As Fez was my first exposure to any form of Moroccan city, it was certainly a lot to take in. A culture and way of living very different from any I had experienced while in the States, Fez was an intimidating place, especially in the first week. It’s population was largely a poor one, one that felt looked down upon by most Americans and thus returned the gesture. As such, it took a while for me to feel welcome in the place I called home yet felt so unwelcome. However, such a situation was not one I planned on remaining in. So, I made a very conscious effort to interact with as many people as I could, forming positive relationships by demonstrating how much I value their city and way of life. This effort culminated one night while outside Batha in front of the taxi station. What my friends and I witnessed appeared to be a congregation of every kid in the neighborhood under eight years old, playing in the piazza. Within a half and hour, we joined in the games they were playing, and eventually became the fascination and source of delight of every kid there. It was in that moment that the harsh city that had publicly seemed so unwelcoming appeared to officially welcome us into the community, with both children and their parents feeling completely safe and open to us. In the days that followed, I had the beautiful experience of feeling completely at home in a place that had been a strange, impoverished, and subliminally hostile environment only three weeks before. Just as I would run into acquaintances and friends around town, so too did I run into these kids and their parents in and around the alleys and streets of the Madina. Such an experience was absolutely worth the time and effort necessary to get to that point, and is not an experience I feel I will have in Rabat.

A much more conducive city in terms of the lifestyle Westerners are used to, Rabat is without doubt a more feasible option in terms of assimilation. With it’s much more developed new city, tram system and greater fluency in Western culture, Rabat would without doubt have been an easier start to my time in Morocco. However, an easier experience is neither something I wish I had or I think I should have. For while Rabat is without doubt a more accessible city, it does not have the same feeling of community, extremes in all aspects of life, and beautiful chaos I felt while in Fez. That being said, I have only spent a single week here, and I am sure that this city will open just as Fez did. My only fear is that it will be both easier and less rewarding, for while it is nice to not have to fight to feel at home, it is also not nearly as satisfying an accomplishment.

John Argentino

When thinking about the ways in which a model citizen’s character manifests itself, especially during my time in Morocco, I instantly think back to the time I was traversing the span of the Madina, trying to make it back home as the Sun was getting closer to setting. Along my journey from the heart of the Madina to the edge in which I lived, I soon was separated from the group I was with and travelling alone, unsure of how to elicit help in a city that I had seen on multiple occasions to contain those ready to take advantage of the foreigners’ learning curve. As such, I attempted to avoid asking someone to escort me, but rather point me in the right direction. Despite asking this question to a multitude of people on my way back to Batha, I only received two responses: the first was an expressed effort to escort me for an absurdly steep price, hoping the novelty of Morocco’s relatively weak currency would compel me to believe that the price was fair. Such an effort, one that is not nearly proportional to the favor being asked, was not a solely negative experience for me. It also pointed out the simple nobility shown by simply pointing someone in the right direction, giving a few instructions and wishing them on their way. Such a small act is not an enormous demonstration of good citizenship, but it is all that is necessary. Citizenship is not about one person going completely out of their way to walk a helpless wanderer through the city, but rather send them on to the next person who will continue the same simple act of pointing. Such an act held no significance to me before I came to Fez, and saw that such an act that I have taken for granted for is not omnipresent, and instead can be dismissed in favor for acts that serve an individual’s desires to a greater extent. And yes, while such an act and it’s significance may very well be underwhelming, it does teach that engaged citizenship can be very simply and elegantly embodied in the saying “it takes a village.” However, this quote is misleading, for while it does take a village, that does not mean it takes everything from every member of the village. If the village as a whole is conscious and generous enough, then the guiding of a “blind man” to his home requires nothing less than simple courtesy and a small degree of generosity from each person, knowing that the little effort they put in, though seemingly meaningless, will get a man home when combined with the equally small efforts of those in his or her community.

-John Argentino

In “Master and Disciple,” Abdellah Hammoudi focuses on his native Morocco to explore the ideological and cultural foundations of the persistent authoritarianism. He builds on the work of Foucault to show that at the heart of Moroccan culture lies a paradigm of authority that juxtaposes absolute authority against absolute submission. In his book, he argues that the schema of authority seen in the master-disciple dialectic is therefore the same as the one which shapes all precedence elations, including the superior-subordinate relationship that forms the backbone of modern bureaucratic and political order in Morocco. Its work is visible at the global level of hagiographic history and generally speaking in cultural history. In his analysis of the master and the disciple, inasmuch as they are figures of ambiguity, he finds that they appear to be in contact with the invisible (this is the meaning of the walaya) and combine within themselves the two principle (feminine and masculine) of reproduction. It is precisely their continuous presence, in the form of uninterrupted emergence of charisma, which maintains Moroccan society. Its influence is so pervasive and so firmly embedded that it ultimately legitimizes the authoritarian structure of power. Hammoudi contends that as long as the Master-Disciple dialectic remains the dominant paradigm of power relations, male authoritarianism will prevail as the dominant political form.

One of the reasons I enjoyed the book is because it helped explain the roots of Moroccan authoritarianism differently than most of the other scholarly work I have read. There are many scholars who came up with theories of why it has been so hard for democracy to take root in the Middle East. Many of these studies claim that factors like poverty, lack of education, inequality, or a lack of established civil society. All of these factors do in fact contribute to making it easier for authoritarianism to thrive. But these factors have been present in many other countries that have been able to become democratic now. The Moroccan youth have always been silenced by the patriarchal and tribal concept of respect of seniority. In presence of the seniors, the youth are taught to keep silent and listen to the elders who have more experience. So, actually the youth never get a chance to express their opinions or become part of a political elite. Indeed, the whole political and social arena is off limits to them, while the elites dominate the scene. In Morocco and the Arab world, the youth are stifled and repressed and any rebellion on their part is considered as a rejection of tradition. By using the relationship between the master and disciple, Hammoudi explains this situation in Morocco using culturally relevant conditions that are relevant within Morocco’s context.

However, I finished the book with still many questions in my mind. Hammoudi mentions that “neither inversion rituals nor the process of mystical initiation are specific to Moroccan society.” He says: “Thus the essential characteristics of Moroccan authoritarianism show it to be, despite significant differences, no more than a variant of the modern Arab authoritarianism.” I couldn’t help but think if that was the case, then why is it that Arab protestors in Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya have toppled their governments, while a number of other countries have yet to experience upheavals of such magnitude. Among those countries is Morocco, a country with a long history of political protests against tyrannical rule, both colonial and domestic. Central to the monarchical regime’s strength is its longevity – the Alaoui dynasty gained control of most of Morocco in 1664 – and its claim of descent from the Prophet Muhammad. King Mohammed is aided by a powerful propaganda machine – his image adorns streets and shops across the country. Hammoudi’s book, although it may have explained the conditions that contribute to Moroccan authoritarianism, it does not explain what contributes to the robustness of the Moroccan regime that has prevented it from experiencing upheavals like similar countries such as Egypt. He compares the similarity between Morocco and Egypt when he states: “Moreover, some remarks on two other Arab societies, the Algerian and the Egyptian, will help us realize that the master-disciple relationship may still be very much at work there too. Of all Arab societies countries Algeria and Egypt are perhaps the most radically affected by change since the nineteenth century, yet the paradigms of domination and submission do not differ there from the ones I have described in Moroccan society.” If Morocco is similar to Egypt in terms of the presences of the master-disciple relationship, why has it not been hit by the wave that is sweeping through the region? Egypt has experienced a revolution in 2011 when the Mubarak regime was toppled, and in 2013 when Morsi was removed. Is Morocco an exception to this rule? If so, I had hoped that he would explain the conditions that make it different from other Arab countries affected by the protests.

Another critique I have for the book is that, despite the fact that Hammoudi has tried his best to avoid orientalist approaches to explaining the conditions in Morocco, I still couldn’t help but notice the essentialist and over-simplifying approach he had towards Moroccan authoritarianism. In explaining the robustness of the Moroccan regime only through the relationship of the master and disciple, Hammoudi ignores other social, historical, economic, and cultural factors that complicate the reality of Morocco and has stripped down this phenomenon to one underlying and unchanging ‘essence’ which is Sufism. I would have hoped that he would further explore these other factors that explain the unique robustness of Moroccan authoritarianism as opposed to other Arab regimes.

In conclusion, it was interesting to read about the cultural aspects that affect the way politics are performed because scholars tend to ignore that aspect during their research and publications.  However, this book is most definitely not for the casual reader or for the general public. It uses difficult vocabulary and complicated concepts that would be difficult for the casual reader, and it seems that it is more directed to scholars and professional anthropologists. This particular style of writing makes the work inaccessible and more obscure to the average person. Scholars should take more care to make their work more accessible to the general public. But despite the fact that his book could be improved, I definitely appreciate the fact that he taken a risk in publishing this book. It is risky to write about authoritarianism in non-democratic societies, and it is definitely very dangerous for Arab scholars living in the Arab world to do so.

                Before delving into the meat of Abdellah Hammoudi’s Master and Disciple, it is imperative that we first examine the characteristics the book and its author have. Hammoudi’s Master and Disciple is an examination into the development of the authoritarian political system and the cultural sircumstance surrounding and causing it. As such the story is written from a third person narrator perspective, likely in a conscious effort to embolden the legitimacy of the books ethos, or credibility, while taking away from -the book’s pathos, or emotional impact, which would in this case would be counter-productive to the author’s objective: to provide an objective historical analysis of a time during most of which he was not alive. This can be expected from such a scholar as Hammoudi, whose purpose is not to convince but rather to inform.

                As this is a dense account of a very complex and intricate aspect of Moroccan political history, it was imperative that Hammoudi take great lengths to make sure all aspects of Morocco’s political system, often foreign to western readers, were clearly explained. As a result, that is exactly what Hammoudi did. Throughout the book, all concepts were introduced with not only a definition, but also a less literal but more comphrehensive translation of many Arabic terms that have no equivalent in English, or French in which the book was originally written. One example of such an explanation can be found on page 61, in which he describes the social classes that exist, one of which was the the descendants of saints (mrabtin). Such a social construct is more complex than apparent at first glance, and so Hammoudi eplains, ” The last category was complex; in practice its members could be classified either on top of the ladder, right below the chorfa, or lower than the masses of ordinary men and women, depending on the the authority of the charisma they inherited .” Hammoudi then goes on to articulate how dependent this status was on others. Such an ambiguous form of social status is difficult to understand for an outsider, so it was imperative that Hammoudi take the time to articulate the nuances of such a social construct. This was something Hammoudi did without fail throughout the book, almost to a fault. 

                When it came to articulating his argument, Hammoudi performed without fail. There was not a single assertion that was simply stated; in fact, the amount of detail provided to support a particular statement was often overdone, and might have even distracted from the more significant meaning.  Furthermore, there is a huge topic which Hammoudi leaves unaddressed. While Hammoudi does address in great detail the cultural factors that are to blame for the sustenance of an authoritarian government despite its interruption by French colonization, he fails to explain why Western nations were able to move away from authoritarian governments claiming divine right towards more democratic forms of government while Morocco was not. What was the fundamental difference between the two cultures that permitted France and the rest of Europe to change their form of rule, and might be hindering the nations of the Arab world. It’s all well and good that Hammoudi points to the nature of Moroccan culture and supports its identity as a perpetuating agent of authoritarian rule, but such a claim requires an alternative, an alternative that Hammoudi fails to provide. While it would be nice to support this take with a passage from the text, it is difficult to support the absence of a passage from the text with a passage from the text. Now, despite these drawbacks, it would not be possible to assert that what Hammoudi did in this text is not significant; while it is only a piece of the puzzle, it is now a piece that can be understand with far greater confidence than could previously.

                While it is difficult to challenge the credibility of the author’s information as a result of there being such a vast amount of it, it is much more feasible to support the credibility of the author due to the extensive use and citing of outside sources in his writing, as well as the fact that Professor Hammoudi is a highly regarded scholar of the mechanisms of Moroccan politics. It’s very selection by our professor further lends to its credibility, as does its relevance in discussions I have had with other Moroccan scholars of equally high regard.

                The book tells the story of how Morocco’s authoritarian style of government came to exist and has been sustained throughout a very dynamic and tumultuous history whose most significant “wrench in the gears” was a long period of French colonization and regime change. However, the story is told both from the perspective of the higher workings of the political and upper class of Morocco, as well as how those workings were manifestations of much more fundamental cultural characteristics that lended to Morocco’s current political atmosphere. One such fundamental characteristic is articulated in the book’s title, and that characteristic is the relationship between “Master and Disciple” in the form of Islam that has now been adopted by Morocco, Sufism. Despite being a religion in which the faults of humanity are to be found and conquered within the self, Sufism also asserts that such a journey of self-purification requires the wisdom and guidance of a shaykh, or spiritual guide. This ­shaykh is an extremely enlightened and wise individual, and as such commands complete respect and obedience from he who seeks guidance. This relationship, one that is fundamental to Islam in Morocco, is one that permeates Moroccan society, and is also one that encourages the subjugation of individuals to those deemed more educated, and more enlightened. To go against such a relationship is to go against Islam, and so having a king who is the commander of the faithful leads to a system of government with cannot be questioned without questioning Islam—the very backbone of Morocco’s value system and culture—in the process. This is one the more significant emergent properties—known in the realm of biology as a property of a system that arises from a unifying characteristic that exists in the system’s many components—of Morocco’s political system that Hammoudi comments on, but is only one of many. Another more tangible and auxiliary emergent property of Morocco’s government is the relationship between the king and the nobility, one whose dynamic is connected to the Moroccan custom of gift-giving and is also not totally dissimilar to that of France during the reign of Louis XIV. Strange that these two countries had/have such similar government dynamics and the one that overcame their government came to colonize and overcome the other. Now while this is only one of the many connections Hammoudi draws, most follow this theme of emergent properties. As a result, it is my belief that Hammoudi successfully accomplishes the goal he set out with, which was to illustrate how entrenched the dynamics of Morocco’s political system are in its culture, and that is why it was able to be sustained despite the significant interruption made by French colonization.

               Despite the few drawbacks to Hammoudi’s intensely focused style of writing, he fully  accomplishes what he set out to, which was to show how embedded the roots of Moroccan authoritarianism are in the fundamental relationships that permeate Moroccan culture. And if it was not possible for decades of French colonialization to disrupt the tendency of Moroccan government to default to authoritarianism, what could?

To talk simply on what has caught my eye since arriving in Morocco would require far too much time and space on the page to be remotely useful to anyone interested in the distinctions of larger scope that permeate life in Fez. As such, I will refrain from examining all the little gems that are so bountiful and easy to point out. Those are for the curious explorer to discover on his or her own. Furthermore, I am in no position to comment on the most significant of them, as the time I have been here in Fez has only allotted for my discovery of what I’m sure is a practically negligible percentage. Instead, I will try to articulate the experience I have had in being witness to the dramatic yet almost subliminal distinction that exists in the overall interaction of society, one that manifests itself in a variety of ways and one which I have come closest to describing as a sort of beehive.

The first manner in which I found this beehive-esque society to manifest itself was in traffic, both automotive and pedestrian. What first caught my eye was the manner in which pedestrians disregarded the boundry between sidewalk and road completely, and walked through moving traffic as if the cars were simply other pedestrians. Similarly, the cars moved in between lanes and and pedestrians as if they themselves were simply strolling through the street. The consistent disregard for conventional rules and distinctions adhered to in a far more significant manner in the United States caught me off guard upon my arrival, despite having read about it previously. Something I said to a friend while walking across the street was that the cars and their drivers act as if under the delusion that they are pedestrians and not the drivers of very dangerous vehicles. However, as such a paradigm is both understood by and embedded in everyone else, the result is a remarkably effective system of traffic, one that appears to be completely natural to citizens, which is why they appear to be at complete ease in between lanes of cars moving at no slow place. The only native I have seen that expressed visible discomfort was a girl who could not have been any older than five years of age, staying close to her mother while passing one of the many chaotic circle intersections that are scattered throughout the city. It is within these circles that the beehive truly comes to life, a whirlpool of activity that requires both complete attention and caution as well as daring from non-natives in order to navigate it. The functioning of such a system comes from the universal understanding that all participants are constantly both self-aware and aware of their surroundings, an understanding that cannot be safely assumed to exist in traffic “philosophies” like that of the United States. Strangely enough, though it has only been a week, I have found myself becoming more comfortable navigating this hub of jaywalkers and cautiously aggressive drivers that further add to the buzz that permeates Fez.

Now, in the eyes of an outsider (including myself upon first witnessing this phenomena), such a seemingly unorganized and chaotic system must endanger its participants far more than any other more regulated system. However, as of yet, I have not witnessed a single instance in which a car or pedestrian was in an accident. As such, I must challenge the notion that such a system is an absolute threat to the safety of everyday people trying to navigate the streets of Fez. After all, as is most likely the result of the heightened awareness required to navigate such an environment, I have yet to see a single pedestrian–and more importantly, a single driver–on their cell phone while navigating the street, or being otherwise distracted. Such is an almost omnipresent occurrence in (New York in my personal experience, and) the United States. Now, I am not making any assertions that one system is better or safer than the other, but the apparent functionality and safety of such a system can teach us that maybe we need a little more chaos in our lives, if for no other reason than to keep us on our toes.