[This article is the fourth in a Jadaliyya series that addresses the present sociopolitical landscape of migration in Morocco. Read the previous installments in the series by Sébastien Bachelet: "Cynical and Macabre 'Politics of Migration' at Morocco’s Borders;" by Anna Jacobs: "Creation and Cooptation: The Story of Morocco’s Migration Reform;" and by Allison L. McManus:"Subaltern Is Not Voiceless – They Sing: Learning from Migrants’ Cultural Production."]
"I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, hurled down Tangier buildings, pushed over Nador’s cliffs, crushed under rocks and shattered by police sticks." Echoing Allen Ginsberg infamous "Howl," these lines might tell one day of the new generation of travelers in Tangier. The Beat Generation has long left Tangier; the place has since changed. In 1958, Bowles wrote that "there is nothing left to spoil," but in contemporary Morocco, the sub-Saharan migrants have replaced the Beats--subjected to daily violent abuses on both sides of the Moroccan-Spanish border.
The present photography essay stems from my doctoral fieldwork (2011-13) in Rabat, Morocco. The pictures were taken in the marginal neighborhood of Douar Hajja, where the presence of sub-Saharan migrants is highly visible. Douar Hajja is a liminal space, a crossroad where migrants look for work, and mostly wait whilst healing their wounds and considering their options: keep going despite the odds, remain in Morocco if conditions improve, or go back for those who cannot take it anymore. Rather than passively waiting, and in spite of dreadful living conditions exacerbated by institutional racism, migrants there organize life in collective houses, set up businesses and political organizations. It is a place of hope where sub-Saharan migrants long for a better future, somewhere. The pictures are not meant as a contribution to an aesthetic of misery appealing to what Reuben Odoi has denounced as "philanthropy." Rather, they illustrate migrants’ strategies, trials, and failings at coping when violence and precariousness have become ordinary.
As illustrated by the recent events depicted in previous articles of this series on migration in Morocco, NGOs and migrants’ associations are struggling for migrants’ rights to be effectively enforced within Morocco and at the border with Spain. The changing migration dynamics mark contemporary Morocco, the dimensions of hope are thus visible in both the perilous attempts at crossing the frontier, as in the powerfulvideo depicting triumphant migrants running into the Spanish enclave of Melilla, and initial enthusiasm for the regularization process. However, obstacles are numerous. Migrants and Moroccan activists still face many barriers both within Morocco and at the border with Europe. One is reminded of Walt Whitman’s lines: "Unscrew the locks from the doors! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs."
In lieu of a long commentary, and in tune with the opening of this introduction and its "imagined" verses, the pictures are set in dialogue with poetry. This time a real poem entitled "Hope" by Houdou, a young man who left Cameroon because corruption did not allow him the future he dreamed of. Like many others, Houdou set off on a “quest for a life more bearable […] If we have taken the road it is because we hoped to find a place where we could express ourselves freely and exploit our talent." Houdou wrote the poem in Douar Hajja last summer before, at last, successfully crossing to Spain where he now lives and hopes to be regularized. The poem, translated from French, vividly depicts the harsh journeys migrants have endured and illustrates their resilience rather than merely suffering.
Recently, Moroccan Prime Minister Benkirane has been criticized for feeding confusion over the national politics of migration. Disquieting developments in Morocco and at the Spanish border have cast a shadow over Morocco’s proclaimed engagement for a “radically new” politics of migration. These have included NGO criticism over the regularization process as well as concerns over Spanish-Moroccan cooperation at the border deemed “excellent” despite more recent violent events, the controversial building of a fence on the Moroccan side of the border, renewed bilateral discussions over a readmission agreement, and Moroccan forces entering into Melilla to expel migrants. Houdou’s words are a powerful reminder that sub-Saharan migrants, as self-defined “adventurers” who constantly face adversity, are not giving up on hope.
L'espoir par Houdou
Demain, pourquoi ne pas-y croire
Demain, pourquoi douter toujours
Demain, c’est peut-être la gloire
Demain, c’est peut-être l’amour
Sans argent dans les poches
Mais de l’espoir au cœur
Ne faisant pas reproche
Au sort des vrais moqueurs
N’ayant qu’une maitresse
La jeunesse
La tendresse
Quand l’amour une plume
Ardente sur la main
Qu’importe aujourd’hui
Si j’espérais demain
Je remets toujours
La machine en marche
Car la terre qui tourne
Retourne au départ
Demain, pourquoi me pas y croire
Demain, pourquoi douter toujours
Demain, c’est peut-être la gloire
Demain, c’est peut-être l’amour
Indulgent
Sans argent
A tous les temps
Tout près d’ici
Malgré toi
Ou battu
Dépourvu
D’essentiel
Mais vaillant
Et croyant
En sois-même
Un jour en essayant de peindre la vie
J’ai compris qu’elle va en dents-de-scie
Aujourd’hui tu pleures
Demain, tu brilles de joie
Quand la souffrance m’enveloppe
Je me console en me disant
C’est une école de sagesse
Car en chanson
Comme le disait
Toujours mon grand-père
On reconnait l’homme
A travers l’obstacle
Demain, pourquoi ne pas y croire
Demain, pourquoi douter toujours
Demain, c’est peut-être la gloire
Demain, c’est peut-être l’amour
Simplement qui suis-je ?
Oui ! Je me présente
Je m’appelle Houdou
Je viens d’une contrée
Où les hommes sont
Au-dessus de la loi
Ce qui a fait de moi
Un hors la loi
Un coin lointain
Ou l’avenir
Des jeunes est
Hypothéqué
Où les medias
ont à la merci de la corruption
On voit son droit viole au quotidien
Où la liberté d’expression n’est qu’illusion
Voyez-vous dans quel climat est plongé mon pays
Nous avons marche cent soixante-huit heures
Afin que les choses reviennent sur orbite
Puis en retour on a récolté la violence
Un jour cette injustice
M’a contré à une pause
J’ai affronté le Sahara
Ouf ! J’ai affronté l’Atlantique
J’ai affronté le Gibraltar
C’était vraiment fou ça ! Je sais
Mais je n’avais pas autre choix
Pour pouvoir m’exprimer un jour
Ouais ! Le combat continu
Demain, pourquoi ne pas-y croire
Demain, pourquoi douter toujours
Demain, c’est peut-être la gloire
Demain, c’est peut-être l’amour
Hope by Houdou
Tomorrow, why not believing
Tomorrow, why ever doubting
Tomorrow, might there be glory
Tomorrow, might there be love
No money in the pockets
But hope in the heart
No care for the spell cast
by those true scorners
One only is the mistress
Youth
Tenderness
When love a feather
Fervent on the hand
Nevermind today
If I hoped tomorrow
Always I reset in
Motion, again
‘cause the revolving earth
Goes back to start
Tomorrow, why not believing
Tomorrow, why ever doubting
Tomorrow, might there be glory
Tomorrow, might there be love
Indulgent
Penniless
At all times
Close to here
Despite yourself
Crushed
Deprived of the
Essential
But valiant
And believing
In one-self
Depicting life one day
I understood it comes with ups
and downs
Today we cry
Tomorrow with joy we shine
When suffering overtakes me
I console myself saying
It’s a school of wisdom
‘Cause in songs
Like my grand-father
Used to say
Through obstacles
We recognize a man
Tomorrow, why not believing
Tomorrow, why ever doubting
Tomorrow, might there be glory
Tomorrow, might there be love
Simply who am I?
Yes! I introduce myself
Houdou is my name
I come from a country
Where people are
Above the law
This made me
An outlaw
A far corner
Where the future
Of the youth
Is seized
Where media
Is at the mercy of corruption
Daily our rights violated
Where freedom of speech is but
an illusion
Look at the state of my country
We walked one-hundred-and-sixty-
eight hours
For things to fall back in orbit
But violence we harvested instead
This injustice one day
Held me to a pause
I faced the Sahara
Phew! I faced the Atlantic
I faced Gibraltar
Madness this was! I know
But I had no choice
To express myself one day
Yeah! The struggle continues
Tomorrow, why not believing
Tomorrow, why ever doubting
Tomorrow, might there be glory
Tomorrow, might there be love