It
would be intellectually dishonest to oppose efforts aimed at restoring the
integrity of Morocco’s public domain. Sidewalks that were once swallowed up by
cafés, makeshift kiosks, and concrete barriers are finally being freed for
pedestrian use. Randomly erected shanties and unauthorized extensions to homes
and shops, many built without permits, are being torn down. This process is
undeniably necessary and, one might argue, long overdue.
However,
the critical question remains: why was such blatant encroachment on public
property tolerated for so long by authorities and elected officials? For years,
massive structures went up in broad daylight, while minor home improvements by
ordinary citizens were met with swift punishment. The absence of early
intervention is a glaring example of administrative leniency—or worse,
complicity. And now, suddenly, with the pressure of upcoming global events,
bulldozers are rolling in as though decades of negligence can be erased with a
few months of action.
This
shift raises the specter of opportunistic governance. The timing of the current
campaigns—closely aligned with Morocco’s preparation for international sports
events—suggests that what is now treated as a national priority was long viewed
as an inconvenient truth, better left unaddressed for electoral or political
expediency.
Perhaps
most disheartening is the selective nature of enforcement. While some street
vendors are chased away for blocking a few meters of sidewalk, large
enterprises with steel or glass barricades occupying vast swathes of public
space have long been overlooked. Such inconsistencies not only breed public
resentment but also erode faith in the rule of law.
The
essence of justice is equality before the law—yet the reality on the ground
suggests otherwise. As the saying goes, “What’s sauce for the goose is sauce
for the gander,” but in this case, certain geese appear to be more equal than
others. Ordinary citizens face swift penalties for minor violations, while
powerful figures or well-connected businesses seem to operate with impunity.
This double standard undermines the legitimacy of the campaign and casts a shadow over otherwise laudable efforts. The credibility of public initiatives rests not just on their outcomes, but on the fairness of their implementation. If transparency and equality are not guaranteed, then these campaigns risk becoming mere theatrics—a façade of order hiding the rot of favoritism.
A
closer look at the institutional framework reveals a complex web of
responsibility. According to Law 57.19, local councils hold the legal authority
to regulate temporary occupation of public property. Yet, in practice, it is
often the Ministry of Interior—through its local representatives such as pachas
and caïds—that
initiates action. This duality of power has led to inertia, finger-pointing,
and missed opportunities.
There
have been repeated instances where proactive municipal councils have seen their
decisions undercut by passive local authorities—and vice versa. In other cases,
both parties have turned a blind eye, either to avoid conflict or to protect
vested interests. This dysfunction has turned what should be a shared
governance model into a fragmented and ineffective approach.
Worse
still, the administrative failure to enforce regulations over the years has
allowed illegal behaviors to become normalized, and even aquired rights. The
occupation of sidewalks by vendors, for instance, is no longer seen as a
violation but as a fact of urban life. “If you can’t beat them, join them,”
seems to be the motto. This normalization is more than a societal adaptation;
it is a symptom of systemic breakdown.
One
of the most visible and contentious aspects of urban disorder is the explosion
of informal vendors—known colloquially as farrasha. Since the Arab Spring of 2011, their numbers
have surged across Moroccan cities, peaking during religious holidays and
especially during the holy month of Ramadan, and on Fridays around mosques.
While
the informal economy offers a lifeline for thousands, it also deprives the
state treasury of billions of dirhames of taxes. Even worse, it disrupts daily
life in profound ways. Residents complain of noise, waste accumulation, and the
complete hijacking of sidewalks. Shoppers navigate mazes of handcarts and
shouting vendors. The situation has even escalated into legal disputes, with
some formal business owners considering lawsuits against municipalities for
failing to protect their livelihoods from unfair competition.
The
government did try to intervene by creating “model markets” to house these
vendors in organized spaces. Yet many beneficiaries rent out their spaces and
return to the streets, where they can earn more without paying taxes. This is a
classic example of a policy that fails not because of bad intentions, but due
to lack of enforcement. When rules exist but are not applied, chaos fills the
vacuum.
Cleaning
up the streets and demolishing illegal structures may offer immediate aesthetic
and functional benefits, but they do not address the deeper structural issues. How
will local governments ensure that public spaces remain respected after the
dust settles? Will new urban policies be crafted to balance economic necessity
with legal obligations? Will there be real consequences for officials who fail
to act?
Moreover,
Morocco must resist the temptation to treat this moment as a one-off. The
reclaiming of public property must not become another “hit-and-run”
campaign—visible during international spotlight years and forgotten the next.
Citizens have seen this movie before: authorities act under pressure, only to
retreat once the pressure fades. It is a cycle as predictable as the tide, and
just as relentless.
The
battle to reclaim Morocco’s public spaces is as symbolic as it is practical. It
signals a choice between order and chaos, equity and privilege, legality and
complacency. But to win this battle, Morocco needs more than bulldozers and
camera-friendly demolitions. It needs consistent, transparent governance rooted
in the rule of law.
Let
us not forget the idiom, “Justice delayed is justice denied.” The current
momentum must be seized to institutionalize practices that have been ignored
for decades. Selective enforcement must give way to systematic reform. Policies
must be designed not for headlines, but for the people who walk the streets
every day—the elderly woman navigating a crowded sidewalk, the child playing in
front of their home, the shopkeeper struggling to stay afloat amid unfair
competition.
The
streets and sidewalks belong to all. It is time Morocco ensures that this is
not just a legal fact, but a lived reality.
