, by word of mouth, to recruit “black men” as servers because their appearance fits with the riad’s romanticized theme (Aljazeera, 2015). Additionally, the men who prove themselves to be “reliable” and “trustworthy” but lack the education or linguistic skills to interact with the guests are given the opportunity to take language courses at the employer’s expense. Women, however, are either hired on the basis of their language and interpersonal skills or, as in Rabha’s case, are given no opportunities to improve their skills. I asked Rabha whether she was given any training prior to beginning work, and she replied (and many expressed the same attitude) that “you’re expected to learn as you go” and just “cook as we normally do at home” (i.e., Moroccan salads, tajine, couscous, etc.) with “a little less spices and less oil  .  .  . because n’sara [Christians] don’t like too much of these”.

Precarious empowerment The women I interviewed expressed a clear conviction that their riad job “felt just like” cooking for the family or cleaning their own home. Their employers do not require, or offer, any training prior to preparing and serving food to the clients – on the contrary, many riad owners require that their employees (a) have no experience in the hospitality business and (b) live within walking distance in the medina. Yet the riad industry promotes, and capitalizes on, an “ideology of empowerment” which is not only premised on “Western values of freedom, individualism,

Counter-conduct 133 rationality, and self-accountability” but also relies on deeply entrenched assumptions about gender roles in Maghrebi societies (Guevarra, 2010, p. 51). The selective understanding of “empowerment” is obvious when the riad workers are told “la widadiyya w la naqaba” ([there shall be] no union and no syndicate), “we all do everything here”. Here, another aspect of how we might rethink the “precarious employment regimes” is that the riad labor market cunningly disguises itself as a form of communal activity. The riad owners are perceived as philanthropic agents motivated by the “love of the medina” before anything else. Saida, a “Moorish spa” receptionist, related to me that “the French owner treats us better than my previous [Moroccan] employers” and as a result “we feel compelled not to ask for pay raises or less working hours . . . he is like one of us – like family” (personal interview with Saida). Thus, to echo Hochschild’s famous dictum, “home [indeed] becomes work and work becomes home” despite the absence of a “family-friendly” work environment.1 However, and while women’s labor blurs the line between “the domain of work and the world of the home” which industrial capitalism had traced in early twentieth century, working in the riad industry complicates the assumed opposition of said domains. Further, like all forms of casualized/informalized employment regimes, the riad labor market is fraught with precariousness – from low pay to low job security – but is disguised as a form of communal activity in an economy of mutual-aid and reciprocity (Theodore, 2003, p. 1812). The resulting hierarchies aren’t just stable dyads between employer and employee, they are mediated by gender and lose their stability when national origin, ethnicity or sexual relations are added to the mix.2 Here, again, we are reminded that capitalism in its advanced stages “normalizes the logics of individualism and entrepreneurialism, equating individual freedom with self-interested choices, making individuals responsible for their own wellbeing, and redefining citizens as consumers and clients” (Leitner, Peck, & Sheppard, 2007, p. 2). There is, however, a dearth of local accounts of how this process takes place. The respective accounts of Aziz, Dalila, Wafa and Rabha helped in opening the “neoliberalism black box” which reinforces the idea of neoliberalism as a monolithic structure, its actors as universal subjects and subalternities as merely “demographic difference” within the same narrative of victimhood (Roy, 2011, p. 229). Indeed, despite the precarious working conditions, the women of L’Espoir learned that citizenship has never been a matter of formal procedures and that they must take a stand in the face of the various strategies of exclusion enacted by capital and normalized by the state and non-governmental organizations (NGOs).

Awareness and the will to be governed Beyond the logic of empowerment (adopted by L’Espoir-type NGOs), Marrakesh has a myriad of other female-focused NGOs which adopt diverging logics to serve the women in their communities. Away from the city center where L’Espoir is located, in a new but marginalized neighborhood, Association Lux et Scientia

134  Counter-conduct (ALS) was founded in early 1999 with the mission of “raising awareness/consciousness” (al-wa‘y) among the women of Marrakesh. The driving force behind ALS’s mission – as two of its male members have emphasized – is the grim realization that “in the seventies and eighties, despite the corruption, there was an awareness of the party’s role in politics”. The two self-described “andragogues” (adult educators) seemed to agree that despite “alphabetical illiteracy [prevalent five decades ago] there was a political awareness”. To both teachers and the ALS president, political awareness works in a doubly advantageous way. It contributes to instilling the principles of modern citizenship among its beneficiaries, which, in turn, helps weed out, or at least weaken, ALS’s illiberal and undemocratic competitors: opportunistic political party-affiliated NGOs (personal interview). Zouhir, one of the adult educators, is in his fifties; he explained that as a child living near the nationalist Istiqlal party’s headquarters in Marrakesh, the party embraced political awareness and political involvement. Nowadays, “the relationship between political parties and the base is built on pragmatism and electoral opportunism”, and “civil society was created by the regime”. The implication at the local level, according to Zouhir, is a city run by councils who could not rise to the challenge of the “sixth most popular tourist destination internationally”. Local politicians have been out of touch and are fearful of “doing politics” and consequently have not had any role in positioning the city internationally. Marrakesh, as a result, “is like a zoo . . . there are things on display in luxurious boutiques and fancy hotels but the citizen does not benefit”. In the absence of a genuine political society, ALS comes in to fill that vacuum and “lift the citizens’ capacities” toward “understanding the political institutions” and “neighborhood and city management”. The two educators approximated that “over 90%” of ALS’s beneficiaries since its founding have been women. When I inquired about the reasons for this high representation of women, Mohsin (the second educator) explained that ALS is a “microcosm” of Moroccan society; “coffee shops aren’t women-friendly” and “women have less tolerance for unemployment, they work harder and are more perseverant”. My conversation with Mohsin and Zouhir lasted about 45 minutes, after which both men left the locale while over a dozen women remained for another five hours working on the curriculum and the rosters of the upcoming season. After my conversation with the two educators, I took the opportunity to observe one aspect of ALS’s operations. All hijab-clad women worked around one table, sorting out lists of adult learners for the year-end exam. All worked together on interrelated tasks, including the president, who acted as prima inter pares. In the midst of the operation, ALS president Mona – a college professor in her fifties – stood up to give a pep talk on team work and “al-‘amal al-jam’awī” (associative work). She defined the latter in non-utilitarian terms: “don’t expect any reward for what you do” and while “we have to work as a team, none of us can take individual initiative”. One significant aspect in Mona’s talk was her insistence on her position within the organization: “even as a president. . . . I am one of you”. I later learned from other volunteers that, due to meager, and often delayed, state

Counter-conduct 135 funding, ALS relies on Mona’s personal resources, including the use of her private home’s first floor as the organization’s locale. In ALS’s 14-year history, Mona realized that a narrow understanding of literacy would not serve the organization’s ambitious mission. The mere ability to read and write at a basic level will contribute little to build the political knowledge and capacities of its beneficiaries as informed citizens. Instead, reading and writing skills had to be “means to a [more political] end”. Mona explains that ALS’s “initial goal was to combat illiteracy, then we realized that illiteracy is much more prevalent and complex than we thought . . . it had several hidden aspects”. According to Mona, there are “dangerous dimensions of illiteracy” as it touches many aspects of women’s lives as mothers, wives and, ultimately, citizens: One major aspect has to do with their children’s education . . . and this also an issue which schools’ principals and teachers shared with us: sometimes they would send the child with an important note to the parents . . . usually it’s the father who is asked to attend [meetings or events. . .], the father is often working and so they ask the mother’s presence instead. But it never occurs to the mother to go to her children’s school, it is not a part of her culture . . . it’s enough for her that her child goes to school . . . so if the child has learning difficulties or problems at school, some [school] principals complain, how and with whom are we going to have a dialog? Also . . . another problem is related to her child’s health . . . if the doctor asks her to schedule the child’s vaccines and the appointment is written on her card but she has nobody to read it to her . . . so we found out that there were bigger problems resulting from their inability to read . . . and we wanted to deal with this fundamental obstacle before we could tackle other issues. A few important elements are to be discerned here: Mona did not explain away some women’s apathy toward their children’s education in convenient and essentializing “cultural” terms. Being involved in her child’s education “isn’t a part of her own” upbringing, learning and cultivating experience (thaqāfa) rather that a collective system of mores, symbols or norms of objectivation (culture). Second, instead of claiming that ALS empowers the women it serves, Mona simply provides a space for these women to “speak” (legein) and be part of a “dialog” on things pertaining to their own (and their children’s) lives. In The Human Condition, Hannah Arendt reminds us that “whenever the relevance of speech is at stake, matters become political by definition, for speech is what makes [wo]man a political being” (1958, p. 3). Admittedly, the ways in which these women are to use political language in order to articulate, and negotiate, their positions vis-à-vis the school principal, physician or elected official are part and parcel of a socially constructed system of meaning. Moreover, the women’s capacity to “speak” requires their involvement in yet another socially constructed system of practice: to “participate in political life” (cf. ALS mission as expressed by Mona and her collaborators). In other words, while ALS’s

136  Counter-conduct politics isn’t invested in producing (subversive) counter-conducts, it implicitly aspires to destabilize the “domination-resistance” dyad and suggest a form of contentious politics which internalizes the “will to be governed” but not in the (feudal-like) mode of governing, which only aims to coercively extract “obedience” from its subject (Foucault, 2007; Death, 2010). In summary, the kind of counter-conduct (writ large) encouraged by ALS is one commensurate with the modern governmental reason propagated by the state. To illustrate, one of the largest operations of ALS in the 2004–2009 period had to do with the government’s campaign to reinstate proper documentation for a large segment of the population. This campaign primarily targeted undocumented married couples in remote areas who did not have access to the court system. ALS found out that far from being a rural problem, the populations of the medina, Sidi Youssef Ben Ali (SYBA) and the outlaying douars also lacked the proper documentation to prove their legal standing as married couples. As a result, large segments of the already disenfranchized population are deprived from basic civil rights such as the right to parenthood and inheritance (if the marriage agreement is not sanctioned by the state).

Women and spaces of counter-conduct My ethnographic analysis has yielded three distinct spaces of counter-conduct, each mirroring a “struggle” confronting ALS women: Legal awareness and the struggle for personhood Part of what motivated Mona to be involved in this form of urban activism is her realization that many women are unaware of their legal status as “persons”. Many women with whom ALS interacted were, for instance, unaware that the law recognizes and protects their personal property – a lack some male relatives have exploited to their advantage. Mona explained to me that ALS’s mission takes different phases to accomplish: As an important phase in our work with women is to introduce the new constitutional and mudawwana [family law] changes and raise awareness about their rights and privileges . . . so we organize workshops and reach out to as many neighborhoods as possible despite limited resources . . . we invite lawyers and specialists to answer all kinds of questions . . . we also engage the women by asking them questions . . . and we take the opportunity to correct some misunderstandings . . . in relation to inheritance, divorce and other topics which some women still misunderstand. Here, I suggest a corollary to Foucault’s dictum “to become individual, one must become subject” (Foucault, 2007, fn. 231, emphasis mine): in order to become subject one must (first) become person. The individual, in the Foucauldian sense, is one who is capable of “self-conduct” according to governmental reason. Becoming

Counter-conduct 137 individual, in my corollary, is tertiary to personhood, or the capacity to apprehend one’s own standing vis-à-vis the very governmental reason which subjects her. Private property and the struggle for womanhood Najia, a mother of four in her early forties, explained to me that what made her come to ALS was when her husband asked her to sign a document only to find out later on that she had given up her right to manage her personal property to the benefit of her husband. “I  signed the paper because I  considered him a husband, partner, trustee and all, but he betrayed my trust . . . more than that, I felt humiliated because he took advantage of my jahl [ignorance]”. Najia explained that she “had a strong reason to become educated” and that ALS “allow[s] women in similar situations to be treated as humans and not be taken advantage of”. Back to the Foucauldian dictum – “in order to become person one must become woman” – ALS women were on a quest to wrest their (individual) capacity for self-conduct away from the various form of patriarchal control operating in their midst but realized that asserting their womanhood was crucial in their struggle. Political agency and the struggle against patriarchy The struggle against patriarchy operates at three levels: first, at the family level, or the private sphere; second, at communal level, or the public sphere; and third, at the national level, or the administrative sphere. Many of the women ALS had served in its 15-year history have been unaware of certain fundamental aspects of citizenship. Voting, for instance, is often understood to be a familial expression of political choice, and while women have had the right to vote since 1962, men often cast their wives’ and mothers’ ballots on their behalf to elect the same candidate. The logic behind this understanding of political behavior (among families where the wife is a homemaker) is that the husband, by virtue of his exposure to public life, knows the local candidates (often personally) and is therefore best equipped to sway the entire family’s vote toward one candidate. This kind of justification (and practice) is, of course, objectionable in modern politics on the basis that housework, or reproductive labor, is deeply political. Indeed, ALS understands the political ramifications of reproductive labor and addresses, cautiously, the question of women’s public voice: “we encourage women to go out and vote because it is considered fraud to cast a ballot on behalf of anyone in her absence”. However, ALS is careful not to antagonize the agents of traditional patriarchy as “some men won’t allow their wives to go out”. Thus, in lieu of outright confrontation, ALS teaches how political negotiations can begin in the dār (household): Some women object that they don’t care about politics. . . [we say] No! you participate in politics whether you like it or not . . . you practice politics at home [in your private sphere] and you are obliged [mulzama] to do politics.

138  Counter-conduct As a conciliatory measure, women are encouraged to inform their male relatives of the benefits of a politically aware female family member as she could keep track of her “child’s vaccine appointments . . . help with schoolwork” and attend parent-teacher conferences. In the public sphere, ALS realizes that “some men have no interest in seeing the women around them develop an awareness”. Unexpectedly, the men in question aren’t the “husbands, brothers or fathers” but “local politicians [incumbents] who complain that if women become well-informed, they would automatically not reelect them”. In addition to the elected officials, local authorities (that is, the unelected representatives of the national state) rarely cooperate with civil society groups that lack connections to powerful individuals/institutions. Many see those NGOs as “threats, or obstacles, to their interests”. The local officials’ “animosity” was so debilitating that it took an intervention from the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) in 2002 to help “solve the conflict between associations presidents and councilmen” (personal interview with Mona). After 2002, local politicians became so convinced of the efficacy of non-profit work that they too “resorted to founding their own [organizations] to serve their [electoral] goals”. The women of ALS were not discouraged by the attempts to undermine the credibility of civil society groups. Instead, they called on their newfound subjectivities as mothers, wives and, more important, citizens to let their voices be heard: When we explain to her the role of a councilman, she realizes that he too has certain responsibilities  – and not just power and privilege. After that, they start knocking on their doors and demand that certain issues be dealt with: “we voted for you, so solve [our] problems!” The women of ALS were aware of the ways in which patriarchy seeks to maintain a form of “negative citizenship” and confront it by raising awareness about the far-reaching dangers of political apathy. Mona adds: There are more women who vote than men . . . but worse, they are the ones who are taken advantage of . . . they get pressured to vote for certain candidates . . . some change is done as many [women] know that they have the right to a secret ballot . . . they are also aware that if they don’t vote, their ballot might be subject to fraud and therefore [we tell them] you participate in ruining the country. At the national level, the (neo)patriarchy takes the shape of “tutelle de l’Etat” (state’s tutelage). The authority that is vested in the state, and delegated to any of its apparatuses, purports to care for persons and their well-being. According to Mona, prior to 2002 – when, coincidently, much of the communal patriarchy had relatively subsided – literacy programs were under the tutelage of the Ministry of Labor, which devised the curricula and supervised their implementation at the

Counter-conduct 139 national level. However, due to institutional overlap and, perhaps, competition, the Ministry of Education was either “left out” of the process or simply balked at providing access to classrooms: The issue was that [ALS] relied on the Ministry of Education’s schools to provide space for its operations: so there was a conflict  .  .  . it was left to the schools’ discretion to support us and provide the logistics and some had plainly refused. It took a “tutelage” from another kind to prompt the state, and its ministries, to fully engage in the implementation of literacy programs: “Now, things are different, the program is in the Ministry of Education’s hands . . . and since the World Bank is involved, some pressure comes from way above”.

Tamansourt: the idea of a city Per a prior agreement, Abdessalam and I met at Bab Doukala on a July afternoon so he could introduce me to some of his colleagues at the Association Tamansourt. On our way, we picked up another member (Simo), another middle-aged street vendor and activist whose outspoken and articulate activism, I am told, has earned him “wrath within some circles”. On our way to Tamansourt, Abdessalam began to introduce me to the “Tamansourt predicament”: the so-called satellite city came about as part of Morocco’s vision for “Cities without Slums” (villes sans bidonvilles). However, while Tamansourt has helped make some “’ashwāiyyāt” (slums) disappear, it created a new form of “’ashwa-iyyah” (arbitrariness): Abdessalam aptly called it “modern arbitrariness” (’ashwā-iyyāt moderne).3 Upon arrival, two other residents/street vendors joined us as we sat in the central makeshift sūq (market place) – a congregation of shacks, piles of garbage and fruit carts patrolled by a pack of stray dogs. Noureddine and El-Hachmi were in their mid-thirties, and both owned stalls selling vegetables and fast food across the street from their modern-looking apartment building. Our meeting space was a clean square under an orange tree between the stands of two street vendors who readily offered us chairs and mint tea. Since my interviewees had relocated from the medina, I asked them what difference there was between living in Marrakesh and Tamansourt. Simo quickly responded that the two were “beyond comparison”. Noureddine’s reply was even more telling as my interviewees proceeded to question many claims (and promises) made about Tamansourt. NOUREDDINE:  The

difference, is that Tamansourt, it’s like we came to a rural commune [qarawiyya] . . . or a douar. [Then, an animated discussion ensued.] EL-HACHMI:  It’s a village, nothing more, nothing less! SIMO:  What I like here is the climate and the fact that I look up far [into the horizon] unlike the medina [interrupted].

140  Counter-conduct NOUREDDINE: 

Do you see that there is a future to begin with? If you look at the entrance [city limit], there is a big sign saying “madinat al-mustaqbal” [city of the future]. Where is this future? ME:  What do you think of the slogan? NOUREDDINE:  I see nothing in this future  .  .  . it’s a little ironic/funny  .  .  . but we hope that the future will have something [for us] and that is why we are persevering. My interviewees questioned, and even denied, the very idea of Tamansourt’s “citiness” and its alleged connection to the future: “madinat al-mustaqbal is a double lie”. In what followed, their use of the term “m’dina” (city) pointed to different meanings of “citiness”: an idea of city, or anti-city, as in the case of Tamansourt; the hegemonic city against which Tamansourt has to compete for resources, services and human power (Marrakesh); and city as source of sustenance (Marrakesh’s old medina). Tamansourt is one of many new agglomerations in Morocco which the state insists on labeling as “cities of the future” despite their delayed legal status as cities. Tamansourt’s other given monikers as “city of sustainable development” and “[a site for] economic activity” further highlight the stark disconnect between fantasy and reality (see Figures 7.1 and 7.2). are so tq’hrat [oppressed] that they started referring to it as “Tamaqhort”. ABDESSALAM:  That’s what I called it when I first came here. SIMO:  And some call it “Tamaskhott”. NOUREDDINE: Also, Tamanshourt. SIMO: People

This exchange among Simo, Abdessalam and Noureddine reveals a crafty wordplay by which they deny Tamansourt its official name. For context, “Tamansourt” is an odd concoction of Arabic and Tamazight. The Amazigh scale “tam’/-t” (feminine passive participle) is used to coin a new noun from the Arabic root “n-ş-r” (to help, to protect, to overcome). The new name, “tam’-nsrt”, therefore, means “she who is succored”. Because, according to Simo, people are oppressed (qa-ha-ra), his chosen moniker for the city was rather “she who is oppressed/subdued/vanquished” – in a sense, the anti-Cairo “al-Qahira” (the overwhelming). For Simo, it is Tamaskhott (the accursed one), and for Noureddine, it is Tamanshourt (she who is exposed, spread out, laid open, sawed off and hung out to dry). After the general talk on whether Tamansourt deserved its name and status, I asked my interlocutors if they could elaborate on why they felt betrayed or “hung out to dry”. Their personal journeys through the apartment-acquisition process and experiences with mortgages at Tamansourt’s “social housing” were indeed diverse, but they agreed on some common themes. For instance, all were assured that the government had advertised (in the official bulletin) that social housing

Counter-conduct 141 units were priced at 140,000 MAD (US$15,000), but halfway through the process, they encountered a few caveats: 1 Banks require that the apartment purchased be less than 50 m2 in order to approve a “social housing” loan. 2 Apartments advertised as 50 m2 are usually 45–47 m2 in actual size. 3 Upon signing the contract with al-Omrane, an additional 60,000 MAD is billed. 4 There is a black market for preferred floors or other apartment features (20,000 MAD or more in bribes).

Figure 7.1  Billboards in Tamansourt

Figure 7.1 Continued

Counter-conduct 143

Figure 7.1 Continued

5 6

Interests added turn the grand total to 480,000 MAD (in the case of Simo). A local representative of the state (m’qaddem) issues the certificate of income (since many of the applicants are not officially employed and do not receive a regular paycheck). 7 Prior to 2009 monthly incomes as low as 2,000 MAD were approved for a loan which would require the applicant to pay a monthly sum of 1,500 MAD (75% of the approved income). Despite all the underhanded practices, many new homeowners were convinced that they could make the situation work to their advantage. After all, they embraced the value of owning one’s own home. NOUREDDINE:  For

many of us who were paying 1,000–1,500 in monthly rent, buying seemed better, it’s like I am paying for my own dār (house). EL-HACHMI:  If we just had jobs none of this would matter.  .  .  we’d lower our heads and pay the mortgage, and whatever they tell, we’d pay . . . but there are no jobs. . . . We were confident we could handle the payments when the job situation was stable . . . but now, it is not stable.

Figure 7.2  Tamansourt, a model for unsustainable development

Figure 7.2 Continued

146  Counter-conduct

Figure 7.2 Continued

Informality, solidarity and sulţah After over three hours and several pots of mint tea, I had to interrupt the informal focus group and ask if another “get-together” would be appropriate. Abdessalam welcomed the idea and instructed me to come to the same location and look for his fast food stand. After a short absence from Tamansourt, Abdessalam confided

Counter-conduct 147 that the “brothers” had doubts about, and were speculating on, my motivations – particularly since he tried to call me several times. I assured him my motivations were purely academic, and soon we had arranged another meeting at his fast food stand. On my way to the meeting, I called Simo and asked if he needed a ride; he declined and told me about an event he was putting together and that he would like me to be his “guest of honor”. Even after sunset, Tamansourt market was bustling as usual; many stands were open all day while others, like Abdessalam’s, only operated at night (to cater to late night shift workers). There were women selling homemade bread, herbs, eggs and vegetables. The stands were all moved back onto the curb so the street was more accessible – I am told later on that the members of the Auxiliary Forces had raided the settlement and ordered the vendors to “vacate public property”. I arrived at the stand and was greeted warmly by Abdessalam and El-Hachmi. Abdessalam’s stand was well-maintained and clean white with clear lettering on its three sides – “Expresse [sic.] Food” – in bright blue. Abdessalam stood behind the counter on a higher platform made of a sturdy wooden pallet. He had recently hired a young fellow who prepared sandwiches when Abdessalam needed a break or went to the mosque for his daily prayers. Abdessalam commented that he should have named his stand “Fast Food” and waited for my approval; I responded that its current name was also fine and, more important, that his food was delicious. We talked about how people should take pride in what they do and “dignify their trade in order for their trade to dignify them [in return]”. I asked El-Hachmi about his day and whether he had any painting jobs to complete. El-Hachmi’s response was in the form of a complaint about his daily customers: apparently, they all wanted to get more for the same price. At the athan’s call, Abdessalam, El-Hachmi and I went to the central mosque for the late evening prayer. Courtesy of al-Omrane Holding, the mosque was large and elaborately decorated with hand-cut mosaic tiles. I couldn’t help but notice that the mosque’s size and meticulous décor was a mismatch in comparison to the small apartments and stores surrounding it. Right after the congregational prayer, mosque-goers, fruit sellers and others, old and young, were still socializing in the vicinity. One of the orange sellers started yelling “oranges free . . . who wants to eat, fi sabilillah [for God’s sake]!” We went back to the stand; after a while Noureddine showed up, and we started talking about the US and Canada and immigration opportunities. Noureddine could not help but crack a “Gûr” (white tourists) joke; we all laughed hard. After a while, I got up to leave, and Abdessalam gave me a strong hug and asked whether he and Noureddine could accompany me outside the settlement. I agreed, and on the way, I asked about the status of Ahmed, the young employee. Abdessalam said he did not need help since it wasn’t that difficult to operate the stand by himself, but a friend had asked him to give Ahmed a chance to make some money. I asked whether they had agreed on a salary or a form of payment. His response was in the negative: all he could promise was a monetary gift on occasion and after profitable nights. He asked with mild indignation, “How could I pay the guy [when on many nights] I go home barely covering my costs . . . with no profit?”

148  Counter-conduct Along with the street cart vendor giving away free oranges, Abdessalam taught me that Tamansourt residents were indeed capable of implementing Simo’s vision of a “solidarity economy”. Two weeks prior, Simo had introduced me to his vision of social justice as an activist whose goal is to allow Tamansourt’s (street vendor) community to “live in dignified conditions”. First, he wanted all vendors to become members of his non-profit organization and allow it to collect and store their information. The purpose of this step was to thwart any attempt to “cook up a terrorism case” against anyone, as there were precedents where the security apparatuses had labeled many informal marketplaces as “swamps of extremism”. The non-profit organization was able to recruit 430 (out of a targeted 500) street vendors who each pledged a sum of 20,000 MAD (US$2,300) to purchase from al-Omrane Holding a building that was designed to be an artisanal gallery but failed to get the ministry’s approval. The non-profit would then repurpose the building to accommodate all vendors’ stands. Simo summed up the solidarity dimension of his project in the following words: The ones who only make 400 [riyal; approx. US$2/day] are clearly hurt financially, but if there is an opportunity to get a locale at 2.5 million [US$2,500], they will go borrow from a father or a brother, they might even ask them to become partners in the business. Simo’s vision was an alternative to, and critical of, “Plan Rawaj” 2020, a government-mandated program aiming to help small businesses.4 The plan, according to Simo, had failed because it only benefitted large corporations who took the markets (e.g., providing refrigerators and other equipment to small businesses who were not required to hire more employees). Simo complained that the bureaucracy did not appreciate his activism despite its being “within his majesty’s vision” to make civil society groups a true partner in democracy. As local officials mocked his idea, he concluded that while the monarch made it clear that his vision for Morocco’s future was one in which citizens freely participated in deciding the country’s fate, many officials did not “acknowledge our right to citizenship” – they “denigrate” such a concept. After decades of activism, Simo came to realize that “the king and the people are on one track, while administration and capital are on a separate track”. Noureddine’s skepticism, on the other hand, was less concerned with such abstract concepts as the king’s vision; his grievance was rather with the sulţah (local authorities), who want to “eat from every pot”: Well . . . there was pressure from the authorities, they don’t want a business deal of this magnitude to be initiated by a non-profit . . . they want to be doing it so they get their cut . . . but if it’s done through an association, they know it’ll be done with full integrity . . . they know that civil society is more sympathetic to the needs of the poor. Sulţah (the authorities) won’t be “eating” anything [if our plan takes off] . . . they want to be involved in every business deal, and benefit from it . . . as to our approach is based on solidarity . . . we wanted to integrate people and give them a chance. (Personal interview with Noureddine)

Counter-conduct 149 Noureddine seemed convinced that informality is not only a way to “make a living” but should also aim to expose the corruption of local authorities. He doubted whether anything will change “even if they put us in the [formal] marketplace . . . they will still come to collect kickbacks”. For Noureddine, formalizing his situation will only “mask” the local government’s “rotten core” in the same way Tamansourt apartments masked informal settlements into “modern ashwaa’iyyat”. In the postcolonial tradition, many scholars (Demissie, 2009) attempt to conceptualize cities of the global South as “spaces where urban inhabitants are reconfiguring and remaking urban worlds, deploying their own forms of urbanity born out of their historical and material circumstances” (ibid, p. 1). An instance of such a “remaking” is what Ndi (2007) calls “re-villagizing”; the superimposing of some pre-modern practices onto the modern cityscapes of African metropolises. Indeed, the urban poor is not sitting idly by; they rather engage in a “silent encroachment” upon the entitlements of the urban elites (Bayat, 1997). Since Noureddine and his colleagues “lack intuitional power of disruption”, the informal settlement indeed “becomes the ultimate arena to communicate discontent” (ibid, p. 11).

Back to the medina: humor and rumor The most recent literature (particularly post-2010) on urbanity in the Arab world has taken an approach similar to the one described prior, often inscribing the urban experience within a wide range of typologies. To name a few such typologies: the “city-as-corporation” and the “Dubai model” (Elsheshtawy, 2010; Kanna, 2011); the “urban apartheid” in Morocco (Wagner & Minca, 2014); the French modernist project and its postcolonial repercussions in the case of the Maghreb; state-induced macro-economic and spatial restructurings (Bogaert, 2011); or the more compelling “geography of urban uprisings” in the case of most Arab cities (Allegra et al., 2013; Bayat, 2010; Kanna, 2012; AlSayyad & Guvenc, 2013). The recent focus on urban dissent and oppositional movements in the Arab world has its merits, without a doubt. Such focus, however, cannot be at the expense of other, equally meritorious, aspects of urban life in the Arab world. My contention here echoes Hassan’s irritated reaction when I asked him, in an over-enthusiastic tone, whether his medina-based NGO considered protesting the arrival of Europeans: Protest what? And for what reason? L’gûr [a polyvalent epithet denoting white foreigners] are everything, They are the economy of Marrakesh. They are everything. Everyone ayesh m’aa l’gûr (lives/makes a living with [white] foreigners) This is not to say that the “co-mingling” of individuals, and communities, from radically distinct social classes is unproblematic; rather, what I am pursuing here is a kind of “co-mingling” which does not engender overt oppositional politics – at least for the time being.

150  Counter-conduct

Rumor as (infra)political resistance Political scientist and anthropologist James C. Scott (1990) has argued that the “everyday forms of resistance” do not always involve “open confrontation” (p. 184). Rather, “each realm of open resistance to domination is shadowed by an infrapolitical” art of surreptitious resistance or “an unobtrusive realm of political struggle” (ibid, p. 183). Scott inscribes rumor and jokes within the “infrapolitical . . . gestures of contempt and desecration” (ibid, p. 199). The rumors discussed in this section capture the different directions (infra)political hostility takes. In one instance, this hostility targets individual political opponents and, by extension, Marrakesh’s body politic; in another it purports to defend “territorial patrimony” against foreign aggression. Rumor 1: the curse and the body (politic) On April 1, 2014, Marrakesh’s first female mayor, Mansouri, was rumored to have died in a traffic accident. Many officials and media people made several calls to ascertain the news, and they found out later that the rumor was “to sensationalize the public opinion in the middle of a slow news week in politics” (Reported in Murrakush al-Ikhbariyya, no. 105, April 7, 2014, p. 4.). Other prominent Marrakeshis have also been targeted, but the only rumor that caught people’s attention was the mayor’s (alleged) death. The rumor was quickly dispelled since the context was simply April Fools’ Day. Later in the same year, Mayor Mansouri was, again, rumored to have “resigned” due to “hemiplegic paralysis”, and soon enough, the mayor’s office responded, dismissing the “news” as figment of its propagators’ imagination. The mayor’s response was prefaced with a formulaic refusal to engage in speculation: “we do not know the source or the reason . . . behind the rumor”. However, it did in fact speculate on the rumor’s motivation: “but this will not deter our resolve to serve the homeland, the city of Marrakech and its residents” (reported in al-Ayam online, December 29, 2014). Semantically, this rumor is constructed as a curse; the wish that one’s enemy be “paralyzed” occupies a prominent place in Moroccan folklore. Further, the rumor-curse targeted Mansouri, a woman, for having, perhaps, forgone her “natural” position in society. The rumor’s target is also a politician whose political behavior seemed objectionable to the rumor’s propagators. One might wonder how and if a mayor’s paralysis, even if true, could help derail her political party’s entire program. The answer is in political socialization. Unlike liberal democracies, the political sphere in non-democratic (or semidemocratic) societies is made up of individualities, with varying capabilities to take on the political challenges they encounter.5 Thus, the individualizing rumorcurse has greater macro-political return in Marrakesh than it would in Paris. The paralysis of the woman’s body symbolizes a paralysis of the city’s body politic. Within the same year, a rumor targeting the city’s body had spread: Marrakesh had caught Ebola. The health ministry quickly issued a communiqué dispelling the rumor whose “agenda was unknown” (reported in Le Matin, October 14, 2014).

Counter-conduct 151 The alleged “discovery” of Ebola in Marrakesh mirrors the global outbreak of the virus in, and beyond, the African continent. The outbreak itself is testimonial to the global nature of public health concerns that necessitate a concerted global response. The rumor, however, is a “speech-act” against what Roy and Ong call the “worlding” practices targeting the propagators’ city (2011). It is as if the rumor’s propagators were calling to “shut the city’s doors”, a quarantine of sorts against globalization. Naturally, the ministry’s communiqué was a push back against this call for withdrawal from the global; it assured “the national and international public opinion” of the falsity of the news and called on media and public opinion to remain “vigilant” in face of such rumors “whose goal is to create discord” (Le Matin, October 14, 2014). Rumor 2: “Did you know that the l’gûr in the medina threw a party celebrating the departure of the last Moroccan resident in their derb?” While it instantiates an infra-political mode of contestation, the rumor of the “last Moroccan out” is a political rumor par excellence: it weaves a narrative in which the out-group plans a hidden agenda, engages in perverted practices and relies on betrayal and manipulation to achieve its goal.6 To illustrate, the process of acquiring riads requires a great deal of maneuvering as many Western buyers fear the indigenous owners may reject their offer on the basis of their national origin.7 Many such buyers recruit local real estate agents to do the shopping and bargaining on their behalf. There is a widespread belief that the acquisition process involves many unethical, if not illegal, manipulations – often involving bribes. Once the riads are acquired, concerns over immorality behind the walls come to the fore. When I asked Tahar, an upper-middle-class professional in his midfifties, to explain the implications behind this presumed celebration, his answer was as follows: The city is losing its akhlaq [morality] . . . there was a time when Marrakesh was considered the richest . . . everyone knew his neighbor . . . so whoever wants to party goes out [of the medina]. This means that a sort of (protection) was set up in the medina . . . in order to keep al-‘eib [shameful behavior] at bay. . . we did it all, but outside the medina: this means that the medina had akhlaq and qiyyam [morality and values]. So, this European comes near you m’tharrar [liberated] from your akhlaq [moral standards] and from your culture, your religion, and your customs . . . liberated! And he wants to live [in your midst] taking advantage of the economic gap between the locals and himself. (Tahar, personal interview) Tahar went on to elaborate on what he suspected the Europeans of “doing” behind the walls of their riads. I will spare the reader the details of our conversation and surmise that Tahar felt justified in breaking with social convention and

152  Counter-conduct “transgressing the taboo” because the out-group’s behaviors have already defiled the city’s presumed sanctity. Tahar’s objection was not against the breaking of moral codes per se, but rather to the fact that a certain kind of “immorality” happened inside the city walls by foreigners. In fact, Tahar expressed his concerns that “our daughters” were being lured inside these riads. An important element in Tahar’s tirade, which had to do with Marrakesh’s fall from economic grace, confirms Edgar Morin’s formula that change and crisis beget rumor.8 Thus, Rumor 2 is, in itself, sufficient as a regime of truth and need not produce parallel events to support its claim – the otherwise banal act of partying. Some of the other Marrakesh-related rumors I followed were quickly discredited once the targeted individuals/parties had denied them. In 2012, an Emirati prince (or a rich real estate promoter in another version) was rumored to have “secretly” gifted Sarkozy with a “riad in the palmeraie” whose cost ranged between €700,000 and €3 million. Sarkozy denied the rumor to the press during one of his private visits to Marrakesh. The “last Moroccan out” rumor, however, was one of the most salient rumors of the last decade. No foreign resident organization came out to deny it as that might raise more suspicion and confirm the rumor’s premise that, indeed, there are “entities” that protect the foreigners’ interest. Further, this rumor has a potent political charge; when the rumored Europeans “finally” celebrated the departure of the last Moroccan neighbor, their project of spatial appropriation was completed. Not only is the riad a family patrimony, inherited from one’s ancestors, but it is also (as people are socialized to believe) a national one; it encapsulates and expresses a national identity. This rumor indeed expresses a politicized attitude whereby “patrimony” becomes a “territory to be defended” from foreign aggression (Kurzac-Souali, 2007, p. 83). The “necessity” to defend one’s territory is justified by fears of dispossession which many medina residents feel. My earlier conversation with Dalila confirmed that, far from theoretical gesturing, these fears are real: ME:  Are there riads in your area? DALILA:  Yes, there are many. ME:  How is this influencing life in your area of the medina? D:  It’s normal, no changes . . . now Christians [n’sara] are many

in Morocco, but some are fearful that things would repeat themselves [dakchi li kan, yerja’]. ME:  Really? What are these “things”? D:  War and occupation. ME:  I didn’t know that. D:  Well, everywhere you go, every derb [alley] you go to, there are riads . . . in our derb there are two riads [m’qablin] facing us [our house]. ME:  Are there any relations with the new neighbors, and how are your relations with them? D: Just with the Moroccan “gérant” [manager], he is a good guy [Allah y ‘ammarha dar]. ME:  How about the owners? D:  We don’t see them.

Counter-conduct 153 ME:  Are there any benefits to their coming to the derb? D:  Well, the derb has benefitted, it is cleaner and there are

floor is fixed, he put tiles in.

flowers on display, the

On the one hand, the n’sara (Christians’) presence is a part of “normal” life in the medina, but, to an extent, Dalila vicariously expresses an anxiety that the colonial scenario, of violence and spatial dispossession, risks repeating itself. She stated that she lives in an area where two (gentrified) riads are “facing us”; the Arabic “m’qablin” denotes both “located opposite to us” and “accepted with some degree of approval”. Indeed, the gentrified riads are a reality which many locals have learned to live with, a practice which has been subjected to a process of “taţbi’” (normalization), as one university student observed. When asked about her own experience and encounters with the new neighbors, Dalila replied that she had no relations with the invisible “Christians”; the Moroccan manager is the only face she and her neighbors know. On the other hand, despite fears of violence and dispossession, a view to which Dalila clearly does not subscribe, the younger generation in her neighborhood sees this change as an opportunity for their space to improve hygienically and aesthetically: “we tell grandma there is nothing to be fearful or worried about . . . as things are improving here in the derb”. Additionally, the encounter with new neighbors is perceived as an opportunity for job creation: “when the Christians come [to the medina] they need little kids as guides to take them to the riads”. However, such income-generating opportunities are also fraught with precariousness. When asked about the negative aspects of living in proximity to the rich Westerners, Dalila’s reply was: They don’t tip anymore . . . they became ‘ayqine [aware, sly and cunning] . . . I once witnessed a fight where the Christian did not want to pay a guy who was about twenty years old . . . and the Christian told him I just asked you, why is it that when a Moroccan asks, you don’t expect that they pay you . . . so the police got involved.

Nukta and right to the medina The Orwellian formulation that “every joke is a tiny revolution”9 is hardly hyperbole; there is evidence that political humor is ubiquitous in the most documented revolutions of the modern world – the last being the 2011 and 2013 Egyptian uprisings. All humor is immersed in the political and social concerns of its people as it “raises topics which the rich, the powerful and the complacent would prefer to see left alone”.10 As mentioned prior, among the ways in which many Marrakeshis (particularly the young and disenfranchised) express their disapproval of the realities surrounding them is through the deployment of humor. After all, Marrakesh is nicknamed the city of bahja (joy and merriment), and the Marrakeshis are typecast as a people of humor and comedic wit. Marrakeshi humor is particularly political, sometimes vulgar and, indeed, socially aware. The Marrakeshi nukta (joke, humor), as one veteran jester defined it on national TV, is

154  Counter-conduct “a gentle speech which affects the soul [and which] makes you laugh and makes you cry” (Memory of Cities, Marrakesh, Radiodiffusion Marocaine ca. 1995). My interviewees expressed a sense that Marrakesh has lost its renown as Morocco’s wittiest city. The men I interviewed in a small focus group on the socio-economic changes which occurred in Marrakesh during the last two decades seem to agree that their city has lost its “spirit”: MAN 1:  In the past, Marrakesh was famous by rūh an-nukta [comedic spirit]. ME:  It is still the case, right? MAN 1:  Yes, but it is rare now, it is dead! MAN 2:  I recall one time, it was unfortunate; there was a competition between

Oujda and Marrakesh . . . do you remember?

MAN 3:  [gestures in disapproval] That was bāsl [tasteless]. ME:  Explain, when? MAN 2:  Over 20 years, or maybe 30 years ago. MAN 2:  So Marrakesh brought some tasteless fūkaha [comedy]

and then came Oujda’s turn . . . and they presented the nukta – the Marrakeshi nukta . . . and they apologized for stealing it from Marrakesh. MAN 1:  You’d be in the sūq [market], and you could overhear somebody nukket [joke] about another, and it was well-crafted; it was dahaae [cunning sagacity] in Marrakesh. MAN 3:  Now it’s all gone, and it is because of the economic circumstances. The participants bemoan the fact that they lost that which makes them unique among other cities. Marrakesh’s brand of nukta was poetic and ubiquitous; it made evident its people’s unique craftiness and sagacity. In the past, a stranger dared not swindle, beguile or otherwise outsmart Marrakeshis lest he be humiliated by way of nukta. Now that “banks, corporations, foreigners and the rich” are taking advantage of us, the nukta must have lost its efficacy. The exchange recorded here captures a kind of popular anxiety with the economic circumstances and their deleterious repercussions on the city as a whole. The proliferation of exchange value relations rendered the art of urban nukta impotent. The two jokes discussed in the following are expressive of the folk attempt to deride the very economic conditions which rendered them vulnerable. Joke 1: Did you hear that Marrakesh will impose a [travel] visa on Moroccans? For most Moroccans, international travel to rich countries often evokes dreaded images of restrictive visa procedures, exorbitant fees, delayed appointments and long lines in front of consular services in Rabat, Fesor Casablanca. Consular services reject numerous visa applications as they fall short of the required documentation, such as evidence of a stable income generally higher than the national average. In 2013, the consular services of France, Spain, Italy

Counter-conduct 155 and Germany rejected a total of 50,000 visa applications (Maghreb Arabe Press, 2013). The joke, therefore, conjures several experiences, images and meanings in the Marrakeshis’ collective consciousness. However, for the joke to acquire its potency as an oppositional speech-act, its propagators rely on a host of underlying premises, assumptions and, perhaps, fears. First, the (purported) visa measures must have been preceded by the all too familiar act of land appropriation; the city is, once again, taken by the Europeans (recall Dalila’s testimony). Second, the kinds of ideologies behind the restrictive immigration policies in Europe are also operating in Marrakesh. Third, the cost of living in Marrakesh has become comparable to European cities. Hence, Marrakesh’s gentrifiable spaces are no longer for the poor Moroccans’ use and consumption. The proliferation of exchange value relations is depriving Marrakeshis of their right to the city. Fourth, (Moroccan) citizenship is no longer sufficient to gain access to Marrakesh. Rather, a new form of citizenship is enacted within Marrakesh’s confines (consumer citizenship). It is no coincidence, therefore, that along with the satire came other forms of protest to reclaim the right to the city. The graffiti shown in Figure 7.3 are located in two different parts of the city. The language, grammar and semiotic charge of each are commensurate with its geographic location within the city. The “repurposed” stop sign (Figure 7.3a) is located in el-Massira neighborhood, built during King Hassan II’s reign in the 1980s with a “modernizing” promise. As one might observe, the stop sign has been manipulated by simply “playing” on the pointing diacritics (dots) to turn “qif” (Stop!) into “fiq” (wake up!). The call to “wake up”, although insidious in execution, simulates radical battle cries to stand up against the regime and its numbing political rhetoric of modernization and, most important, against fear. Figures 7.3b, 7.3c and 7.3d are adjacent to a large riad in the medina whose owners placed a surveillance camera atop its main entrance, an act reminiscent of the overly securitized consular buildings. One graffiti calls on the new riad owners to “stop” filming their neighbors’ every move while the other draws parallels between the medina gentrification and the “black” experience. It is important to note that Marrakeshis (and for the most part, Moroccans) do not self-identify as “black”, and they do not understand their position vis-à-vis Europeans in (overtly) ethnic/racial terms. Therefore, the referent “black story” points to yet another episode of the white takeover of black neighborhoods similar to the ones taking place in North American cities. The third graffiti uses an English-language expletive next to the French-language designation “L’association”, which refers to civil society non-profit organizations. Counting in the hundreds of thousands with little certainty about their legitimacy or efficacy, many such organizations are suspected of being either propped up or, at best, co-opted by the regime. Indeed, “Fuck L’Association” is a reminder of the kind of anger, frustration and despair surrounding civil society institutions (and practices) that are extensively codified in the Moroccan 2011 constitution and whose roles are often equated with the defense of human rights.

Figure 7.3  No hope in civil society

Figure 7.3 Continued

158  Counter-conduct

Figure 7.3 Continued

Joke 2: Two tourists, a Frenchman and an Englishman, get into a Marrakesh taxi. On the way to their destination, the Frenchman proudly stated that his people built the Eiffel Tower in six days. In response, the Englishman said that his people were able to build the World Trade Center in only three days. The Marrakeshi [taxi driver] then pointed to the Kutubia [a twelfth-century minaret] and said: “we drove by this square three minutes ago and there was nothing there!” Stylistically, this joke depicts a scene in which two Europeans compete over whose countrymen are best at building colossal (phallus-like) monuments. In the first instance, the Marrakeshi taxi driver is not part of the conversation. The driver’s invisibility in the joke’s set-up is what motivates the joke’s punchline; French and British engineering are no match to Marrakeshi smarts. Indeed, the joke reads like classic “having the last word” humor whereby the underdog outsmarts his antagonists by delivering the definitive riposte against their claims. The joke uses familiar

Counter-conduct 159 motifs appropriately belonging to Marrakesh – tourism, the Kutubia minaret and taxi services. It also uses other familiar monuments (i.e., the Eiffel Tower), one of which was inaccurately attributed to England (i.e., the World Trade Center). Rhetorically, the joke exhibits “transgressions” against a few orthodoxies. Against time orthodoxy, the joke indulges in careless anachronisms whereby different temporalities converge to recast time in an almost magical-realist narrative: the Eiffel Tower, with all its mythological baggage, was built in six days; fast forward, the World Trade Center in three; and back to the twelfth century three minutes ago, the Kutubia (re)appears. Against space, the inaccuracy of attributing the World Trade Center to England is no mere ignorance. It rather tells us about the role of the Englishman in the joke’s narrative; he plays a walk-on part in this contest between the Marrakeshi driver and his French antagonist. The Frenchman’s claim that his people “created” the Eiffel Tower in six days is much more intimidating than his fellow rider’s. All momentous creations require six days for their completion: the heavens and the stars in them, the earth and its mountains, the seas and all they contain, we are told, were created in six days. Hence, France and (French) modernity is to the Eiffel Tower, and certainly to modern Morocco, what God is to the heavens and the earth. The joke, then, is a purposeful heterodoxy against the metaphysics of French (architectural) genius, which, in truth, is but an iteration of the Babel complex: the “oneiric” value of the tower which supersedes its (ridiculous) utilitarian functions.11 The taxi driver’s “last word” then is an attempt at re-claiming due recognition of the city’s lost genius. This verbal “tour de force” is achieved at the expense of historical accuracy relating to Marrakesh’s most iconic monument. The centuries-old Kutubia is reduced to a contemporary construction project whose instantaneous completion empties it of its own mythical and historical meanings – it is not clear, then, whether the joke is on Marrakesh. The scholarship on humor and its political significance points to diverging directions as to the political and social meanings of jokes. Many authors emphasize the role of humor in exposing the incongruities of modern urbanity, expressing relief and ultimately constructing a “social corrective” to the “wrongs” in one’s midst (Bergson, 1999; Powell, 1988; cited in Kuipers, 2008, p. 364). It is clear from the scripts discussed here that if any function can be assigned to Marrakesh’s nukta, it is in fact to inspire consolation with a measure of anxiety, relief through self-deprecation and solace through undue self-aggrandizement. In short, the Marrakeshi nukta must “make you laugh and . . . cry”.

Notes 1 In her well-documented work titled The Time Bind: When Work Becomes Home and Home Becomes Work, Hochschild attributes this uncanny “blurring of the distinction” between work and home to the “family-friendly” policies (i.e., part-time jobs with benefits, flextime, paternity leave, telework) adopted by certain “enlightened” corporations. There are no such policies within the riad industry. 2 It is beyond the scope of the current study to elaborate on the dynamics of so-called “sex” or “romance” tourism; however, there are myriad studies connecting the phenomenon – particularly the encounter between “white” female tourists and “non-white”

160  Counter-conduct tourism workers in the global South – to the larger spheres of economic, political, racial and class power. 3 Marwa Khalifa (2011, p.  40) points out that “ ‘slum’ is an umbrella concept under which fall numerous categories of settlements” including favelas, Kampung, bidonville and ’ashwā-iyyāt. The latter refers, in Arabic, to randomness and spontaneity. Abdessalam is playing on this double-meaning of the term since Marrakesh, technically, has douars instead of “slums” or Bidonvilles. 4 Retrieved from Ministry of Culture and Communication, 2013, at www.maroc.ma/en/ content/rawaj-plan. 5 Urbinati and Saffon point out, recalling many political theorists from Aristotle to Hayek, that “the government of the few relies on exceptional individualities” (2013, p. 449). 6 Aldrin (2005, p. 106) argues that political rumors follow “basic narrative models”. 7 Not all Westerners are assumed to be the same; the French for instance are seen as arrogant while North Americans are “mrabbi [well-behaved] and they are able to preserve the [local] values; he comes and knows your customs and [interacts] according to your rules . . . the European, no . . . especially the French . . . the English, God forbid, animals when they leave their country . . . Animals!” (Tahar, personal interview). 8 Cited in Aldrin, 2005, p. 45. 9 In an essay titled “Funny, but not Vulgar” (1945). 10 Ibid. 11 See Roland Barthes’s deconstruction of the various meanings of the Eiffel Tower (1982 [1964], pp. 239–241).

Conclusion

This study has sought to shed light on the processes of urban restructuring operating in Marrakesh and their implications on the local population. A primary focus was on the political, economic and social shifts and their impact on power relations in the city. I attempted to demonstrate how institutional practice has turned Marrakesh and its heritage into a commodity and how this practice legitimates its agenda by way of a hegemonic discourse. The recurring rhetoric of modernization often contradicts the branding schemes for Marrakesh which rely on the presumably “pre-modern” tropes of “patrimony” and “historical heritage” to turn Marrakesh into a world destination. The central state remains the most important actor in branding the city even when it claims its withdrawal from the most vital sectors. I argued that the state creates a political environment in which it induces, and mediates, spatial and social change through a “juridical-economic status quo”. To that end, the state orchestrates the depopulation of the medina and opens its spaces to nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) to construct a “patrimony” and to commodify it. Meanwhile, the private sector leads the sprawl into communal land surrounding the city. As to the state’s approach to land commodification, evidence suggests that the state engages in “negligent” governance through the maintenance of status quo at the juridical and economic levels. First, the early twentieth century legal texts pertaining to land acquisition and use, real estate development and commercialization are still in effect. The modern state has yet to sever the umbilical cord with the juridical and political apparatuses of the past – whether they be sultanic, colonial or Makhzeni. Ironically, while the logic of “protecting the citizens from land speculators” still motivates the legalist discourse, many communities (particularly of the douars) are all the more vulnerable to corporate speculators despite, and because of, these laws. The state also governs through the “exceptions” outlined in the said laws and courts capital through the mechanism of “derogation”. Second, the kinds of “priorities” upon which the state (and capital) wagers the city’s economic fate remain salient in Morocco’s economic policy: growth by way of private investment. Moreover, the ways in which principal-agent relations are configured remain intact; an ascendant class of notables with close ties to the state still appropriate land and real estate, secure its rents and, in the process, secure the state’s support. Globally, Morocco’s economic and

162  Conclusion financial satellitism vis-à-vis France has only increased after independence and is more concentrated in urban space and activities. Thus, my claim of “status quo” should not be understood as a reduction of capitalism and its juridical correlatives as univocal, monolithic or “frozen in time” but rather as an argument about the very logic of (Morocco’s) capitalism which rests on a particular understanding of development and on a particular course of action to achieve it. In essence, there is indeed a historical interpenetration between authoritarian, capitalist and, later, neoliberal orders in Morocco. Meanwhile, the political rhetoric of good governance constructs the citizen as “human capital” and a stakeholder in participatory democracy, local residents are marginalized from the prevailing processes and development discourse and are displaced by gentrification. In Globalized Authoritarianism: Megaprojects, Slums, and Class Relations in Urban Morocco, Koenraad Bogaert argues that “neoliberal projects symbolize a fundamental shift in Moroccan authoritarianism. . . . Mohammad VI rules via holdings, funds, and specialized state agencies. . . . The urbanism of projects demonstrates not only the durability of authoritarian government but also its transformation from neopatrimonial, clientelistic, and kindship-based forms . . . toward a more globalized modality of authoritarianism” (2018, p. 92). Chapters 3 through 5 move beyond the institutional dimension of state control and investigate the ideological elements of control. Chapter 3 took a look at the various strategies and practices which the private sector, against the state and NGOs, employs to brand Marrakesh. The private sector realized that city’s image as a “mythical/traditional” place is turning into a liability as they attempt to diversify the tourist product and create a class of loyal, high-end consumers. Chapter 4 concerned itself with the discursive elements of branding the city a certain way while branding “Other” spaces and population in other ways. The first section focused on media practices and their role in normalizing certain attitudes about Marrakesh’s different neighborhoods and their occupants. The media, therefore, adopt a discourse which unmistakably normalizes the micro-technologies of state control while attempting to have a say in city branding. Further, the media corpus under study reinforces inequalities already entrenched in Marrakesh’s urban landscape by framing the city’s subaltern as immoral, deviant and in need of disciplinary intervention and by normalizing technocratic solutions as the only viable ones. The media also justify a form of governmental reason which oscillates between the king’s sovereign rule with all of its historico-mythical baggage and raison d’etat (state’s reason) where only modern, impersonal and rationalized processes of governing are to be adopted (Foucault, 2007). Chapter 5 focused on the field of urban policy and the technocratic elite’s effort to maintain a certain ideological rigidity in the guise of technical, and market, expediency. In the process, the urban policy documents and practices reveal a systemic marginalization of the working class and the local political class. On September 15, 2015, Marrakesh elected the candidate of the Justice and Development Party (PJD), Mohamed Larbi Belcaïd, as the new mayor for the ensuing six years. Belcaïd’s “Islamist” party affiliation has rekindled concerns, in the media and on the street, of whether his conservative leanings would interfere with the

Conclusion 163 city’s image as an entertainment machine. Soon enough, the new mayor rushed to dispel these fears. He assured the French-language, anti-Islamist weekly magazine TelQuel that he was “not elected to close down [the city’s] bars”. He further commented that his “first meeting as a mayor was with the people of the tourism industry” to personally confirm his support. Irrespective of the mayor’s status as the city’s chief executive, the national state ensured that his role goes no further than managing the municipal services. In a TV interview, the new mayor elaborated on his “vision” for the next six years. Through the course of the interview, it was clear that his role was rather limited to renegotiating street parking and waste collection contracts, clearing the city’s illegal speedbumps and maintaining traffic lights and stop signs. The act of turning land into a commodity has serious social implications; it instrumentalizes communities to facilitate capital accumulation. It alienates human life by reducing it to a thing  – a subject of analysis, quantification and normalization. But most important, this act calls upon and enables “new forms of scientific knowledge . . . and technocratic expertise to facilitate and steer” all sorts of capitalist productions: production of territory (l’étatisation) and the production of political, economic, commercial, ecological, mental and “Other” spaces (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 8, 2009, p. 32). The invention/production of such multiple spaces, and the proclaimed scientific justifications thereof, is a paradox inherent to spatial practice. The urban condition is closely tied to the knowledge that allows the different techno-sciences (economics, geography and statistics) that produce it while concealing their extra-scientific elements – ideology and so on (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 2; Mitchell, 2002, p. 42). Indeed, in the context of the cities of the global South, reliance on the “rule of expert” as a vehicle for spatial production remains problematic: it creates more categorizations, deterritorializations and alienations. The policies promoted by the technocratic elite marginalize the working class and the political subleaders, but also stifle dissent from within policy-making circles. Ultimately, urban policy amounts to no more than a blueprint for the statecontrolled machine where local authorities kowtow to the national state’s dictates passed down through its representatives at the regional and provincial levels. For the most part, urban policies designed to attract and keep investment have proven unsustainable and, as a result, exacerbate the issue of clientelism within Marrakesh’s governing regime. In practice, when urban space is commodified, the very social fabric which makes up the city becomes vulnerable and the threat of displacement becomes eminent. Chapters 6 further investigated the question of the relationship between political economy and the various markers of social identity. My analysis of the “social structures” of the housing market reveals that the Moroccan state contributes, along with its capitalist allies, to the double construction of the housing market. Like all commodity markets, the housing market resides at the intersection of its supply and demand. In order to create housing supply, the state has opened the field for construction companies, real estate developers and banks to proliferate in numbers while, at the same time, concentrating under powerful megacorporations. Here, rather than being “an aggregated total of independent

164  Conclusion suppliers”, the housing supply, as Bourdieu has observed, “presents itself as a differentiated and structured space of competing suppliers whose strategies depend on the other suppliers” (2005, p. 24, emphasis original). Further, the state and its allies perpetuate “housing mythologies” which shape the social attitudes toward rent and homeownership through relentless ad campaigns. The juxtaposition of distinct medina experiences – that is, the artists’ experience and that of the working women – is organized in such a way as to deliver (at least) two divergent narratives from (at least) two distinct, if not antithetical, social positions. Such a “confrontation” of experiences evokes a gamut of subjectivities. In sum, insofar as it relates to Marrakesh’s gentrified neighborhoods, the global shift in (women’s) labor is, as I have argued, multifaceted and more nuanced than a simple “reversal” of capitalism’s story. First, the shift from reproductive to productive labor is taking place in the very lives of Aziza, Dalila, Wafa and Rabha (and not in capitalism’s lifecycle); these women were absorbed into the labor market at some point in their adult life when the male provider was either incapacitated, deceased or unemployed. Second, the women working in the riad field and its corollary services (spas, restaurants and so-called phytotherapeutic shops) are working in a sector which purportedly “simulates” the home. The riad, indeed, becomes a simulacra of the home, not just aesthetically but also in terms of the social relations it attempts to replicate and the ones it produces. Therefore, the riad workers prompt us to think an alternative geography of a “precarious employment regime” concomitant to neoliberalism that does not subsume the post-Fordist political economy in its background but instead takes into account a long history of authoritarian state interventions. Along with the sixth chapter, chapter 7 paid special attention to the ways in which residents interpret those shifts and receive/perceive the changes underway in their neighborhoods. Most important, the last two chapters illustrated how the wholesale restructuring of the city of Marrakesh, the gentrification of the medina and sprawl onto communal land, instantiated new subjectivities. Last, chapter 7 sought to examine how urban transformations affect the everyday activities of the people on the margin and how they negotiate and develop a sense of identity and territoriality in a contested urban environment. As such, the chapter underscored the ways in which the city’s subaltern engage in various forms of counter-conduct. The discussion in chapter 7 reveals that the forms of counter-conduct are far from being monolithic. Some civil society groups chose to internalize the modern governmental reason in their activism (Association Lux et Scientia); others adopted a language of empowerment very much in line with the market logic (L’Espoir); others simply chose to appease the political order to secure some short-term benefits (Association Tamansourt). As for those urban subjects who lack the capacity to assert their right to the city, they engaged in various forms of collective, albeit fragmented, action. As the last sections in chapter 7 sought to reveal, informality, rumor and humor were the preferred means to engage in oppositional politics. The time I spent with Tamansourt street vendors taught me that informality is no “mere survival”, but rather a tactic to expose the dystopian nature of their city (i.e., failing policies, an unresponsive private sector and corrupt local authorities).

Conclusion 165 Further, the chapter showed that the transmission of rumors also served as a form of infrapolitical, surreptitious resistance. Based on the rumors analyzed in this book, Marrakeshis are in tune with the political changes in their midst and are invested in taking the political authority to task as a form of resistance. Finally, the section on Marrakeshi humor yielded some noteworthy observations; Marrakeshis deploy such rhetorical devices as absurdity, heresy and transgression as social correctives to what “went wrong” in their city. The presumed “takeover” by Europeans coupled with an absence of government regulations to organize the riad market is a major source of disquiet among Marrakeshis. Further, the socio-economic gap between the newcomers and the locals exacerbates the sense of powerlessness among Marrakeshis and the presumed “superiority” of the foreigners, thereby recreating and refashioning colonial hierarchies. Left with their capacity to speak, deride and desecrate, Marrakeshis attack those long-standing hierarchies using their “nukta” as a redemptive counter-narrative. I conclude this book with a note on the governing question. The 2011 constitution sanctions “advanced” forms of regional autonomy, but it is yet to be implemented on the ground. During my stay in Marrakesh, many academics, journalists and politicians expressed high hopes in the promise of autonomy through advanced regionalization, but most remain cynical about the political will to implement this vision. Case in point, in 2014 King Mohammed VI inaugurated yet another megaproject to transform Marrakesh into a “Cité du Renouveau Permanent” (City in Permanent Renewal), a plan expected to involve a complete overhaul of communal procedures and legislations in order to facilitate economic growth. The project was inaugurated in January 2014 and was due to be completed in 2018 with over MAD 6.3 billion (US$7 million) injected in cultural, environmental and touristic mega-projects controlled by the central state. The two visions (Advanced Regionalization and Permanent Renewal) serve opposing agendas; the former calls for more autonomy while the latter reinserts the central state in local affairs – and yes, both were decreed beyond parliamentary deliberations. These two major developments in the city justify, in my view, future investigations on the social impact of state-sponsored mega-projects. However, any speculation on the matter would be premature. Hence, a future study of these potentially conflicting visions is indeed appropriate.

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Index

Note: Page numbers in italics indicate figures, and page numbers in bold indicate tables. Abdelaziz, Sultan 21 Actuel Hebdo, on branding crisis 52 Adidi, Abdelaziz 27 advanced regionalization see institutional control and state/market interactions Africanus, Leo 19, 20 Agence Nationale pour l’Habitat Insalubre (ANHI) 104 al-Alam (newspaper) 58 Algeciras Conference (1906) 21 apparatuses: of colonial and early-national order 16, 161; of ruling class 22 – 24; of security interests 69, 98, 148; of the state 72, 90, 90, 100, 119, 138 – 139, 161 Arendt, Hannah 135 Assabah (newspaper) 60, 60, 71 – 75, 74 Association L’Espoir 129, 133, 164 Association Lux et Scientia (ALS) 133 – 139; views of educators 134; views of president 134 – 135, 136, 138 – 139; views of trainees 129 – 131, 137, 152 – 153, 164 Association pour la Participation et l’Action Régionale 44 Association Tamansourt 139, 164 Aujourd’hui Le Maroc (AjM) 60, 60, 67 – 70, 71 authenticity: losing of due to commodification 13; and modernity 6, 32, 50; and patrimonialization rhetoric 45 – 46; riad elite perception of 4, 123, 131 – 132; and tourism-related image construction 37, 49 Averroes 43 banking industry 107, 107 – 108 Barthes, Roland 93 Basri, Driss 89

Baudrillard, J. 123 Belal, Abdel Aziz 30 Belcaïd, Mohamed Larbi 162 – 163 Betancur, J. J. 120 biopolitics 6, 85, 98 Bogaert, Koenraad 10, 162 Borghi, R. 40, 53 Boujrouf, S. 38 Bourdieu, P. 104, 109, 119, 164 Brahim (city official) 91 – 92 Cadi Ayyad University, report on media and policy 61 capitalism: Baudrillard’s critique of late 123; and citizens as consumers/clients 133; and citizens as human capital 162; and colonialism 13; colonial state and defensive modernization in Morocco 21 – 25; and gentrified medina 129; in global South 8 – 9; Marx on 22 – 23; in present day Morocco/Marrakesh 29 – 30, 42; shift from reproductive to productive labor 164; state capitalism and national priorities 29 – 30; see also globalization Casablanca 26 Castells, M. 15 – 16, 81 – 82, 101, 102 casualized/informalized employment see counter-conduct and oppositional politics celebrities, used in housing advertising 109, 112, 113 – 116, 116 – 118 Centre de Developpement de la Region de Tansift (CDRT) 46 Certeau, M. de 50 Chez Ali show 49 China Outbound Travel and Tourism Market (COTTM) 54 Churchill, Winston 48

180 Index Cities without Slums (Villes Sans Bidonvilles) 104 – 105, 139 citizenship: citizens as consumers/clients 6, 16 – 17, 109, 133, 155; citizens as human capital 35, 162; citizenshipas-cohabitation 6; constitutional mandates for 6, 148; and media bias 65 – 66, 69 – 70; participation and good governance 32; passive role of 102; threat of displacement 120; urban planners and reform agenda 84 – 85; voting rights 137; see also counterconduct and oppositional politics; governance city branding see ideological control and (re)branding of Marrakesh; institutional control and state/market interactions City in Permanent Renewal (Cité du Renouveau Permanent) 165 civil society: as partner in democracy 148; types of counter-conduct by 164; use of term in press 63 – 65; see also specific organizations class: emerging middle 30, 41, 127; local political 16, 101; of original riad owners 4; policy elites 12, 16, 64; social 27, 149; stratification along ethnic lines in Morocco 28; upper 106 – 107, 120; and urban policy/gentrification 8, 12 – 13, 16, 81 – 82, 84, 102, 162 – 163; working 6, 16, 32, 101, 112 – 113, 119 – 120, 162 – 163 collective lands 22 – 24; see also settlements (douars) colonialism: apparatuses of 16, 161; and capitalism 13; colonial state and defensive modernization in Morocco 21 – 25; French land appropriation 22 – 25; see also ideological control and (re)branding of Marrakesh; institutional control and state/market interactions commodification: commodified memory 16, 93 – 95, 94 – 95; of cultural heritage 7, 13 – 14, 42 – 44, 161; of land 23, 105, 161, 163; and social currency 123; of space 3 – 4, 6 – 7, 14, 117 – 120, 163 – 164 Communal Councils 33 Companie Générale Immobilière 34 conservation-dissolution strategy 23 consumer citizenship see citizenship corruption, among Marrakesh city officials 33, 92 counter-conduct and oppositional politics 128 – 160; humor/rumor as (infra) political resistance in the medina

149 – 159; informality, solidarity and sulţah 146 – 149; legal awareness and personhood by women 133 – 137; political agency and struggle against patriarchy 137 – 139; private property and womanhood 137; social/political context of humor in the medina 153 – 159, 156 – 158; summary conclusion 164 – 165; Tamansourt, the idea of a city 139 – 144, 141 – 146; women entering riad labor market 128 – 133 Court of Audit: report on Marrakesh’s Urban Commune (2007) 33, 92; report on Marrakesh’s Urban Commune (2009) 92; report on Marrakesh’s Urban Commune (2012) 92 Crawford, D. 9 Crédit Immobilier et Hôtelier (CIH) 105 Davallon, Jean 43 derogation procedures 79 – 80, 105 Derrida, Jacques 50 Direction de l’Aménagement du Territoire 34 dissent and protest: in Bab Doukala square 95; against energy price hikes 77; press depictions of 64, 68 – 70, 73; in SYBA over 2011 constitution 98 – 99; in SYBA over water/electric prices 99; see also counter-conduct and oppositional politics Douai, A. 61 Dunn, W. D. 85 Eco, Umberto 43 Ecochard, M. 27, 33 Eco-Médias 65, 71 Ennaji, M. 61 Escher, A. 43 Espaces Saada 109, 112, 117, 118, 119 Etablissements Régionaux d’Aménagement et de Construction (ERAC) 104, 105 Euromed Heritage 44 European nouveau residents 4 Fairclough, N. 109 Feagin, J. R. 16 Fédération Nationale des Promoteurs Immobiliers (FNPI) 90 Fes 26 festivals, historically 54 foreign language training 82 – 83, 132 foreign-owned real estate 47, 126; see also housing market and social structures

Index  181 Foucault, M. xiiin4, 18n6, 39n10, 83 – 84, 103n4, 136 – 137, 162 France: impacts on protectorate Morocco by 22 – 23; Treaty of Peace and Friendship (1767) 21 gentrification see housing market and social structures Ginsberg, Allen 124, 126, 127n10 globalization: homogenization and 8; and urban elites in the South 8 – 9; urban mega-projects and authoritarianism 10; use of term 18n8; see also counterconduct and oppositional politics; institutional control and state/market interactions Globalized Authoritarianism: Megaprojects, Slums, and Class Relations in Urban Morocco (Bogaert) 10, 162 Godard, F. 15 – 16, 81 – 82, 101, 102 Gottreich, E. 9 governance: and citizen participation 32; as evaluated by outcomes 88; in global era 8 – 9; and national/local advanced regionalization 30 – 32, 165; references to ideal of good 31 – 32, 162; see also citizenship; Marrakesh, governance of; Morocco Green March (1975) 96 Groupe Addoha 91 – 92, 97, 109, 112, 116, 118, 119 Groupements Régionaux d’Intérêt Touristique (GRIT) 36 guish lands 22 habous lands 22, 24 Hamo (SYBA resident) 99 Hands off my child 52 Hassan II, King 31 – 32, 77, 96, 98 Haute Autorité de la Communication Audiovisuelle (HACA) 118 heritage-commodification 7, 13 – 14, 42 – 44, 161 High Commission on Planning: Tourism in 2030 report 46 – 48 Hochschild, A. R. 133 hotel manager 41, 42, 54 housing market and social structures 16, 104 – 127; linkage between gentrification and social restructuring 126 – 127; medina gentrification of riads 3 – 5, 7 – 8, 46 – 48, 88, 105 – 106, 119 – 123, 121 – 122, 152 – 153; nouvelle ville 106; promotion of apartments based

on Western values 107 – 119, 110 – 111, 113 – 116, 143; realities of social housing 140 – 141, 141 – 146, 143; recasement as slum eradication 98; semantics of 105 – 107; slum eradication 104 – 105; social housing in Tamansourt 5; state intervention of demand and supply 104 – 105; summary conclusion 163 – 164 housing projects: Abwab Marrakesh I and II 97; El-Azzouzia 97; mega housing projects 97 – 98; M’hamid 97, 98 “Howl” (Ginsberg) 124, 126, 127n10 human capital, in knowledge-based economy 35 Human Condition, The (Arendt) 135 ICOMOS (International Council on Monuments and Sites) 46 ideological control and (re)branding of Marrakesh 40 – 57; body count and soul-searching 51 – 53; festival as panacea 49, 53 – 55; hospitality, exception and structural violence 48 – 51; patrimonialization rhetoric 42 – 48; summary conclusion 162; tourist scene 40 – 42 illiteracy 135 In and Out of Morocco: Smuggling and Migration in a Frontier Boomtown (McMurray) 9 individual, the (Foucault) 136 – 137 institutional control and state/market interactions 19 – 39; British-dictated fiscal and monetary reforms 21 – 22; colonial state, capitalism and defensive modernization 21 – 25; early history of Marrakesh 19 – 21; French colonial land appropriation 22 – 25; legacy of modernization 28 – 29; Lyautey and revanchist project 25 – 27; national/ local advanced regionalization and governance 30 – 32, 165; positioning of Marrakesh for tourism 35 – 38, 37; role of Urban Agency 33 – 35; state capitalism and national priorities 29 – 30 interior designer 123 International Festival of Laughter (2011) 54 International Monetary Fund (IMF), on expansion of credit options in Morocco 107 International Population Conference 42 al-Istiqlal party 58, 70 Jagger, Jade 53 Jazouli, Omar 92

182 Index Jessop, B. 16 journalists 72, 77 Justice and Development Party (PJD) 162 – 163 Kraemer, Gilles 70 – 71, 78n11 Kurzac-Souali, A.-C. 70 la Caisse de dépôt et de Gestion (CDG) 34 L’Agence Nationale de Promotion de l’Emploi et des Compétences (ANAPEC) 34 Landlord Associations 26 – 27 law and hospitality (Derrida) 50 L’Economiste (newspaper) 60, 60, 65 – 67, 71, 75 Le Matin du Sahara et du Maghreb (newspaper) 59, 60, 60, 61, 65 – 66 Lewis, Flora 64 Libération (newspaper) 61 Linda (Métiers de la Culture graduate) 106 Little Moroccan (Le Petit Marocain) 58 – 59 L’Office Pour la Formation Professionnelle (OFPPT) 34, 82 Logan, J. R. 120 L’Opinion (newspaper) 58, 60, 60, 61, 70, 71, 74 – 75 Lyautey, Louis H. G. 25 – 28 maisons d’hôtes 47, 100, 126 makhzen lands 22 Mansouri, Fatima-Zahra 79 – 80, 92, 150 maps: Al-Massira neighborhood 96; Daoudiate neighborhood 94; El-Azzouzia housing project 97; four models of town-making 94; Marrakesh, Morocco 3; Marrakesh radial-corridor structure 95; Marrakesh-Tamansourt axis 5; Sidi Youssef Ben Ali (SYBA) neighborhood 99 marginalization see counter-conduct and oppositional politics; urban policy documents and marginalization Maroc Soir Groupe 58 – 59 Marrakesh, governance of: Agence Urbaine de Marrakesh (AUM) 79 – 85, 88, 101; as clientelist regime 102; job creation 80, 83; Mayor’s Office 37, 38, 44; Schéma Directeur d’Aménagement Urbain (SDAU) 33, 34 – 35, 39n19, 79 – 84, 83, 84 – 91, 90, 95 – 96, 98, 101, 102, 128; Urban Agency 8, 33 – 35, 48; Urban Commune 33, 44, 92; see also institutional control and state/market interactions; urban policy documents and marginalization

Marrakesh, introduction 1 – 18; as contested terrain 8 – 9; governance in global era 8 – 9; literature review 9 – 10; maps of 3, 5; medina gentrification 3 – 4, 7 – 8; methodological framework 10 – 18; population of 4, 128; summary conclusion 161 – 165; on UN World Heritage List 3 Marrakesh Convention Bureau 37 Marrakesh locales: Al-Massira neighborhood 96 – 97, 96; Bab Doukala square 76, 95; central mosque built by al-Omrane 147; Daoudiate neighborhood 94, 97; Gueliz neighborhood 93, 95; Jamaa el-Fna square 3, 46, 49, 52, 54; L’Hivernage neighborhood 76 – 77, 95 – 96; Mamounia Hotel 50; medina 3 – 4, 7 – 8, 43, 76, 93 – 95, 94 – 95; M’hamid neighborhood 17, 76; sections of medina on World Heritage List 3, 43; Sidi Ghanem fountain 44, 45; Sidi Ghanem neighborhood 76, 100 – 101; Sidi Youssef Ben Ali (SYBA) neighborhood 64, 68, 69 – 70, 77, 98 – 100, 99, 136; Tamansourt suburb 5, 17, 100, 139 – 144, 141 – 146; Village touristique 77; see also maps Marrakesh-Menara Airport 49 Marrakesh News/MNews (Murrakush al-Ikhbariyyah) 62 – 65, 75 Marxism: on law as juridical illusion 24; on pre-capitalist economic formations 22 – 23 al-Massae (newspaper) 60, 71 – 75, 74 Mawazine: Rhythms of the World festival 53 – 54 McMurray, D. 9 media discourses and place-making 58 – 78; Arabic-language national dailies 64, 71 – 75; branding of Marrakesh 58; content reporting of events, issues, and trends 14 – 15, 62; francophone press 65 – 71, 71; group subjectivity and the stifled individual 62 – 65; Kraemer on ideological functions of the press 70 – 71, 78n11; MNews focus on issues and tactical use of civil society 62 – 65; structure of media in Morocco 58 – 62, 60, 60; summary conclusion 162; symbolic topographies of neighborhoods 75 – 77; see also specific newspapers MedZ 34 mega housing projects see housing market and social structures

Index  183 Meknes 26 melk lands 22, 23 Mellah of Marrakesh: Jewish and Muslim Space in Morocco’s Red City, The (Gottreich) 9 Meskaoui, Mohammed 72 – 73 Minca, C. 40, 53 mock-poetic (Bourdieu) 109 modernity/tradition synthesis see urban policy documents and marginalization Mohammed VI, King 32, 75, 76, 104, 162, 165 Molotch, H. 120 Montada-Forum 46 Morin, Edgar 152 Moroccan Households in the World Economy (Crawford) 9 Morocco: class stratification along ethnic lines 28; constitution (2011) 30, 31, 165; Education Ministry 138 – 139; employment contracts 132; establishment of Urban Agencies 33 – 34; ethics in advertising policies 118 – 119; Green March (1975) 96; Interior Ministry 47, 52; Investment Codes 104; Labor Ministry 138 – 139; legislation to upgrade regional media 61; map of 3; Ministry of Culture 67; open sky agreement with EU 39n23; Plan Rawaj 2020 148; population of largest cities 4; post-independence capital flight from 29; protests/riots/ coup attempts 33; stages of urban planning 27; state capitalism and national priorities 29 – 30; structure of media in 58 – 62, 60, 60; terrorist attacks in 52, 85; Tourism Ministry 30, 36, 47, 53, 82; Tourism Office (ONMT) 54; Treaty of Peace and Friendship (1767) 21; treaty with Spain (1799) 21; Vision 2010 36; see also specific cities; specific state agencies Moufakkir, Omar 51 – 52 moussem tradition 20 – 21 Movement du 20 Février (2009) 53 Mullins, P. 95 al-Nasiri, A. K. 19 National Federation of Real Estate Promoters (FNPI) 105 National Federation of Tourism (FNT) 37 Ndi, A. 149 neoliberalism 16 – 17; see also urban policy documents and marginalization Newcomb, R. 9

New Conquest: Marrakesh, The (documentary) 126 non-governmental organizations (NGOs) 7 – 8, 9 – 10, 30, 46, 64, 65, 82, 133 – 134, 138, 149, 161, 162; see also specific organizations Office National des Aéroports 49 al-Omrane Group 5 – 6, 34, 91 – 92, 98, 100, 105, 109, 110 – 111, 147, 148 Ong, Aihwa 8 – 9, 151 oppositional speech-act (Roy and Ong) 151, 155 Pascon, P. 22 patriarchy see counter-conduct and oppositional politics patrimonialization, defined 44; see also ideological control and (re)branding of Marrakesh Petermann, S. 43 Pinseau, Michel 33 poetry cultural event of Europeans, in Riad X 123 – 126 political and juridical violence (Salahdine) 23 postcolonialism 7, 11, 28, 149 power: administrative 30 – 35, 79; control and resistance modalities of 7, 10 – 11; economic 107, 118; hegemonic 119; relations 7 – 8, 11, 14, 18n6, 42, 61, 68, 73, 84, 86, 101, 161; sacerdotal 75; sovereign 19 – 21, 75, 93; state 23 – 24, 48 – 51, 77, 89, 103n4; structures of 7, 15, 65, 102; symbolic 24, 92 – 101; technologies of 51, 100; see also colonialism; counter-conduct and oppositional politics; ideological control and (re)branding of Marrakesh; Marrakesh, governance of; urban policy documents and marginalization powerlessness 6, 17, 161 press, ideological functions of (Kraemer) 70 – 71, 78n11 Prost, P. 27, 33 Provincial Association of Tourism Operators of Marrakesh (APOTM) 36 pseudo-industrialization see urban policy documents and marginalization Publicis 40 public-private real estate partnerships see housing market and social structures Rabat 26 Rabinow, P. 27

184 Index RADEEMA (Régie Autonome de Distribution d’Eau, Assainissement & Électricité–Marrakech) 99 real estate developers (prometeurs immobiliers) 107 – 108 receptionist 133 reform, use of term (Dunn) 85 Regional Center of Investment (CRI) Marrakesh 37 Regional Council of Tourism (CRT) 36, 37, 38 Region of Marrakesh-Tensift-Haouz 34 re-villagizing (Ndi) 149 riad cook 131 – 132, 164 riad industry see counter-conduct and oppositional politics riad professional 151 – 152 riads see housing market and social structures Roy, Ananya 8 – 9, 151 Ruspoli, Fabrizio, Prince 123 Salah, Nadia 71 Salahdine, M. 23 Samara, T. R. 120 Sarkozy, N. 152 satellite (dormitory) cities 87 Scott, James C. 150 settlements (douars) 22, 91 – 92 silent war (Foucault) 83 – 84, 103n4 simulacra (-um): Baudrillard on 123; culture of 123, 125 – 127, 164 simulated personal address (Fairclough) 109 slum eradication see Agence Nationale pour l’Habitat Insalubre (ANHI); Cities without Slums (Villes Sans Bidonvilles); housing market and social structures Smith, M. P. 16 Socialist Union (al-Ittihad al-Ishtiraki) 59 social order embeddedness (Bourdieu) 119 social stigma areas see urban policy documents and marginalization socio-economic gap, between subordinates and superordinates 6 Soja, E. 48 solidarity economy (Simo) 148 Spain, treaty with Morocco (1799) 21 Strategic Council on Tourism (CST) 36, 39n22 strategy, use of term 81, 102n2 street vendors 139 – 140, 143, 146 – 149

Structural Adjustment Program (SAP) (1980s) 29, 82, 104 subjectivity (-ies) 7, 9, 10, 15, 16 – 17, 62 – 65, 71, 138, 164 sultan’s lands 22, 23 – 24 Sum, N. L. 16 SYBA’s Youth 99 Taoufik, Kamil 90 TelQuel (magazine) 163 terrorist attacks, in Morocco: Casablanca (2003) 85; Marrakesh (2011) 52 tourism advertising: Carré Eden 93, 95; city-branding slogans 48 – 49; on drawbacks of informal services 6; suggestive marketing imagery 53 tourism urbanization (Mullins) 95 trans-Saharan trade 11, 13, 20, 21, 29 twofold social construction (Bourdieu) 104 UNESCO-Maroc 46 United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) 138 United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), World Heritage List 3, 43, 46 urban imaginary (Soja) 48 urban nukta see counter-conduct and oppositional politics urban policy (Castells and Godard) 81 – 82 urban policy documents and marginalization 79 – 103; area of social stigma 98 – 100; area of state intervention 95; areas of commodified memory 93 – 95, 94 – 95; areas of fledgling neoliberalism 97 – 98; areas of modernity/tradition synthesis 96 – 97; areas of pseudo-industrialization 100 – 101; discursive uses of strategy 81 – 84, 83; enclaves of leisurely consumption 95 – 96; image and attractiveness as policy priority 79 – 81; lack of voice and budget restrictions for city officials 91 – 92; problem-solution by groups of actors in SDAU (2008) 90; recommendations by delineated groups of urban actors 85 – 91, 90; reforming the mindsets of subjects 84 – 85; summary conclusion 162 – 163; symbolic topographies revisited 92 – 101; urban population as non-actors 85 – 91

Index  185 use value vs. exchange value (Logan and Molotch) 120 voting rights 137 Women of Fes Ambiguities of Urban Life in Morocco (Newcomb) 9

World Bank 82, 139; reports on Morocco (2012) 32 world of origin (Davallon) 43 World Trade Organization (WTO), Marrakesh Declaration (1994) 41 Zakat (Islamic tithe system) 21