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Christmas Lights, The Cat Man, and the Killing of the State Broadcaster
Christmas lights started appearing on lamp posts and buildings a couple of weeks ago. From my terrace in the Kasbah, I even saw that one building in the Medina had fancy blinking lights and two of the taller buildings in the city were lit up as well. More and more Moroccan flags (red with a green star - also kind of Christmas-y come to think of it!) flew from groups of flagpoles at large intersections alongside groups of banners in various shades of pastel. I thought the lights and flags might be going up in celebration of next week's holiday—the Prophet Muhammed's birthday. But when I finally asked one of my former students, he looked at me, waved his hand around a bit and then explained, "It's for the circumcision of the prince's son." "What? All of this for chopping off of the foreskin of a two-year-old kid?" I asked. I couldn't believe it, and even this young man thought it was a bit over the top -- three days of celebrations, of which one day is the actual circumcision, lights and flags all over the country and all kinds of "happy threesome" pictures of the Prince, his wife and the crown prince available in the souqs. And all of that for a tiny piece of royal flesh. Amazing! He usually appears on the weekends, either Saturday or Sunday, mid-morning and looking like a street person carrying his plastic bag of goodies. He has gentle, caring dark brown eyes that I've seen as I've passed him and said hello. I feel like a peeping tom, a voyeur, as I look out from my bedroom window onto the scene below. The man in his long winter coat finds a door step or curb of a sidewalk to sit on. He's unshaven, swarthy and, from what I hear, a former teacher. The plastic bag sits beside him as the cats begin to gather around him. He murmurs words that I cannot understand, but that I'm sure are gentle words of kindness, of love. As the cats come to him (this reminds me of the story of the Pied Piper, actually) he picks each one up, checks their eyes (many of them seem to have nasty eye infections) and cleans them with a cloth and what looks like some type of cream. He holds them roughly but gently by the scruff of the neck; they don't fight him. He looks into their ears, places them back on the ground and gives them a pat always with his gentle, reassuring murmurings. He reaches into the black plastic bag and comes out with a fist full of chicken feet ("Can you get diseases from chicken feet?" I wonder) and gives them to the cats. The cats are usually pretty scrappy when it comes to food, but they behave, ignoring each other and not fighting. The man keeps murmuring, stroking the cats nearest him. The cats are clearly in heaven. I imagine them purring as they gnaw on the gnarled and yellow poultry feet. And I imagine the Cat Man in his own heaven as well, surrounded by these creatures that adore him. In a world that can often times be ugly and harsh, he's created his own gentle corner. For me, watching this man with the cats always brings a smile to my face and helps to remind me that there is good in this world, that while life is hard for these cats (kids abuse them, they're constantly scrounging for food and trying to find warm places to curl up in during the chilly winter days and nights), here is this one gentle soul that makes a difference in these creatures' lives. ***** I spent a chunk of this past week in Ifrane, a university town in the mountains between the cities of Fes and Meknes. I was going to do a series of guest lectures for the small but growing Communications department at Al-Akhawayn University, an English-language private university for Morocco's elite. Getting there was a bit of a challenge. I took a train to Meknes, a petit taxi (city) to the grand taxi (inter-city) station, a grand taxi to Ifrane and then a petit taxi to the university. The train ride gave me an opportunity to once again see the beauty of this country. The train travels from the coastal region of Rabat to the plains to the gently rolling hills covered in vineyards (yes, in a Muslim country) to the foothills in a million of shades of light to medium green (definitely not the lush green of Rwanda, but more of an arid green, if there is such a thing). And as the light and shadows change and move they accentuate the hills and vales, as if punctuating certain features. As we pull into Ifrane, I feel like I've somehow managed to leave Morocco and have entered the set of "The Sound of Music". I'm surrounded by these lovely Alpine hills, replete with what appears to be Alpine-type vegetation, and European architecture, high pitched, barrel-tiled roofs, brown shuttered windows. It was kind of bizarre. The campus was like an armed fortress - heavy security to get in and numerous security officers roaming around. Once "inside" I saw that the architecture I had seen in town was replicated here, only here it was absolutely pristine, the Alpine feeling was magnified as the campus was set around a square but, instead of the church you would see in a Swiss village, a rather large mosque sat in the middle of the "town square." As I walked around the campus, it felt vaguely Stepford-ish. It was just too clean, too perfect, too Beverly Hills 90210 with the kids walking around in their designer gear, cell phones to their ear, eyes hidden by glam sunglasses. Yip, I could have been at some fancy resort in Switzerland. In fact, Ifrane was built by the French in the 1930s as a resort and the Moroccans have maintained that feel. You can even go skiing here in the winter. So that's my setting. The characters? Morocco's young elite, many of whom completed high school at private schools in Morocco or overseas. The faculty were a good mix of Moroccan (mostly with PhDs from the U.S. or U.K.) and American, Canadian and various other nationalities thrown in. I had been asked to speak to a number of different classes as a guest lecturer and had been asked to address a number of topics including: what journalists expect/need from PR professionals; TV production; my own journalism experiences and how I ended up in journalism; and finally, my favorite, media and democracy. The last topic was for a first year class and the professor had asked me to address the topic of media and democracy for five to ten minutes and then to open it up to discussion. I began by talking about some of my experiences in Rwanda and even went so far as to draw some parallels between that country and Morocco. I stressed the importance of independent media in the development and sustenance of a democratic society. And I left it there. Discussion was a bit slow to start but within five minutes hands were flying up all over the place. We began to talk about RTM (Radio-TV Marocain), the state-run (and only) broadcaster in Morocco. They asked if there was a place for RTM in Morocco. You see, most Moroccans don't even watch TVM - they prefer the flashier al-Jazeera and al-Arabiya rather than the talking head-dominated TVM. They don't feel connected to TVM which broadcasts in classical Arabic and not the Moroccan dialect which is almost a completely different language. I didn't feel I could just say that RTM was irrelevant and some of this sentiment comes from my upbringing in Canada and the vital role that the CBC plays in unifying Canadians, in bringing them together despite the vast differences from region to region. Canadians love CBC radio. So I explained this. I explained how a state (and I said I preferred the term "public") broadcaster could play a vital role in a country's society and development. One student was adamant though and pushed. "But don't you think we should just kill RTM?" He went on. "I mean if people don't watch and there's just this old mentality that's resistant to change, then what's the point? Why don't we just start new channels based on the American or European models and make money?" Yes, I thought, this is definitely Morocco's new elite. I pushed back and reiterated my sentiment that RTM was important for Morocco though I felt it would absolutely have to adapt and change significantly if it were to survive in what will hopefully soon be a multi-channel kingdom. And that that "old mentality" was perhaps necessary in the creation of new stations as it was those "old farts", as I call them, that have the experience that is necessary in beginning new ventures. That there is a place for RTM and that the American and Europeans models have issues as well. I'm not sure he or the others bought my argument. And indeed, I left the class and then the campus and Ifrane with that nagging question - should we kill the state broadcaster and what would happen if we did? I still don't have any answers and am still pondering, but part of it scares me; maybe it's just the finality of the word "kill". Hope you're all well.
Hugs, |  |
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Previous Columns
Leaving Morocco
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