Moroccans’ Relationship to the Law: A Great Misunderstanding… 126
The relationship between Moroccans and the law reveals a profound ambiguity, fueled by a build-up of paradoxes and historical, cultural, and political contradictions. It cannot be explained solely by a lack of communication or pedagogy, but by a deeply rooted perception in which the law is not seen as a collective framework to be respected out of conviction, but as an external constraint, often imposed and rarely internalized.
First, one must highlight the ignorance—sometimes deliberate—of the very existence of many laws. In numerous cases, the Moroccan citizen only discovers a text when it is opposed to them in a conflictual situation. This reactive, rather than proactive, relationship with the law generates paradoxical behaviors: resigned acceptance when it imposes itself forcefully, but also recourse to excuses, justifications, or feigned ignorance whenever its application becomes restrictive.
To this lack of knowledge is added an ambivalent attitude: the law is respected not out of moral adherence, but out of fear of sanction. Road traffic provides the clearest illustration: the presence of a police officer results in scrupulous respect for the code, while their absence unleashes anarchic behavior. In other words, authority substitutes for civic conviction.
But the problem does not lie solely in individual behavior. The legal framework itself suffers from a lack of updating and adaptation. Many Moroccan laws are inherited from a bygone era, conceived in another social context, and struggle to address today’s realities. The legislative process, too slow and often opaque, widens the gap between texts and citizens’ aspirations. Public debates on bills are rare, if not nonexistent, and civil society finds only a marginal place in them. This democratic shortfall is compounded by the chronic passivity of political parties and the decline of union membership, depriving the public arena of genuine contradictory debate. The situation is also aggravated by the language issue: when debates do take place, laws are written, discussed, published, and applied in a language that is not the everyday language of Moroccans.
Added to this is the perception of institutional inefficiency: a parliament marked by a lack of competence and seriousness, a political elite sometimes disconnected, and local authorities unable to translate citizens’ needs into effective texts and decisions. Thus, some laws appear disconnected—or even foreign—to social realities. They sometimes criminalize harmless behaviors that harm neither the individual nor the community, but instead reflect the imposition of a conservative morality at the expense of individual freedom. Religious morality is never far away. Hence the crucial question: where does law end and morality begin? And above all, what place should ethics have in the governance of a country in transition, a country aspiring to development and modernity and making colossal efforts in that direction?
Faced with these gaps, citizens develop strategies of adaptation, sometimes of survival. The law becomes flexible, respected or not depending on the situation, depending on the eye of authority. Respect is no longer a conviction but a calculation. But can one demand respect for a law perceived as illegitimate, useless, or unjust? Can texts be maintained in force when the majority of citizens systematically bypass them, and even the agents charged with enforcing them transgress them individually?
This ambiguous relationship is built from childhood, in the transmission of social norms. A child learns at school that alcohol is forbidden out of respect for religion and the law, but at home or nearby sees it consumed casually. They are taught respect for the traffic code, but their father runs red lights whenever the police are not around. This contradictory education creates lasting confusion between proclaimed values and lived practices, reinforcing the idea that the law is not a universal rule but a contextual constraint. Thus emerges a sense of fear rather than respect for laws, a belief that they are meant for others and not oneself; a perception that the law is imposed rather than serving to protect everyone’s rights.
Social networks and certain public voices, as YouTuber Maysa recently did, contribute to exposing these inconsistencies. In a video, she highlighted the multiple Moroccan laws that, although still in force, are almost never applied. This illustrates an implicit permissiveness that undermines the credibility of the rule of law. A law that exists without being enforced becomes a mere symbol, even an instrument of arbitrary selectivity. It should at the very least be revised.
Law is not meant to be a mere tool of control, much less an end in itself. It must enable social harmony, protect freedoms, and regulate collective life. It must evolve with its time, reflect society’s aspirations, and avoid imposing outdated modes of thought. Today, Moroccans have changed, their lifestyles have evolved, but the legal framework and collective mentality remain frozen in old representations. Many openly speak of “social hypocrisy,” denouncing the double language between words and deeds in public, between official discourse and actual practices.
Breaking out of this ambiguity requires a twofold shift: on the one hand, a bold legal reform that adapts laws to social realities and contemporary values; on the other, an effort of awareness-raising and education to reconcile citizens with the law. This transformation can only succeed if Moroccans agree to break with the social ambivalence and split personality that corrode daily behaviors.
Reflection on the relationship between Moroccan citizens and the law thus opens a broader field: that of ethics, social evolution, and modernization of the legal framework. A state of law cannot thrive without collective adherence, and a society cannot be built on rules that everyone strives to circumvent. Restoring the law’s legitimacy and credibility is to lay the foundations for a more coherent, just, and respected coexistence.
Judging from the clashes around the *Moudawana* and other legislative projects—between the Minister of Justice and certain parliamentarians of a political current that sees itself as guardian of the temple—it seems difficult to move forward at the necessary speed in today’s world.
