Think Forward.

Morocco: Voices of Rebellion, From Najat Aatabou to El Grande Toto... 11891

Aziz Daouda, 9 mon.

- Art - Society - Philosophy -

3.1 min read.

The recent edition of Mawazine Music Festival did not go unnoticed and will be remembered. There were, of course, tens of thousands of citizens from all over Morocco and beyond enjoying the various stages, with Boutchart’s record simply making them sing along, as well as that great diva singing in playback, provoking the anger of those who cried scam. But above all, there was El Grande Toto. This great star of Moroccan and global urban music, whom many dislike, or dislike intensely. El Grande Toto packed the audience, but also sparked a large number of articles and reactions, mostly unfavorable, with only a few exceptions. The majority of these reactions were rather critical, some almost scathing. *Let me say it straight away: I am not a fan of El Grande Toto nor of his type of music. At my age, it would be an insult to my musical tastes, as I can only be soothed in my Arabic version by Doukkali, Abdelhalim, Belkhayat, Samih, Farid, Oum Kaltoum, and Abdelwahab; in my French version by Brel, Reggiani, Piaf, Barbara; and in my English version by Dylan, Clapton, BB King, James Brown, and many others.* That said, I cannot judge those who dislike him, nor those who love El Grande Toto’s musical genre—that is, all the youth who identify with this style, who resonate with his intonations and rejoice in absorbing his lyrics. It is their time and their music. This reminds me that about thirty years ago, Najat Aatabou could only be heard by accident, passing by a cassette seller’s stall in a souk or secretly in one’s car. Her music seemed annoying and her lyrics vulgar. It took a long time before she was finally accepted, and later adored. What brings me to this topic is that there is something in the artistic trajectories of Najat Aatabou and El Grande Toto that resembles a broken mirror: the shards oppose and scatter, yet, upon closer look, they reflect the same reality. That of a multiple, rebellious Morocco, torn between its traditions and its desires for modernity. A Morocco that thinks it is what it is only little or not really. What it has never truly been except in a falsely constructed imagination. Najat Aatabou is the hoarse voice of the Zemours, the one who emerged in Khémisset, carried by the winds of the Middle Atlas and the whispers of a society still constrained by honor, the gaze of others, and the strictness of conventions. In the 1980s, while the Kingdom was taking its first steps toward social openness, Najat dared to sing what so many women whispered in silence: thwarted loves, betrayal, emancipation, wounded pride, desire—all in rather raw language. Her “Hadi Kedba Bayna” (“It’s an obvious lie”) resonates like a cry, soft but firm, in popular weddings, shared taxis, and the cozy living rooms of the Moroccan diaspora in Europe. With her, chaâbi, the music of the people par excellence, becomes a vector of affirmation. Najat does not apologize for being a woman, an artist, Amazigh, a rebel. She disturbs, sometimes shocks, but she imposes herself. Her music was even used in a global advertisement. Forty years later, it is another Moroccan who shakes the walls of certainties: El Grande Toto, child of Casablanca’s suburbs, dyed hair, tattooed face and arms, and sharp tongue, imposes himself as the bard of an uninhibited Moroccan youth. With him, words snap in darija, intertwine with French and English, flirt unabashedly with taboos: drugs, money, sex, and challenge social hypocrisies. Where Najat Aatabou denounced half-words, Toto displays, claims, provokes. Certainly, the forms differ: Najat draws from the ancestral repertoire, her melodies reminiscent of village weddings and the ululations of yesteryear. Toto, on the other hand, drinks from the sources of global rap, trap, and social networks, where punchlines matter more than silences. But behind these differences, the same sap nourishes their works: the thirst to speak, whatever the cost, without feeling guilty about anything. Najat Aatabou paid a high price for breaking taboos. We still remember the harsh criticisms, the heavy judging looks, the outraged fathers. But time proved her right: she is now respected, even adored, seen as one of the great voices of popular Morocco. El Grande Toto, meanwhile, is still in the midst of the storm. It will take him a long time before he is finally tolerated and accepted. Repeated controversies, court summons, accusations of indecency… Yet, his success does not wane. The numbers speak: millions of streams on platforms, growing international influence, a Moroccan youth that recognizes itself in his anger and dreams. They sing their reality and find themselves in him, whether we like it or not. Ultimately, from the 1980s to today, across centuries, Morocco has never stopped telling its story through its most unsettling artists. There were others before: Zahra Elfassia, Fatna Bent El Houcine, and many known or unknown Chikhates, female voices of the frustrations and hopes of a silenced generation. El Grande Toto, the insolent spokesperson of an urban youth in search of recognition, space, freedom, embodies this spirit today. We must not forget there were others before him: Faddoul, Nass El Ghiwane, Ach Kayne, Rebel Moon, and Lbig, among others. There was also a tradition of rebellion and bold language in malhoun with qassidas that one would no longer dare to sing nowadays, even in the most intimate circles. Between them all, decades and universes, but also this invisible thread that connects those who dare to say out loud what others still keep silent. Perhaps that is what it means to be an artist in Morocco: to shake the established order, to hold a mirror to society, and to accept to pay the price, even if it is too high...

Aziz Daouda

Directeur Technique et du Développement de la Confédération Africaine d'Athlétisme. Passionné du Maroc, passionné d'Afrique. Concerné par ce qui se passe, formulant mon point de vue quand j'en ai un. Humaniste, j'essaye de l'être, humain je veux l'être. Mon histoire est intimement liée à l'athlétisme marocain et mondial. J'ai eu le privilège de participer à la gloire de mon pays .

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Eternal Morocco, Unbreakable Morocco: The Identity That Triumphs Over Exile... 345

Aziz Daouda, 1 d.

- Politics - History - Society -

2.1 min read.

There are affiliations that geography dissolves over time, and others that it strengthens as distance sets in. The Moroccan experience undoubtedly falls into the second category. Across generations, sometimes up to the third or fourth, a phenomenon intrigues. Women and men born far from Morocco continue to recognize themselves in it, to feel attached to it, to project themselves into it. They have left the country or never lived there long-term; they were born far away, but Morocco has never left them. How to explain such persistence? Why does this loyalty cut across social classes, faiths, degrees of religiosity, and even nationalities acquired elsewhere? How is a memory so indelible? How does it withstand the test of time, distance, and new cultural acquisitions, if not through the profound weight of national consciousness? Morocco is not merely a modern state born from 20th-century recompositions. It is an ancient historical construct, shaped by centuries, even millennia, of political and civilizational continuity. Dynasties like the Almoravids, Almohads, Merinids, Saadians, or Alaouites forged a stable political and symbolic space whose permanence transcends apparent ruptures. This historical depth irrigates the collective imagination. It gives Moroccans, including those in the diaspora, the sense of belonging to a history that precedes and surpasses them. Being Moroccan is not just a nationality. It is an inscription in a continuity, a composite identity forged by inclusion. Moroccan identity has been built through sedimentation. It is Amazigh, African, Arab, Andalusian, Hebraic. These are layers that coexist in a singular balance, complementing and interweaving without exclusion. This ancient plurality explains Moroccans' ability to embrace diversity without identity rupture. Thus, a Jewish Moroccan in Europe or a naturalized Muslim elsewhere often shares a common affective reference to Morocco, not out of ignorance of differences, but because they fit into a shared historical and geographical framework. This inclusive identity enables a rarity: remaining deeply Moroccan without renouncing other affiliations, with the monarchy serving as a symbolic thread. In this complex architecture, the monarchy plays a structuring role. Under Mohammed VI, it embodies historical continuity and contemporary stability. For Moroccans abroad, the link to the Throne goes beyond politics. It touches the symbolic and the affective, a dimension fully grasped only by Moroccans. It acts as a fixed point in a shifting world, offering permanence amid changes in language, environment, or citizenship. This transmission occurs invisibly in the family, in rituals. It is not a memory but living, sensitive memories. The diffusion and transfer also manifest in cuisines with ancestral recipes, in music and sounds, in living rooms echoing with Darija, through summers "back home," gestures, intonations, moussems, or hiloulas. Moroccan identity is transmitted less through discourse than through sensory experiences: tastes, smells, rhythms, hospitality. Thus, generations born abroad feel a belonging not formally learned, an active loyalty blending affection and claimed will. The diaspora does not settle for abstract attachment. It acts. Financial transfers, investments, public commitments, and defense of Moroccan positions internationally bear witness. This operational patriotism extends affection into action, a duty to the nation, a Moroccan loyalty. Moroccans may be exiles, but never uprooted. For the Moroccan diaspora, attachment transcends oceans. Even in political, economic, or academic roles abroad, Moroccains carry their country of origin explicitly or implicitly. The otherness of host societies reinforces this identity. The external gaze consolidates this sense of belonging to a culture so distinctive that it crystallizes, is claimed, and magnified. This phenomenon, intense among Moroccans, compels us to name what went without saying in the homeland: a continuity at a distance. Neither frozen nostalgia nor mere inheritance, this relationship is a profound dynamic. Morocco is not just a place; it is the bond that spans generations, adapts without diluting, reminding us that exile does not undo all affiliations. Morocco is in our daily lives, in a perennial, solid, and unyielding memory that defies borders and time.

My Pain Qualifies Me 461

Julius Melien, 2 d.

- Health - Philosophy -

1.3 min read.

At an immersion meeting for psychoanalysts, I heard the phrase: “My pain qualifies me,” and immediately, like a lightning bolt, it struck deeply within me and, with the speed of a thought, made complete sense. I was able to perceive it with a clarity that, honestly, I don’t recall ever experiencing before in my entire life. It was so intense that I felt certain I was in the right place, investing in a career that, until not long ago, I couldn’t have imagined myself pursuing even in my dreams. Although this discovery is recent, given the fascination it caused me, perhaps it had been stored in my unconscious all along, likely as a repressed desire, even due to my own prejudice regarding matters of the human mind. Because of unsuccessful past experiences, I had come to doubt the effectiveness of psychotherapy, even considering it at times as a way of making easy money at the expense of others’ suffering. I believed that a person in distress could simply rely on friends and family to vent, share their problems, and relieve tension, while medications prescribed by doctors would do their part. However, upon hearing that my pain qualified me, now, of course, with a different mindset and studying psychoanalysi, I felt as though I was experiencing a kind of gnosis. I know my pain, or rather, my pains, and I fully understand this statement. When we set out to help someone who carries their own pain, we can even through a simple look, convey to the analysand that we understand what they are going through. This phenomenon is what we call countertransference: emotions, feelings, and thoughts that arise in our unconscious in relation to the analysand. These feelings and emotions are developed by the therapist during a therapy session. In that space, we become aware that there are two souls facing each other, one pouring out their thoughts, anxieties, and traumas, and the other offering attentive listening, care, and guidance, helping them find their path and providing tools to manage their struggles and move forward in life as best as possible. And for the therapist who has experienced, or still experiences pain, it also becomes an opportunity for self-analysis, which undoubtedly gives full meaning to the exchange that takes place between two souls standing face to face with their pains.

AFCON 2025: The Trophy that Sets the Savannah Ablaze.. 565

Aziz Daouda, 2 d.

- Politics - Society - Sports -

2.4 min read.

There are moments when football stops being a game and becomes a brutal revealer of a continent's institutional and political fragilities. The current crisis surrounding the Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON) is the perfect illustration. Between the rigorous application of regulations, the credibility of the Confederation of African Football (CAF), media pressure, and reactions from the Senegalese Football Federation, the affair now extends far beyond sports into a much broader realm, intertwining law, sovereignty, and diplomacy. At its origin, a disciplinary decision that, under normal circumstances, would have been a simple sporting dispute. But the context, symbolism, and players involved have turned this file into a full-blown crisis. The CAF, as the regulatory body, faces a fundamental demand: to enforce its own rules without yielding to pressure. Any weakness in applying the law would open the door to widespread challenges to its authority, including revisiting past decisions and verdicts. In this sense, the decision taken, however contested, fits into a logic of institutional preservation. However, law, as essential as it is, cannot be entirely divorced from its political and emotional environment. Today's events provide perfect proof. The Senegalese side's reaction, perceived as an offense or challenge to the decision, reveals a deeper malaise: a sense of injustice, real or supposed, amplified by a public opinion whipped into a frenzy by a flood of increasingly belligerent statements and remarks. Social media, TV panels, and certain official discourses have turned a legal matter into a symbolic clash between nations. In response, the Royal Moroccan Football Federation remains silent, stoic, calm, and discreet. This is where the main danger lies. Beyond texts and procedures, it is historical relations, built over decades of solidarity and brotherhood, that are now exposed to unnecessary tension. African football, long presented as a vector of unity, risks here becoming a factor of division. And this drift, if not contained, could leave lasting scars. That's precisely what the occult forces, or not so occult, stoking the fire are aiming for. In this climate of escalation, the temptation is great for each side to harden its position. Yet, the history of sports conflicts shows that escalation is rarely a solution. It weakens institutions, undermines competition credibility, and, above all, distances the public from the essentials: fair and credible play. The central question then becomes: how far will this showdown go? A peaceful outcome necessarily requires a return to calm and reason. This does not mean renouncing one's rights or silencing disagreements, but framing them in a controlled manner. Appeal mechanisms exist, whether through direct sports jurisdictions or, if necessary, the international body that is the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS). Its role is precisely to settle such disputes with impartiality and rigor. Awaiting the verdict from this body, even if it is slow, means accepting that law takes precedence over emotion. It also means recognizing that the credibility of African football's components depends on their ability to resolve disputes in line with the rules they have set for themselves. Any other path, pressure, excessive politicization, or media confrontation, would only entrench and worsen the crisis. At its core, this affair raises an essential question about the governance model for African football. A model subject to power plays and momentary emotions, or one based on solid, respected institutions capable of enforcing the law, even when it stings? Ultimately, African football bodies didn't fall from the sky. They are the emanation of a democratic process in which Africa's 54 countries participate in good conscience. The answer to this question will determine not only the outcome of this crisis but also the future of football on the continent. Beyond the present case, the credibility of an entire sports architecture is at stake. In the immediate term, one thing is clear: the time for appeasement must follow that of confrontation and escalation. Preserving the essentials and consolidating fraternity among African peoples is worth far more than a sports victory, even an Africa Cup of Nations trophy. Alas, this is beyond those whose vision doesn't extend past the end of their nose. The CAS will speak soon. Then we'll see who is right or wrong under strict application of the law, with no further recourse possible except a return to reason. Wouldn't it be better, in the meantime, to keep a cool head, maintain lucidity, and calm down? A trophy is only raised when it is deserved—truly deserved.

Faceless War, Disoriented World, Trapped Citizen... 567

Aziz Daouda, 2 d.

- Politics - Philosophy -

2.6 min read.

There was a time when war made sense, or at least appeared to. It pitted identifiable camps against each other, produced winners and losers, and sometimes ended in peace, even imperfect peace, sometimes signed in a train car. Before that, it unfolded in battles for which appointments were even set, far from civilians. They observed each other, sized one another up, and collectively decided the start time of the clashes. A true war of the brave. There were always winners and losers. Thank cinema for reliving those scenes, more or less romanticized, but scenes nonetheless... From World War I to the Cold War, closer to us, conflicts, however tragic, followed a certain historical intelligibility. Since then, joysticks have crept in, and computers have taken over... Things changed; dare we say: they dehumanized. Contemporary war, as it emerges in the triangular confrontation between the United States, Israel, and Iran, seems to have broken with that old logic. It's no longer just complex: it's become ungraspable, unintelligible to ordinary mortals like us. It doesn't just oppose forces; it dissolves the very landmarks that once allowed us to understand what war is. Who is the victor? Who is the vanquished? The question feels almost out of place. For this modern war produces no clear verdict, but a succession of competing narratives saturated with propaganda, disinformation, and what we now call "fakes." Truth itself becomes a battlefield, fragmented, manipulated, inaccessible. Lies are baked into the system. Reality wavers and fades. Yet lives are lost in anonymity, buildings surely turned to mush, billions of dollars vanished, likely burned in milliseconds by traders, exploded without a trace except by making poor people everywhere. In this war, roles seem interchangeable. One of those who triggered the hostilities seeks to extricate itself, as if suddenly discovering the vertigo of what it initiated. The second? Who knows. Its war logic has long been impenetrable. It presents itself as the aggressed party, refuses all negotiation, or pretends to, while expanding the theater of operations. The one retaliating, the third protagonist, loses its leaders, gets hammered daily for over a month, yet seems driven by an endless escalation logic too. Toward what horizon? It strikes beyond its declared adversaries without provoking proportional reactions. Part of its war is waged against those who don't want it and resist with all their might, without retaliation. How long will this last? We must ask: what does "winning" mean in a war with no clear limits or identifiable final objective? We are thus confronted with a profound mutation of war: it is no longer a means in service of a political end, as once thought, but an autonomous, self-sustaining process, almost abstract. A war that no longer aims for peace, but for its own perpetuation. And yet, this distant war is not so distant. Beyond strategies and rhetoric, it's civil societies that pay the price. Here in Morocco, elsewhere in the world, the effects hit with silent brutality. Energy prices climb, threatening psychological thresholds unthinkable just forty days ago: 20 dirhams per liter of gasoline soon. Tomatoes, fish, chicken, lentils, and the rest will follow... Anxiety is very real. The economy becomes war prolonged by other means. The citizen becomes an adjustment variable. It's they who foot the bill. Even when they don't want war, they must still pay for it, wherever they are, even at the ends of the earth. Faced with this, governments seem powerless. They dust off old solutions, already tested and already ineffective, as if economic history itself were trapped in eternal recurrence. This political impotence amplifies the sense of injustice and abandonment. Thus arises the question, almost metaphysical: what have we done to deserve this? This so-human question may be ill-posed. For it assumes an immanent justice in the world's course, a moral logic linking our acts to our collective fate. Yet the tragedy of our era is precisely the absence of that coherence. The world is not just: it is unstable, chaotic, traversed by forces beyond us. Perhaps that's the price of calling ourselves democratic, living in or under democracies... or not. Perhaps we need to rephrase the question. Not: why is this happening to us? But: how to keep living in a world where meaning slips away beneath our staggering feet? That is probably the true philosophical challenge of our time. Not understanding war, for it now escapes classical understanding, but preserving, despite everything, a capacity to think, to resist confusion, to refuse letting lies become the norm. If modern war is faceless, endless, and truthless, then the only possible victory is internal to each of us: upholding, against all odds, a demand for lucidity, a touch of humanism, hope, a dream.

African Football: Between Emotional Populism and Institutional Order.. 1137

Aziz Daouda, 4 d.

- Politics - Sports -

3.3 min read.

The CAF dealt the Senegal national football team an implacable administrative defeat, awarding a default victory to the Moroccan national team in the 2025 AFCON final. This sanction, rooted in the CAF's disciplinary regulations, punishes any abandonment of the pitch, even if temporary. At one point in the match, the Senegalese coach consciously decided to have his players leave the field. Only one remained on the pitch. Under football rules, a match requires at least seven players on the field to continue to its conclusion. Despite winning after a rollercoaster extra time, the team paid the price for blatant indiscipline: unleashed supporters, partial pitch invasion, assaults and injuries, prolonged interruption during which the players returned to the locker rooms on their coach's dramatic order. Forget the simplistic narrative of a "Morocco vs. Senegal" clash that some, particularly on the Senegalese side, push to imply political motives. Nothing could be further from the truth. The affair stems from an initial clash between the Royal Moroccan Football Federation (FRMF) and the CAF. The FRMF asked the CAF to apply its own rules and those of FIFA, questioning their non-enforcement. Recall that the Moroccan national team strictly followed the referee's directives, even resuming play alone on the pitch for 14 minutes while the Senegalese headed to the locker rooms. The question, then, is: why did the referee refrain from applying the rules? The answer lies in the CAF's backrooms. A "CAF official" allegedly ordered the referee to flout the rules and not sanction the team that left the pitch. The FRMF took the matter to the CAF's bodies, which referred it to its Disciplinary Committee, normally chaired by a Senegalese. For convenience's sake, this committee rejected the FRMF's request. Far from giving up, surprised by the decision, the FRMF appealed. In appeal, it is not members who decide, but independent judges selected across the continent. The ruling was unequivocal: applying the rules, the Moroccan national team is declared the 2025 AFCON winner. The dispute between the FRMF and the CAF thus ended. Up to this point, the matter is purely sporting. The Senegalese Football Federation (FSF), unhappy with the Appeal Jury's ruling and defending the on-pitch result, refers the case to the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS). Senegal does not merely contest the decision: it launches a frontal assault on regulatory sovereignty, legally demanding an international corruption probe into the bodies. It is the Senegalese government that responds to the CAF and escalates the case. To prove corruption, it will need to identify the corrupted party and the corrupter... Through its decision, the CAF prioritized law over on-pitch emotion—an emotion unfortunately fueled off-pitch by the stupidity of those who, for a few more followers or AdSense dollars, spread indescribable hatred between two brotherly peoples. This is not a Senegal-Morocco issue, but a sporting one between the FRMF and the CAF, and between the FSF and the CAF. Some reminders are in order for the instigators on both sides, without defending the CAF and its bodies, which will answer the corruption accusations. The CAF's regulatory fortress rests on three impregnable pillars, bolstered by these regulation excerpts: **WITHDRAWALS** **ARTICLE 82** If, for any reason, a team withdraws from the competition or fails to appear for a match, or refuses to play or leaves the pitch before the regulatory end of the match without the referee's authorization, it will be deemed to have lost and will be definitively eliminated from the ongoing competition. The same applies to teams previously disqualified by CAF decision. **ARTICLE 84** The team that breaches the provisions of Articles 82 and 83 will be definitively excluded from the competition. It loses the match 3-0. If the opposing team was leading by a more favorable score at the time of the match stoppage, that score will be maintained. Additional measures may be taken by the Organizing Committee. The three pillars underpinning the decision are thus: **Absolute compliance**: Article 82 defines any team withdrawal as abandonment, triggering automatic forfeit. The 14 Senegalese minutes fall squarely under it, without ambiguity. **Mechanical proportionality**: The sanction is not discretionary; it flows verbatim from the texts and is validated by CAS jurisprudence. **Institutional primacy**: The referee tolerated a de facto resumption under pressure, but the CAF holds the power to rule on discipline. What will the CAS say if it is indeed seized by the Senegalese side? Conservative by nature, the CAS never positions itself as a sports judge; it upholds bodies when rules are clear. As an inflexible guardian of stability, it will reject any Senegalese "symbolic legitimacy." To prevail, Senegal must outmaneuver: invoke a resumption invalidating the abandonment, a "disproportionate" sanction, or the "spirit of the game." Fragile ploy: the CAS has systematically dismissed such escapes when texts are explicit. Several African federations, including the FRMF in the 2015 AFCON affair, as well as various clubs and CAF-affiliated associations, have appealed to the CAS against sanctions for forfeits, withdrawals, or regulatory breaches. In these cases, the CAS has consistently favored a strict reading of applicable regulations, dismissing arguments based on force majeure or mitigating circumstances when texts provided for automatic sanctions. The affair's outcome will inevitably be the CAF's victory, confirming the Appeal Jury's judgment. The Senegalese forfeit will be upheld, the title confirmed for Morocco. Jurisprudence will emerge strengthened by the triumph of law, shielding future competitions from chaos. One slim surprise remains possible: a replay or revision if the CAS rules the abandonment was not definitive. But will it risk unprecedented instability by overriding such clear rules? This is not a matter of interpretation, but of pure rule application. The CAS will crown the CAF, exposing Senegal's precarious position. Far from a bilateral duel, this crisis pits rule respect against populist temptation. Law will prevail: the CAF will reaffirm its sovereignty, for an African football governed by legislation, not emotional riots. The 2025 AFCON, not confiscated, will mark the consolidation of a continental legal order.