Bailey Carkenord Blog Post 2 – “Am I a good citizen?”

“May I interview you about citizenship?’

“Yes, yes of course,” Mohammed nods and adjusts his glasses as I reach into my bag for my laptop.

Mohammed is my language partner at the American Language Center in Fez. Outside of classes, he helps me review my darija in exchange for a chance to practice his English with a native speaker. His English is far better than my darija—he is receiving his master’s in English this year—but he is patient and helpful as I navigate the new words and phrases. We have just finished my darija lesson, but I have a few more questions.

“I have to interview a Moroccan about their opinions on citizenship for class,” I explain as I open a new Word Document. “Are you a Moroccan citizen?” It seemed like a good place to start.

“Yeah,” he says. “I was born here.”

“Are there any other ways to become a Moroccan citizen? For example, if I wanted to become a Moroccan citizen, could I?”

“Yes, yes, you could.” He pauses, thinking. “You would have to stay here for a long time, and then apply for citizenship, and…” he trails off, grasping for words. “It is a lot of steps, I don’t know the exact procedure, I’m sorry.”

“Mashi mushkil,” I tell him. No problem.

Mohammed eyes my fingers as they fly across my keyboard. “Are you typing everything I say?”

I pause and look up from my laptop. “Oh, yes, is that okay?”

“Oh, yes, yes, it is fine,” he says. “But, I feel bad. I want to give you good answers so you can do well on your assignment.”

I assure him that his answers won’t have any direct impact on my grade. “I just want to hear what you think.”

“Okay, okay,” he agrees, and we continue.

“What rights do you have as a Moroccan citizen?”

“Oh, well, I study for free, I benefit from Moroccan security and I am safe.”

I have to prod him to speak openly again before he continues, “What else? Oh, I don’t know if we have, like, a healthcare program. I’m not in one, but I don’t pay much for healthcare here. I don’t have a job. They don’t help us with that because we’re not part of the upper class. We don’t have connections.”

“Are there any rights that you wish you had as a citizen?”

“Well, for instance, two days ago, I got caught by a policeman for not wearing a helmet [on my motorcycle], and I had to pay a fine. Paying a fine is fine, but they don’t apply that law to everyone, and I don’t like that. I wish the laws applied to everyone.”

Fair enough.

“Do you think immigrants should be able to be Moroccan citizens? And have all of the same rights as you?” With all of the heated debate about immigration in my home country, I am eager to hear his answer.

He answers quickly. “No, not all of them, because not all of them behave in a good way. Like, there are three African people who killed—did you hear about this?”

I shake my head no.

“Oh well, a while ago there were three African people who killed one guy in Morocco. He was working as a guard in a place. So, these people should not be allowed to be here. But there are other people that are good, you can live with them. They’re from Senegal or Mali and they come here to study and get jobs, and they should be allowed.”

I nod slowly as I type up his response. Mohammed’s words almost echo the fears of those who oppose immigration to the United States. I know American people who claim that all Latinx immigrants are violent criminals who are out to steal American’s jobs, and then turn around and praise the hardworking nature of their ancestors who emigrated from Germany, Italy, or other European countries. I don’t know much about immigration patterns in Morocco, so I can’t make any deeper comparisons in the moment. And besides, I am not here to critique Mohammed’s opinions, only listen to them. I carry on with my questioning.

“What do you think separates a good citizen from a bad citizen?”

He ponders for a moment, then says, “I think that is someone who cares about the common goals of the country. Someone who wants to help his country to be developed and good, rather than just caring about yourself and your interests. So, yeah, I have my goals, I have my objectives, I want my plans to be successful, but I care about other people as well. So that is what makes a good citizen. Then there are people who abuse other people’s right, they are bad citizens, even though they have high status and positions.”

It is the second answer in which he has mentioned class in relation to Moroccan citizenship. I have heard similar sentiments from the few other Moroccan students that I have spoken to—that socioeconomic inequality is one of the major qualms facing the country. I decide to delve deeper into Mohammed’s civic engagement.

“Have you ever voted in an election?”

“No,” he answers flatly. When I press as to why, he offers, “I don’t vote because we don’t have transparency and credibility in the process. I don’t believe that the people who deserve to be on the ballot are there. I have never voted, and I don’t think I ever will as long as the system is like this.”

I ask if any changes could make him consider voting.

“I need to see the right person in the right place. Someone who deserves to be there, who is honest and credible and cares about people.”

He asks if I have ever voted. “Yep,” I quip, typing away. I find it interesting that the reasons Mohammed cites for not voting are the ones that motivate me to exercise my civic duty. I vote in an effort to ensure that the “right people” end up in power. I am a tad heartbroken that Mohammed has such a dismal outlook on democracy.

“Did you vote for Trump?” he inquires.

I laugh and shake my head. “No, no, no.”

Mohammed laughs, too. “Trump is a business man, yes?”

“Mmmhmm.”

He cracks a grin. “So he should run his business and let someone else run the country!”

We both laugh loudly, probably disturbing the students studying around us.

“Alright, alright,” I say, when we finish chuckling. “Please don’t hate me, but I have to ask the million-dollar question: what does citizenship mean to you?”

He smiles. “Citizenship to me is, to behave in a good way, living with other people and respecting their rights. And, at the same time, it’s being respected yourself.”

I nod in agreement. A solid answer.

For a moment the space is filled only by the sound of my typing. I am about to tell Mohammed that I am out of questions when he cocks his head to the side and asks a question himself. I hesitate, not sure if I am meant to answer or if Mohammed is having a moment of introspection. We are both quiet for a minute as we reflect inwardly on the meaning of his words:

“Am I a good citizen?”