Modern Standard Arabic or Colloquial Arabic in Classrooms Noureddine Boutahar

There is a controversy brewing right now in Morocco over

whether or not to use Darija (Moroccan everyday, colloquial language) in education rather than Modern Standard Arabic which has been used since the year dot. This controversy reached its peak last month with the famous TV debate between the businessman Noureddine Ayouch and thinker Abdellah Laroui. As an educator, father, and patriotic citizen of a country whose education rates among the world’s most deficient, I feel it incumbent upon myself to weigh in and provide my own opinion and thoughts.
In my humble opinion, Noureddine Ayouch wants to open Pandora’s Box with his proposal to use Darija in the classroom, because once it's opened, it will certainly be difficult to close again. Of the many types of Darija, I don’t know which he prefers that we use. I don’t know what he wants to do with Tamazight speakers like myself either. Nor do I know what will become of the Hassania speakers in the South. What I know so far is that once Darija becomes the language of the classroom, Modern Standard Arabic will jump to the line of foreign languages. So, why would he want to add another foreign language (Arabic) to the already existing list?
Also, because the hornets’ nest has been agitated, some people have started questioning whether Darija should be written in Arabic or in Latin characters, and whether it should be written from right to left or from left to write. Proponents of the Latin style argue that since Darija is teeming with French, Spanish, Tamazight and Latin words, which are all written from left to right, Darija should be also. So, isn't it better to let sleeping Pandora lie?
Blaming the failures of our system of education on standard Arabic is too simplistic an approach to a highly complex problem. However, I am dead scared that oversimplified approaches like this might take center stage and distract attention from the real, central problems as well as from higher priorities in Moroccan education. The side thing might become the main thing, which is a form of Gresham's Law: “bad money, drives out good.”
What's worse is that Mr.Ayouch's proposal has come out of the blue. It was put forth without the backing of any sound theoretical or empirical research. Besides, our concern stems from the fact that the proposal was made by businessmen - strangers to the world of education- with their own objectives and agendas. And as is well known, businessmen have a nose for business; they know where money is and fight tooth and nail for it. So, this is a golden opportunity for business fat cats to make money out of new textbooks, dictionaries, and other materials needed for the new language. In short, “to those that have, shall be given”
Also, when great thinkers of the stature of AbdellahLaroui and Abdelkader Fassi Fihri refuse the proposal, we should be on guard and be willing to fight back to protect ourselves from those who intentionally or unintentionally want to strip us of our identity as a people and to subdue our culture and heritage. Otherwise, how else can we explain the fact that these people want to gradually kill a standard language and replace it with street language that will end up degrading our kids thinking. As George Orwell said, "Language can also corrupt thought."
Even if we take Mr Ayouch and Co.’s proposal on faith, time is not working in our favor: How much time will Darija need to gain momentum and take off? Morocco has already wasted too much time lagging behind less economically developed countries in the field of education to spend even another minute tinkering with a language that is a mixture of lingo, slang, and jargon. We have enough problems with already established and widely accepted languages; we needn’t rub more salt in the wound.
Conversely, I agree with Abdellah Laroui that Darija may be used to explain some scientific concepts and processes –what many teachers already do. I also agree that we need to simplify the kind of Arabic used in the classrooms for beginners but not to the point of oversimplification or distortion, or to the point of speaking down to the pupils and keeping their level at rock bottom.
Bottom line: Let’s uncover the real problems in our system of education and deal with them. Let’s not take uncalculated risks and make rash missteps that may prove costly to this country in terms of money, time, and reputation. Pinning the defects of Moroccan education on Modern Standard Arabic is like blaming the victim, and may unnecessarily hold us back for decades.

A Tribute to my Lost Brother, Abdelmajid. By Noureddine Boutahar

Six cruel, painful months have passed since the death of my brother, Abdelmajid. Yet I am still unable to forget or sit back and enjoy anything to the fullest because his memory is a constant sore; a pebble in the shoe of my consciousness. I was told to write about him and about his death because that might help me heal and root out that cutting sadness which has been eating away at my heart and mind. I don’t think the words will come out easily, for the deep corrosive grief will throttle my throat and numb my fingers. But I will try my best.

Mjid or Mjidou, as everyone including myself always called him, died in an unforgettable car accident in the evening of October 8th, 2012. He left behind a wife, two sons, and a girl and he adored them all like any good father and loving husband would. He also left behind old parents to whom he was very attached, and to whom he provided every comfort they required. Mjidou’s role model was his Dad to whom he looked up as a paragon of honesty, integrity, and humility. However, Mjidou still kept his own adorable personality and excellent manners that made him the special man he was. A man with a giant heart which had room enough for everyone: brothers, sisters, in-laws, and anyone whose path crossed his.

Abdelmajid was still young and always in good health. He lived all his life in the clean and salubrious countryside of Boukachmir, near Oulmes, where he sowed and tilled his land and tended his cattle and sheep. He loved the soil of his land and sweated his guts out to clear it and make it a better place to live than it had been before. He loved his cattle and sheep and was especially fond of his dog –Sam– which preceded him in death by a few days (see photo bellow). Mjid sometimes complained of country life, but only during times of drought which devastated animals and crops.

Mjid was active and his schedule was always hectic. In addition to family chores and responsibilities, he never failed to give a helping hand to his many friends, neighbors, and tribesmen. He was the pillar of both our family and Boukachmir community. The crowds at his funeral bore witness to the love the community felt for him. People from far and wide came to his funeral on foot, on muleback, and by car and each one told a story which testified to the piety, integrity, and honesty of Mjid. He was a hero to everyone who knew him because he was among those who give others preference over themselves “even though they are in privation.” (alhashr)

Mjidou had little free time and he spent it on partridge hunting. He fought tooth and claw to set up a hunters and shooters association for the youth of his community - the last thing in the long list of their dreams. The association saw the light of day only a dozen of days before his death. My brother always dreamed big but started small and continued steadfastly, persevering and enduring through the trials and obstacles until achieving his ultimate objective. He never faltered, he never gave in, and he never bent to despair.

Mjid was young and semi-illiterate; however, the elderly and the educated filled their pitchers at the springs of his “wise and discerning mind”. My brother was endowed with the virtues of wisdom, insight, reflectiveness, and unflinching kindness, which earned him enormous popularity among the old and young, and made him a mentor to whomever sought his advice.

Because Mjid was always healthy, energetic, and full of life, I had always believed I would die before him and he would take care of everything: he would cry his eyes out, dig my grave with friends - with a heavy heart, receive condolence offerers and serve them, take care of my kids and be a shoulder for them to cry on. If I were given a choice, I would choose to die before him, but every living soul has a term. As is said in the Quran, “when their time arrives, they can neither postpone it by one hour, nor advance it.” (Yunus)

What more shall I say about my brother whose death has torn every inch of my soul? What more shall I say about Mjidou whose death has impacted the way I think about my life? What more shall I say about a brother whose memory is a constant torment, an everlasting reminder of the futility of life, a clear warning that life is meaningless and a big bubble that will soon deflate?

The keyboard will not help in phrasing my silent sorrows. All I can do right now is tuck my brother away in my heart and pray: May you rest in peace, dear brother, and may God Almighty welcome you in his Heaven. May Allah Almighty ease the family grief and pain and give us all strength enough to get through the loss of a great man whose like Boukachmir will never bear again. May Allah grant us patience and count us among those who take refuge in Him and say, “To God we belong, and to Him we will return.” (Al Baqara) Amen.