My internship has been revealing on multiple layers. Firstly, it has illustrated the pleasure in slowly getting to know a neighbourhood, a city and a country. When I arrived, only recently removed from the tunnel vision of exam season, it felt almost surreal to consider that I would be spending close to the next three months in a completely new setting. I still remember those initial feelings when I pass by the same streets that now seem familiar.
Secondly, interning at a national human rights institution has illustrated the unique diplomacy required in operating both within the requirements of international frameworks and the parameters provided by the Moroccan government. Situated both at the fringes of the Arabic speaking world and the northeastern tip of Africa, it has been especially interesting to witness the CNDH’s interactions with other human rights institutions as a biregional power. The institution’s attempt to lay the groundwork for societal progress that enshrines human rights has been done incrementally, operating both through legislation and educational programs.
Finally, I have felt fortunate to discover snapshots of Morocco during weekend travels. The country has struck me as perhaps the most topographically diverse of any I have visited. In the very north, the sparkling Mediterranean quickly gives way to the jagged edges of the Rif mountains, their exposed rock facades contrasting beautifully with the surrounding greenery. The presence of water in a country stricken by drought for over five years feels especially revered, and mountainous springs nourish flowering bushes and fruit trees. A refreshing breeze that flows from pine filled mountain tops feels slightly scented, especially revitalizing against the stinging sun.
The scenery changes dramatically the further south you go. Close to the center of the country I visited the Roman site of Volubilis, where rolling hills are filled with olive trees, the source of an intense product that lingers on the back of your throat in a way that the one I purchase in Canada doesn’t. Alone with the ruins, I sat in the shade as a warm wind rustled the hollow stalks of sun scorched spring flowers, listening to the almost deafening sound of crickets and the occasional bleating of a donkey. Further to the south the site of any green is a welcome respite from the barrenness of the desert. Almost paradoxically, the dishes become heavier and spicier to induce sweating, the quickly formed droplets immediately evaporating against the dry heat.
I have also learned that Morocco’s diversity extends past its topography. At the confluence of a number of influences, differing parts of the country present unique intersections of a mosaic of identities. Amongst these are strong, localized Indigenous influences and the lingering legacies of French, Spanish and Portuguese colonization. The plethora of influences have manifested in a strong sense of regionality and differing conceptions of what it means to be Moroccan.
Curious, I have frequently, but delicately, attempted to ask about what defines Moroccan identity and have been often presented with definitive statements that are sometimes irreconciliable and conflicting. No subject matter has drawn more polarity than attempting to define what it means to be an Arab, with responses including ethnic, religious or simply language considerations. When pressed further, these definitive statements seem to be rooted in purported facts, presupposing that identity can be defined logically, with some sort of objective truth.
These conflicting responses have led to my yet unanswered question of whether identity is a purely normative construct. Without strict rules established to define what forms part of identity and as such which variables to consider, any interpreter of an identity inherently forms this conception within the parameters established by their own lived experiences, subjectivity and underlying agenda.
On an individual level, I have been the receiver of ascriptive comments that situate me within the discourse. Driven by my desire to mitigate the stifling effect of Rabat’s infrequent but particularly dramatic heat, I sometimes elect to replace my typical bus commute with the unique, but pleasantly efficient system of shared taxis. It was in one of these taxis where, taking a break from a heated conversation with a fellow passenger, the driver, Rachid, turned around and in fluent French apologized for the volume they were conversing in and the fact that I couldn’t understand anything.
In my dialect of Lebanese Arabic, I responded that it was not an issue, and although the specific nuance of the conversation was lost on me and the heat made focusing difficult, I understood the general scope of the debate. This time, both Rachid and my fellow passenger turned around to look at me amused, now apologizing for their initial, misguided assumptions of having confused me for an ‘أجنبي’, the Arabic word for ‘foreigner’.
Knowing that Rashid did not mean to suggest I was Moroccan, I found the use of the word ‘foreigner’ particularly interesting. Accordingly, I reflected on my own experiences in Morocco. Whilst the degrees of separation between me and my surroundings have continued to break down, eased by elements of similarities in language and culture, I have decidedly felt foreign during my time in the country. Again, I questioned to what degree subjective feelings, such as individual belonging, or objective facts such as a shared language and culture were ultimately determinative in defining an identity.
Independently of these considerations, in the interim I have embraced the feeling of acceptance and undeniable welcome that comes from statements such as Rachid’s. At the office of the CNDH, working almost exclusively in English or French, I feel very much like a McGill law student on an international internship. My lens shifts on my transformatory bus ride back to l’Océan, the neighborhood that I’m staying in, where I visit my habitual cafe or share a table during the busy dinner rush to relish another msemen and mint tea. There, my frequent presence has eroded initial presumptions and I speak exclusively in Arabic. This familiarity is significant and whilst still feeling foreign, I am increasingly comfortable, driven by a perspective of understanding rather than belonging.