Which Morocco does the American News Media See?

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It's been nearly four weeks since Moroccans approved King Muhammad VI's constitutional reforms, and the American and European media remains split between praise for and skepticism of the nation's step towards democracy. Depending on who you read, watch or listen to, you can come away with radically different perspectives on Morocco's political situation. To make sense of these points of view, today I'm asking the news media, "Which Morocco do you see?"

Writing in the New York Times, columnist Nicholas Kristof presents a single-minded view of Morocco's protests and reform movement. He favors the 'fight the power' narrative, exclusively quoting street protesters and liberal political activists critical of the monarchy and desiring a change to full democracy. He portrays the monarchy as "grudgingly" moderate, citing contradictions between prior reforms and the current lack of political freedoms to illustrate the government's equivocal commitment to democratization. In the end, Kristof places Morocco at a crossroads, between real reform and a violent crackdown, a la Bahrain and Yemen, and stating that there is a "whisper of hope" that King Muhammad will do "the right thing."

We find a more balanced assessment of the political situation in Aida Alami's report on the constitutional referendum, also for the New York Times. She begins by quoting an exchange in which a taxi passenger criticizes the February 20 movement for continuing their protests: "Can’t they just leave us in peace. They wanted a new constitution. They got it. What else do they want?" The driver responds, "They are fighting for our rights. I hope they keep on marching until our health and education systems are fixed and corruption, the biggest ill of this country, is gone."

With this frame, she goes on to illustrate some of the constitutional referendum's key drawbacks: the short period of time between the announcement of the reforms and the vote itself, how the King's support for the reforms may have influenced the vote, and the reform's failure to fully address the pro-democracy movement's demands. Her article concludes by predicting that the protest movement will continue until it achieves its goals.

On the other side of the spectrum are the journalists who have joined many Western governments in praising Morocco for its peaceful and 'real' response to the protest movements. The best example of this is CNN's Fareed Zakaria whose interview with Taieb Fassi Firhi, Morocco's Foreign Minister, last Sunday gave the Moroccan government 8 minutes in the limelight to plug its take on the constitutional reforms.

Zakaria introduces Firhi, stating that Morocco, unlike other Arab Countries, "seems to be doing something right" in its response to the February 20 pro-democracy protests. Firhi comes across as harmless (undoubtedly aided by his poor English), and spends the interview explaining how the Monarchy has always supported reform ('we've been reforming for decades'), is moderate both politically and religiously, and is a "special" and "wonderful" place. You come away from the interview enamored with Morocco, the land of adorable government officials who love democracy and moderate Muslims who love Jews.

So how can we make sense of all of this?

This media coverage illustrates the convergence of two narratives: "Arab authoritarianism" and "Moroccan exceptionalism." Kristof strongly represents the former. His article rests on several assumptions: Arab autocrats abhor democracy, only enact superficial reforms that they are doubtful to implement, and pro-democracy movements are always right and deserve our sympathy. This is a pretty simple approach to a complex situation, and Kristof makes some errors.

He never questions whether 'democracy now' is the best step for Morocco. He doesn't address any of the challenges associated with a democratic transition in Morocco, namely illiteracy, corruption and economic inequality. The question of creating real democratic institutions in a country of 50% illiteracy is never addressed. He mentions corruption as one of the nation's ills under the King, but never considers what its role would be in a new Moroccan democracy. And lastly, he makes no mention of the nation's extreme economic inequality which, as we've seen in America, can have a huge effect on democratic politics. But none of these nuances matter to Kristof because they complicate his over-arching narrative.

Alami gets closer to addressing these complexities, but her reportage is incomplete. She brings attention to the shortcomings of the February 20 movement, namely their failure to generate popular support akin to the protest movements in Tunisia and Egypt, but she fails to give much attention to those who oppose them. This is because she follows Kristof in implying that opposition to democracy comes from the powers at be and is illegitimate. Pro-Democracy protesters have unquestionable moral superiority, which is a problematic quality to ascribe to a political movement. It's possible that the woman she quotes as being "fed up" with the protesters has real, morally and politically justifiable reasons for feeling that way, but we're never given the opportunity to judge for ourselves.

At the other extreme is Zakaria, who allowed Foreign Minister Firhi to blast the "Moroccan exceptionalism" narrative across the airwaves. In this story, Morocco is and has always been different from other Arab countries. Yes, it's an autocracy, but it's been reforming for decades. Yes, it's Arab, but also Berber, so Morocco embraces diversity. Yes, it's Muslim, but its extremists are "relatively moderate" and Moroccans love Jews. Implied in all of this is, "we're the nice Arabs, so if you want to go to the Middle East on vacation, come to Morocco, or if your company wants to invest in the Middle East, invest in Morroco."

This narrative is equally as simplistic as Kristof's. The statement that Morocco has been reforming for decades brushes over past oppression and the current lack of political liberties, namely freedom of the press. Assertions of cultural and religious diversity and moderation are historically accurate, but tend to be exaggerated. Fareed Zakaria mentioned how the King of Morocco sheltered 200,000 Jews during World War Two, but said nothing about how or why those Jews suddenly left Morocco in the 1950s. This is the story that Morocco's government would like everyone to hear and believe, but is grossly incomplete.

The failure to address complexity and nuance is commonplace in today's journalism. Readers and viewers expect a complete story in 1000 or 1500 words or 5-10 minutes or less. This puts extreme limits on a journalist's ability to convey a complete, multifaceted story. As a result, some, like Kristof and Zakaria, forego any attempts to balance their narratives. Others, like Alami, try, but for whatever reason, fail to do so.

With Morocco as an example, we can see that it is difficult to find complete coverage of complex world events in any one media source. It is a reader's and viewer's responsibility to read and watch widely. But even then, it's hard to find intelligent, nuanced analysis in today's media environment.

Thoughts on Morocco's new Constitution

A few months ago, I wrote that despite the energy of the Arab Spring, serious change wouldn't come to Morocco. I said that a mentality of stability permeates Moroccan society from the top down. The King wants stability for the benefit of his country's economy and society (and his political fortunes). Morocco's political elites want stability because they benefit from the status quo. The average Moroccan, as dire as his or her situation may be, also values stability because drastic change is so disruptive and often does not produce the desired outcome.

And yet protests came. The February 20 movement formed as a small but vocal opposition, calling for democratic reforms and claiming to represent the collective interests of Morocco's youth, by far the most disenfranchised section of the population. As the demonstrations continued, the King decided to respond, calling for constitutional reforms in March that were announced in late June and then put to a vote on July 1st.

What does it mean that these reforms, at best a small step towards real democracy, passed with 98% approval? Why did the monarchy choose reform in the first place? And what is the future of the February 20 and other opposition movements?

The result of Morocco's constitutional referendum was never in doubt. The whole process conflated the issue of constitutional reform with supporting the King. Holding the referendum a mere two weeks after Muhammad VI announced the reforms and declared "I'm voting yes" never allowed the question "will you vote yes in the referendum?" to take on any meaning other than "will you vote yes to the King?" Which is why the 98% approval of the reforms is neither surprising nor probably inaccurate. Morocco's monarchy is sacred, it is not questioned.

These are all reasons why the pro-democracy opposition - February 20 and others - boycotted the referendum. A boycott was the most politically viable way for these groups to express their displeasure with the constitutional reforms. An organized 'vote No' campaign would have failed on many fronts: if February 20 had been able to garner significant voter support, without appearing to oppose the King, it's unlikely the Interior Ministry would have let it show in the final results. February 20 can also claim the 25% of Moroccans who didn't participate in the referendum did so as an act of opposition, strengthening their political position. But will these tactics prove effective?

I think no matter how you look at it, February 20 came out of the referendum in a decidedly weaker position. It appears now that their strength was exaggerated. The moderate success of nationwide protests, several few high profile incidents (self-immolations, police beatings, etc.) and the energy of the region gave them sympathy both in Morocco and abroad. But the failure to impact the referendum, by choice and circumstance, diminishes that prestige. Now more than ever do they appear to represent the political margin, one that refuses to cooperate with the powers at be.

So what will the future bring?

I believe, the Monarchy and political mainstream will put increasing pressure on February 20 for their lack of participation in the referendum. You can already see the Moroccan media marginalizing the movement. This will stifle a real discussion about the Morocco's direction as the opposition loses its relevance and legitimacy. Moroccans are stuck with what they were given, and will have to make due.

To many, both in and out of Morocco, the constitutional reforms represented the monarchy's superficial concession to calls for democratic reform. Some changes did occur, and some of them even good. Whether those changes become manifest and Morocco takes a real step towards a democracy, remains to be seen. Nonetheless, Morocco has had its change, at least for now.

Osama bin Laden, September 11, Cafe Argana and my Students

A week ago I was traveling through Morocco with my brothers. This was my brothers' first visit to an Arab, Muslim country. I was anxious to introduce them to Moroccans so they could replace their American media derived notions of Arabs and Muslims with real interactions and experiences. We had mint tea with a leather craftsmen. We listened to gnawa music. My brothers saw me teach and met my students. But when Cafe Argana was bombed in Marrakech, those memories disappeared to be replaced with turbans, beards and 'Death to America'.

We were in El Jedida when the bombing occurred. I worked hard to reassure my brothers that they had nothing to worry about. "This is a very un-Moroccan thing", I told them, "Moroccans are warm, open people. They are peaceful and not violent."

We traveled to Marrakech a few days after the attack. The seemingly untouched wreckage of Cafe Argana imbued the Jama'a l-Ifna, Marrakech's main square, with tension. Combined with cool temperatures and rain, the whole city seemed caught in a mournful stupor. It was an awkward place to be. With the news of Osama bin Laden's death, and the potential for retribution, we decided to leave Marrakech a day early.

In light of these events, I decided that I would address terrorism in my next U.S. Culture class. I knew that at some point I would have to address September 11, the defining event in America's contemporary history. The Marrakech bombing and Bin Laden's death made such a discussion all the more pertinent. I wanted to deal with terrorism from a 'human' perspective, helping my students to understand the universal nature of the fear and insecurity that such wanton acts of violence create. I was also curious to how my students would feel about these three events. To my brothers I had defended Moroccans as peaceful, so wouldn't they share my sadness about Cafe Argana and Americans' despair over September 11? Wouldn't they understand why we killed Bin Laden?

My class met this morning. Below are the questions I asked and some of the responses they garnered:

What did you feel when you heard about the Marrakech bombing?

• I was shocked and I was sad for all of the people who died.
• I was disappointed because of what it means for Morocco. All of the unrest in the Middle East has brought terrorists to Morocco and they are trying to unsettle the country. The bombing in Marrakech is disappointing because it destroys our hope of a peaceful transition to democracy.

What did you feel when you heard about Osama bin Laden's death?

• I do not believe he is dead. Where is his body? I must see his body.
• I felt sad to lose him. Osama bin Laden was a great Muslim leader and did great things for Islam.
• I was shocked and I don't believe he died.
• Americans said they killed the snake, but remember that snakes lay eggs.
• I was happy he died because he was a bad man who killed many people and distorted the image of Islam in the world.

What did you feel when you heard about the September 11 attacks?

• I was happy because it was a great blow to America, the supporter of Israel who occupies Palestine and kills innocent Palestinian men, women and children.
• I was happy, I thought it was a gift to Islam.
• I was sad because the people who worked there were innocent and not bad people. 

Some of you probably guessed where this post was heading.

I have lived in Morocco for a total of nine months. I've never  been seriously concerned for my well being or safety. My experiences with Moroccans have, for the great part, been positive. Before today I had never heard a Moroccan voice such 'extreme' views. But this was a bit of a reality check. The moment one of my students said, "I was sad when Osama bin Laden died, he was a great Muslim leader", my head fell out of the clouds.

I love Morocco, and to a certain extent I idealize it. I won't say that what I heard today surprised me, but I had never interacted with Moroccans in such a before. These opinions are not entirely outrageous. There is no denying that America has done a lot of harm to the Middle East and the Muslim world. But I was not expecting this type of frustration and anger to show in place of the kindness and compassion that I've come to expect from Moroccans.

Similarly, I was caught off guard. Until today I didn't realize all that I represent in my position. I've been conscious of my unique role as an American teacher at the university since arriving. I knew that as the only American teacher at my university, my presence stood for certain things. As a native speaker I embody the language my students desire to learn. As a young teacher I demonstrate the possibility to be successful through hard work and dedication. As an American I represent a society and culture they aspire to create for themselves. But I also represent a government that many of them would label as 'terrorist'. Because of this, do I cease to represent these other things?

Does thinking September 11 was a 'gift' invalidate a person's kindness and generosity towards me?

I don't think so. But I do think it is sad that such bright young people can hold such callous beliefs. 

The Call to Prayer: How Time Moves You in Morocco

The adhan, or call to prayer, is a unique facet of life in a Muslim country. In the Fes medina, where there's always a mosque around the corner, the adhan is unavoidable.

At home or in the streets at prayer time you hear a soft hum in the distance that crescendos steadily until a hearty "Allahu Akbar" blares from the nearest minaret. At first it is disarming, especially to Westerners unaccustomed to or unaware of prayer's central role in Islam. But after a few days or weeks, it, like everything else in Morocco, it assimilates into your life and you either respect it as an expression of Muslim piety, scorn it as an unwelcome early morning wake up call, or simply ignore it.

The call to prayer preludes each of the daily prayers that are included among the 'pillars' of Islam. There are five in total spread throughout the day: fajr occurs in the early morning before sunrise, dhuhur at midday, 'asr in the mid-afternoon, maghrib at sunset, and 'isha at night. The call is recited by a muezzin, literally an 'announcer', who traditionally would shout the adhan from the top of his mosque's minaret or in the streets. Today, most mosques are equipped with loud speakers.

In traditional Muslim societies, prayer times used to demarcate the different phases of the day. The phrase 'ba'd dhuhur' in classical Arabic translates to the English word 'afternoon', and literally means 'after dhuhur prayer'. In this sense, the 'afternoon' did not begin until dhuhur prayer was performed. The classical Arabic word for 'dinner' shares its root with 'isha, the last prayer of the day. Remnants of this influence on daily life can still be seen in the old medina. During the week, many shops close between dhuhur and 'asr prayers, and on Fridays, the Muslim holy day, a vast majority of businesses are closed as Moroccans take the afternoon off after their communal dhuhur prayers.

In many ways, this role of the adhan represents a different psychology about time, and our relationship to it. Last night at dinner my roommates, our guests and I had a conversation about the differences between religious time and the secular time. My roommate Chris explained how in the 19th century, governments in Europe began to use churches to signal the official beginnings and ends of the workday.

In that period, church bells were the most effective means of communicating information, especially in the agrarian countryside where farms and farmers were scattered over miles. Before these initiatives, churches used their bells for purely religious purposes, signaling religious holidays such as Christmas and Easter, as well as the hours for daily prayers. Much like prayer in Islam, Christian prayers determined the pace of daily life. By secularizing church bells, these governments not only stripped them of their sacred functions but also initiated a shift in the human relationship with time.

The key issue here is control.

Who controls time? In the religious sense, God controls it. When time is sacred, it cannot be controlled by people because then it ceases to be sacred. As a result, time is something we must obey. During Ramadan, Muslims cannot eat or drink between the pre-dawn (fajr) and sunset (maghrib) prayers. Because Islam uses a lunar calendar, this means that some years Ramadan falls during winter, and others it falls in the summer. The length of the Ramadan fast may be longer or shorter from year to year, but the rules do not change.

By secularizing time, people gained control over it. A day's length was standardized; the length of an eight hour work day does not change depending on the season. To regulate something is to control it. People now 'made' time instead of yielding to it.

I think we can see the influence of these points of view when we compare cultural conceptions of time in Morocco and the United States. In Morocco, time is view neither as rigid nor controllable. People arrive at their appointments when they arrive. Shops open when they open and close when they close. This morning I asked my dairy guy when he will have cheese. He said, "we'll have it when the cheese guys make it."

In the United States, and other Western countries, most people view time differently. Because we control time we possess it, and so we can 'make use' of it. If you do not 'make use' of 'your' time then you are 'wasting it.' We emphasize punctuality as well, so that we don't 'waste' the time of our friends or colleagues. If we are busy we can always 'make' time to see someone. And we mustn't let time 'slip away.'

At dinner, one of our guests asked Chris and I if we thought the adhan would ever change to announce secular time just as church bells had changed two centuries ago. We both said no. As Chris pointed out, it's easier to appropriate an object like a bell and change it's purpose than it is to change the purpose of a whole class of people. Additionally, I said that I didn't think such a shift could be justified in a Muslim context.

Thinking more broadly, the secularization of time has broad cosmological implications. If man controls time then he, to some extent, controls the universe. Or he at least considers the universe to be controllable (I think contemporary views about science's potential to tame nature are sufficient evidence of this point). To a Muslim, God controls the universe, and anything otherwise is unacceptable. That's not to say that Islam and rationalism are mutually exclusive, but rationalism to the point of replacing God with man is.

I can't imagine the Fes medina without the traditional adhan. If it were to change, and the blaring "Allahu Akbar" were to change to a cacophonous "It's now 12:00pm", it would lose all of it's meaning. What was once a rich symbol of Morocco's religious heritage and maintenance of tradition, would, essentially, become a talking clock.

Don't go to school unless you want to get beat up

Monday, I published a blog post where I lamented the current strike at my university. At the end of the it, I agreed with the notion that 'people' (read: some Moroccans) don't take school seriously, that this was just an instance of political grandstanding to masquerade the strikers' desire to shirk their studies.

While it is true that some of the Riffaqis and Ikhwanis, and even more of their supporters, are looking for a way to avoid their responsibilities as students, it is unfair to cast their motivations as entirely trivial. These strikes are taken very seriously. Organizers use intimidation to keep students out of class. I witnessed this last October. Fights are common. Strikers also threaten violence against students who challenge their motives and tactics.

Last night I witnessed this exchange* on a Facebook group created by my university students:

Ahmed: tomorrow you must back to study ...

Mohammed: really !!!

Ahmed: yes. we have to talk with the strikers and tell them we want to study

Mohammed: who said? i have just heard that classes will start next week.

Ahmed: yes, that is why.

Mohammed: but we will just waste time with that fucking people there. we should be patient this year.

Ahmed: we are going trough hell!

Mohammed: yeah !!! but what shall we do this is Morocco

Ahmed: no, no

Mohammed: yes !! mate. this is Morocco everywhere u go u will find same drama

Ahmed: the strike yes, but not in the time of studying. we need our right yes but there are some duties

Mohammed: what duties are you talking about?

Ahmed: tomorrow i will go to tha fucking university and i will tell them to stop that that's enough. lets us start the semester, there is time for doing this out of study. Our duties?studying and geting very good mark and trying to produce some thing for our beloved country

Mohammed: u cant' do it only by urself we need all students attend but unfortunately u can't collect them all
we have over 300 students in our class and when u want to talk about problems which they suffer from u will find just 5 students or maybe just 2
so i advise u bro to keep away

Ahmed: thx

Mohammed: cuz if they saw u only who speaks about that they will do something bad to you
. plzzzz don't speak alone

Ahmed: ok thx, brother



Mohammed: i still remember last time when you talked during the class at infor... 
fortunately you found support for ur words then



Ahmed: yes , i did



Mohammed: if you go tomorrow and they are not brave students like you, u will find urself out of university

I mentioned the strike to a colleague of mine today. He told me: "You are witnessing a crumbling system." The causes of such are varied and disparate. You can't blame the Ministry of Education. Some universities are more functional than others. The educational reforms are good and well-intended, but so far exist only on paper. You can't blame individual administrations either; the system they're asked to implement is a far-fetched ideal. To compound an already complex problem, the day-to-day operations of the university are impeded by the student unions. Yet, they are only asking for what the law promises them.

In the middle of these competing interests are the students. What if I never teach again this semester? The government and administrations would blame the student unions. The student unions would blame the government and administrations. Would they recognize the damage they caused by setting students back? How do you make up a lost semester?

For over a decade, Morocco has struggled to improve it's higher education system. What will the results of these efforts be? A generation of young minds lost, their futures forfeited for what? A brighter but more distant future? How will this lost generation participate in it?

Previously, I labeled Morocco's higher education system as dysfunctional. But now, after seeing how it schemes to subvert even the best students' desire to study, I can only call it a disaster.

*Edited for content and to preserve the anonymity of the conversation's participants

Back to school (almost)

This morning I returned to the university to begin the Spring semester. Last night I was busy preparing my notes, trying to tap into the teaching mojo I built up in the Fall. It's been a long time since my last class. I last taught on December 21st, 2010,  and this wasn't a 'true' class, I only listened to students deliver oral presentations. I delivered my last lecture the first week of December. So this morning, on my way to campus, I was a little nervous. It's amazing how much we can forget after three months.

To a certain extent, my nerves got the best of me. My lecture was rigid, I found myself explaining information that I could have evoked from my students, the questions I asked were poorly worded, either too obvious or too abstract. I could sense my struggles, so I reverted to my natural defense mechanism: sarcasm. The only problem is that sarcasm doesn't work with first year university students with only a few semesters of English study under their belts. So with every joke that fell flat I grew increasingly anxious. The notes I had prepared evaded my memory, and I just kept stumbling along, worried about how I would fill the remaining 2.5 hours of class.

Thankfully, I was saved. 45 minutes into my lecture, my class welcomed some very special visitors. My good friends, the Riffaqis (the Comrades, or the Socialist Students Union), had returned to liberate my students from their oppressed states.

The moment they walked in I knew what they wanted. I let their leader speak to my class. My students listened attentively to him explain the purpose behind the protests and demonstrations. But they kept their notebooks open, pens at the ready. They seemed bored by a speech they've probably heard dozens of times. For a moment, I felt like they wanted him to shut up quickly so we could get back to class. And then he said the magic words (which I didn't understand), flicked his wrist, and my students, smiles beaming, packed up their bags and left class. I guess they didn't want to study after all.

---

Morocco has not been immune to the unrest affecting the entire Middle East and North Africa region. February 20th was the nation's 'day of anger', and many Moroccans took to the streets in protest of government corruption and socioeconomic stagnation. To be true, these demonstrations were much smaller and less energetic than those that initiated the revolutions in Egypt, Tunisia and Libya, and there has been little unrest since February 20th. Nonetheless, the concerns voiced by Moroccans on that day are legitimate, so much so that King Mohammed VI delivered an historic speech last week initiating major political and social reforms, including a "deep revision" of the constitution and a reduction of his executive powers.

What does this have to do with the university? Moroccan universities, like those in most countries, are centers of political activism. Two student groups, the Ikhwanis (Islamists) and the Riffaqis, dominate campuses all across the country, organizing protests and demonstrations whenever they see fit. These are not "student groups" like the chess club or the dance team, they are more like labor unions of old. Violence is common (there was a knife fight between the Ikhwanis and Riffaqis during final exams at my university) and it's not uncommon for the government to call in their Pinkertons (aka the police) to break up prolonged student strikes. 

There is no doubt these student groups have been anxiously awaiting their opportunity to capitalize on the February 20th protests. Starting a general strike on the first day of the new term sends one message to the Ministry of Education: promises are great, but we want what is ours now.

I knew the strike was coming. Yesterday I met with a student who told me I shouldn't get too excited to teach this week. But I didn't want to believe it. For all intents and purposes, I've been on a three month vacation. At this point in the year, I've spent more time out of school than in, and maybe that will continue. And while vacation is nice, that's not why I'm here. I'm here to try my damnedest to be an English teacher. I also crave the routine. It feels good to wake up in the morning with a sense of purpose, to go to class and return with a sense of accomplishment, however minor it may be. For now, I must wait to get back to that.

As I left the university this morning, a friend of mine passed a long a pearl of wisdom he heard from one of his teachers. It describes the school year in Morocco: "In Morocco, the school year is comprised of vacation which is cut off my intermittent time in class." When I described what happened this morning to a different friend of mine, she quipped, "who doesn't want a day off?"

From what I've seen so far this year, I can't help but agree.

Reflections on a Revolution

I was sitting on the upstairs patio of Cafe Imilchil in Errachidia, enjoying a cafe niss-niss, when the waiter came upstairs to turn on Al-Jazeera. Something was different this time. Rather than frantic desperation, the announcer spoke with a sense of joy. The TV showed the same crowds as it had for the past two weeks, but mixed in with the shouts and chants was the sound of singing. The ticker read: "People throughout the Arab world, from the Atlantic to the Gulf, celebrate the fall of Mubarak's regime." My Arabic is not good enough for me to trust it at first glance, so I read it again and then asked a Moroccan nearby to confirm the news. My friend, a fellow Fulbright ETA, said this to me: "We'll always remember where we were when we heard this news."

The Egyptian Revolution was an undeniable turning point in history. While it remains in its nascent stages and the outcome is unclear at best, there is no way to ignore its importance to the Middle East and to the world.

Since September, I've lived and worked in a country similar to Egypt. Morocco is poor, Arab, Muslim, and not really a democracy. In many ways the Egyptians who protested are no different than the men and women I work with, see on the street, and sit next to in cafes. They have similar backgrounds and aspirations. And though I believe Morocco will remain a stable country and not experience any major change in government, it would be wrong to think that Moroccans are disconnected from the events that happened in Tunisia and Egypt. Everywhere you go people are watching Al Jazeera, listening to the news on the radio, or reading a newspaper.

One night during the first week of protests I went to a cafe near my house to have a coffee and watch the news. Even then, I felt a tangible energy in the place, as if at any moment Mubarak could fall. More than that, I knew everyone else, in Egypt, on television and in the cafe was feeling and thinking the very same thing.

During that night's coverage, they showed a video of a large SUV driving through a crowd of protesters near the American and British embassies in Cairo. The men in the cafe threw up their hands, shouting at the television. On each replay they would nudge their neighbors, wide-eyed, furious. They, like I, were disgusted by such a wanton and violent act against those people, no longer mere protesters. It was a powerful and essentially human moment.

This intense humanity drew me back to the television and newspaper throughout the protests. I was familiar with the various political implications, especially to America's foreign policy. I was interested in pundits' opinions and prognostications, but more so I read and I watched because of the drama. This was human drama to its fullest extent playing out on television: a poor, down trodden people set aside their social, political and religious differences in a united act of revolution; humanity pushed to its extreme pouring in through the television screen.

Media has played a huge role in all of this. And while it's popular to boast about the role of Facebook and Twitter in organizing these uprisings, I doubt their impact. Americans inflate social media's role in society because it plays such a big one in ours. There are about 150 million active Facebook users in the United States, or around 50% of the population. In the Middle East/North Africa region there are 15 million Facebook users, or less then 4% of the population. While I believe that Facebook and Twitter are revolutionary in the way they connect people, I can't buy their purported revolutionary influence on the Middle East. Then what is the revolutionary medium? In my opinion it is satellite television, and more specifically Al Jazeera.

Al-Jazeera has broadcast footage of the uprisings from Sidi Bouzid onwards. These images are the most powerful illustrations of the will and determination of the Tunisian and Egyptian people. Revolutions need logistics, organization and planning, but most importantly, they need energy. That energy comes from the pain, suffering, triumph and victory that plays out every night on television. I know this because I've felt it and seen it, and it is infectious. When Mubarak announced his resignation, a friend reported that it sounded like a crazy soccer match; she was listening to the crowds gathered in a cafe watching Al Jazeera.

As the events unfolded, and Egypt got closer to winning its freedom, I kept thinking, "Why don't Americans love this? This is the beauty of democracy: people rising up against oppression to make their voices heard. Shouldn't we love this?"

But America's reaction has been ambivalent at best.

It's well known that the Egyptian Revolution put America in an awkward political position. Sadly, we chose to view these events as such: a radical change to the factors that comprise our desired geopolitical reality. By fretting over "stability", oil prices, and "national security", we've lost the sense of human drama and triumph. We forget that this is a great human accomplishment. We're missing the point. Egyptians fought and died in the streets. They risked their lives to achieve a dream, a collective hope they've been denied their entire lives. What comes of this bloodshed when we we look past it?

These days, our national empathy has enough difficulty transcending party lines, let alone cultural, religious, and socioeconomic differences. And what happens when we increasingly view the world as a series of factors that comprise our "national interest"? Is it easier to empathize when we value abstract principles over ourselves and others?