Mediocracy is Today's Flavor du Jour. Noureddine Boutahar

In this comically absurd world, there is an abundance of the intellectually challenged, the blinder-wearers, the unwitting pawns, and the brainwashed sheeple. These individuals are moved, controlled, and exploited by the unseen hands of  manipulations, social media, and “the mysterious divinities hidden behind the tabernacle”, in Gustave Le Bon’s words. Political, economic, media and academic arenas are transforming into absurd spectacles led by these mediocre mentalities, steadily advancing to seize more platforms and jeopardize the presence of discerning minds.

According to Oxford Languages Dictionary, mediocracy is defined as "a dominant class consisting of mediocre people or a system in which mediocrity is rewarded," where the absence of authenticity, creativity, and value is noticeable, and exudes an air of insignificance, contempt, and baseness. Its champions aim to weaken our values, beliefs, cultures, and traditions, leading societies to blindly embrace the appeal of the capitalist market economy through backing, approval, widespread dissemination, and media influence.

Socrates articulated it eloquently back in the days when he remarked on a man who confidently strutted, showcasing his clothes and stylish flair: "Speak, so I may see you." This implies that genuine value is not contingent upon external beauty or style. It does not rely on the mediocre content lacking depth, accuracy, and originality that individuals post on the Internet. True value lies in the substance of one's words, the authenticity of one's ideas, and one's streadfast attitude.

Today, however, mediocracy has taken hold of people's daily lives, claiming a significant share of their mental energy. The mediocre dedicate substantial time to debates over trivial matters like fashion trends, accessories, food, and the appeal of public figures. Global television and social media discussions further amplify these frivolous topics, engaging in debates about a dancer's legs, a singer's earrings, or a model's eyelashes. The mediocre have morphed into revered role models, "paper tigers" in Mao Zedong's words, posing a looming threat as mediocracy tightens its grip on the world.

How did the mediocre achieve this? According to the Canadian philosopher, Alain Deneault, “There was no Reichstag fire. No storming of the Bastille. No mutiny on the Aurora. Instead, the mediocre have seized power without firing a single shot. They rose to power on the tide of an economy where workers produce assembly-line meals without knowing how to cook at home, give customers instructions over the phone that they themselves don't understand, or sell books and newspapers that they never read.” Once unknown nobodies and fools now find themselves propelled into the limelight and fame, courtesy of contemporary media and social platforms that provide a stage for mediocracy to emerge, spreading from obscurity.

As Alain Deneault emphasized, mediocracy has become dominant, shaping societal culture with a cohort of mediocre media figures. This normalization has blurred the lines between corruption and innocence to the extent that virtue is seen as a punishable act, and vice is hailed as the ultimate virtue. Kindness is deemed foolish, while malice is paradoxically applauded as brilliance and intelligence.

The danger of mediocracy gaining ground and assembling more followers is that we draw nearer to what the French polymath, Gustave Le Bon, described as the sheep-like mentality of the crowd. Le Bon defined the crowd as a group of individuals united by a common idea, belief, or ideology. The idea which unites a crowd is not chosen by a process of clear reasoning and examination of evidence. Instead, crowds accept beliefs and ideas superficially and utilize them as fuel for revolutionary action. He says, “How numerous are the crowds that have heroically faced death for beliefs ideas and phrases that they scarcely understood.”

In addition, mediocre people are okay with doing the minimum and getting by without putting in enough effort. They avoid pushing limits, challenging norms, thinking creatively, or making extra efforts to achieve goals. They complete tasks but don't aim to stand out or make a big impression. They are content with being average, and as long as things work, they consider it a success. They also anticipate conformity from everyone, expecting individuals to follow the herd without questioning. Anyone who deviates is often unjustly labeled as foolish, a traitor, a turncoat, or a coward.

Another issue with mediocracy is its contagious nature. If one surrounds oneself with individuals who embody mediocracy, negativity, and contentment with average standards, it is likely to influence one to remain at that level. The environment plays a crucial role in shaping the quality and achievements of an individual. Jogging alongside people at one's pace maintains the same speed, preventing any upward movement beyond that average quality and mentality. According to Le Bon, when an individual becomes part of a crowd, he undergoes a profound psychological transformation that, “He is no longer himself but has become an automaton who has ceased to be guided by his will.”

One additional issue with the mediocres is their tendency to go through life wearing blinders. As the movie "Don't Look Up" exemplifies, the mediocre exhibit a lack of concern for matters of public importance. In the film, two astronomers attempt to warn humanity about an impending comet that poses a threat to civilization. Satirically, this warning is met with indifference from mediocre figures in government, politics, celebrities, and the media regarding the impending danger.

It's disheartening that we find ourselves in an era dominated by mediocracy and distraction, a time of deviating away from sound reasoning and higher values. This cultural shift has paved the way for the widespread proliferation of political and social corruption, the prevalence of ignorance, the dissemination of low-quality content, and the erosion of societal standards. There is no magic bullet, secret formula, or quick fix for breaking free from the clutches of mediocracy. It is a collective responsibility, echoing Jean-Paul Sartre's insight: "When we say that a person is responsible for oneself, we don't only mean that one is responsible for one's individuality, but also that one is responsible for all of humanity."

Regrettably, the trajectory towards the rise of mediocracy and the increasing influence of the mediocre provides little reason for optimism, at least in the foreseeable future. Thus, I can only echo the sentiment expressed by the Hadith: "Do as you please if you have no sense of shame."

My Quranic School Experience. Noureddine Boutahar

As I journey down the memory lane of my life, retracing it to my early childhood, one striking and indelible memory comes to the forefront — the momentous and somewhat daunting first day at the Quranic School. This particular recollection is so vivid that it demands to be shared, pursuant to the insightful words of American writer Lois Lowry, who aptly remarked, 'Memories need to be shared.' 

Morocco has long been distinguished by a unique and authentic method of Quran memorization, a tradition passed down through generations. This practice which unfolded in Quranic schools known as "Kuttab" or "Msid", relied on simple tools like wooden boards, reed pens, and ink made from gum arabic and clay. These schools were supervised by a teacher known as the Fqih, selected by the villagers. Instead of receiving monetary compensation, the Fqih was provided with provisions for living, and, if single, even a wife from the village. Beyond teaching the Quran, writing, and arithmetic, the Fqih also served as a respected advisor to the community, playing a crucial role in shaping young minds and guiding the village through various aspects of life.

In my generation, almost every child attended the Quranic School, almost like a kindergarten rite of passage. However, my stint there was fleeting. I remember my first day vividly, as if it happened only yesterday. The Fqih, seated on a sheepskin rug that doubled as his prayer carpet, wielded a long stick that reached every nook of the room, bustling with cross-legged students aged five to seven. As he enforced discipline among the students, an air of fear permeated the atmosphere, heightened by the Fqih's imposing physique and resonant, intimidating voice.

On the day I joined the Msid, our main focus was on reciting Quranic verses. Towards the back, a young boy grappled with the verses, his pauses and hesitations betraying a lack of memorization. Abruptly, at the Fqih's signal, two older boys sprang into action, seizing the struggling reciter, pulling him to the front, and binding his feet. The Fqih wielded a two-foot olive tree stick adorned with small thorns, unleashing a merciless flogging upon the child's soles. Despite the child's desperate cries and promises of improved memorization the next day, the Fkih remained indifferent. 

Unable to witness this injustice without response, I spontaneously rose, grabbed an ink bottle, and swiftly made my exit. Alarmed, the Fqih hastily pulled up his Jellaba, chasing after me for a few steps. Eventually, he halted, calling out for me to return with the bottle. However, I sprinted away, resolute in my determination to escape the troubling scene.

Despite residing almost four miles away from the Msid, I made a swift return, outpacing the renowned Said Aouita. My heart pounded against my ribs, and tears blurred my vision as I recounted my sob story to my astonished and alarmed mother and grandmother, one breathless sentence at a time. My grandmother, my stalwart protector, vowed to ensure I never returned to the Msid.

In the ensuing days, my father took the initiative to enroll me in a formal primary school, albeit as a listener due to my not having reached the eligible age. Mr. Ourrach, with his remarkable kindness, trustworthiness, and unwavering support, fostered an environment where I felt at ease, enabling me to enthusiastically absorb a wealth of knowledge, including a few Quranic verses, from the sidelines. His passion for teaching was truly authentic, and he triumphed in capturing the hearts and minds of all his students.

As for the topic of caning, it was part and parcel of attending Quranic Schools. It constituted a widespread form of corporal punishment in Moroccan Msids, being meted out for a spectrum of infractions, both serious and trivial. These included failure to recite verses, making noise, truancy, bullying, fighting, stealing, and disobedience. Children were struck on various body parts, and the severity often depended on the perceived gravity of the offense. However, many students attested that the number of strokes seemed arbitrary.

Today, as I hear the heart-rending stories of the dehumanizing punishments my peers endured under certain Fkihs' authority, a profound sadness engulfs me. Yet, my heart swells with immense gratitude for my exceptionally kind-hearted, affectionate grandmother. She not only spared me from the haunting specter of having my mental and emotional health shattered by a mere stick but also shielded me from potential negative consequences in physical development.

The Decline of Morality Noureddine Boutahar

It is said that "to be truly human is to be moral". However, as one reflects upon the passage of time, it becomes evident that moral values are on a decline. Various factors contribute to this downturn, including aspects such as faith, upbringing, culture, environment, personal experiences, education, and relationships. The implications of this trend do not augur well for humanity if the descent continues unabated.

Let's begin by clarifying the concept of values. Values encompass the principles, beliefs, and ideals that shape an individual's decisions and actions. These deeply ingrained virtues play a significant role in influencing attitudes and behavior. Examples of such values include honesty, respect, integrity, responsibility, fairness, accountability, gratitude, courage, selflessness, patience, trust, and compassion.

Surprisingly, according to a survey by Nature, respondents in more than 60 nations expressed a prevailing belief that people are now less moral than they used to be. However, when asked to provide specific examples illustrating this perceived decline in morality, few could cite any. Nevertheless, having experienced life in both rural landscapes and urban jungles, traversed the globe from Europe to America, and coexisted with generations ranging from Gen X to Gen Alpha, I can personally debunk this claim.

Evidence of the decline in moral values is glaring in the transformation of our once-trustworthy neighbors into strangers, our close-knit circle of friends into mere acquaintances, and the ties with relatives evolving into unrecognizable connections. The erosion of moral standards further unfurls in the shocking incivility displayed by today's youth when contrasted with the courtesy of the Silent Generation, Baby Boomers, Gen Xers, and Millennials. It is palpable in the unparalleled rise of fraud that stains our increasingly greedy society and the unpleasant swelling of foul language echoing through our public spaces...

Consider embracing your convictions today and people will part ways with you as a scabby animal. Try holding unwaveringly onto your principles and you will get a wave of backbites and slander. The pursuit of authenticity may unveil heart-wrenching consequences like the risk of losing connections with friends, relatives, colleagues, and neighbors. The quest for originality may cause a bitter truth and disclose the opportunists, ingrates, and hypocrites. Being moral in today’s society is a tussle that hurts and aches and challenges our convictions.

My childhood experiences have imparted a valuable lesson. As a child accompanying my parents to the Souk, the weekly open market, I observed them discreetly concealing valuable purchases. Intrigued, I questioned this behavior, and my father imparted a profound lesson about considering the feelings of the less fortunate— the poor, the deprived, and even pregnant women with specific food cravings. Despite my semi-illiterate parents and completely illiterate grandparents lacking formal education, they were paragons of virtue. Their wisdom, compassion, selflessness, and tolerance weren't derived from the teachings of Aristotle, Ibn Miskawayh, Umberto Eco, Ibn Arabi, André Gide, Naim Qassem, Paul Kurtz, or Bertrand Russell. Instead, these virtues were deeply ingrained in them through the channels of observational learning, personal experience, and attentive listening.

In their turn, my parents and grandparents not only conveyed moral values through words but also stressed the importance of observational learning, exposing us to places where virtuous actions unfolded—such as Souks, public ceremonies, and family gatherings. The significance of family gatherings was underscored as pivotal moments for instilling these values, a tradition now scarce in the face of technological influence.

The lion's share of blame for our moral decline today lies with technology, from television to cellphones. The absence of family gatherings, once a cherished opportunity to share stories, traditions, and values, has become a rare occurrence. The repercussions of this decline are significant, leading to a breakdown of trust, a decline in empathy and compassion, a disregard for honesty and integrity, and a lack of accountability and obligation.

This snapshot of societal decay is not merely disheartening; it serves as a stark call for reflection and a fervent plea for a moral resurgence. Echoing Anne O'Hare McCormick's words, "The foundations of the world will be shaky until the moral props are restored." In essence, a society consistently compromising its moral values is fated to witness the erosion of trust and social cohesion, potentially descending into what Thomas Hobbes aptly termed "the war of all against all." The looming question is: What kind of society awaits us at the end of this tunnel if we persist in nurturing such vices?

Breaking the Chains of Hypocrisy Noureddine Boutahar

As if Lady Colin Campbell were speaking on my behalf when she said, 'I'm not two-faced; I'm honest, and I tell it the way it is. I'm not good at hypocrisy, pretending to be someone I'm not.' Back in my younger days, my dear old grandma, may her soul rest in peace, used to tell me that I had seriously "thick lips." Of course, she wasn't referring to my pout! What she meant was that I was as straightforward and blunt as they come. Grandma's sage advice was, "Be more like camels, darling. They've got soft tongues, perfect for munching on those prickly weeds without a fuss!”

 Fast forward to my adult years, and boy, did I face a conundrum dealing with the sheep mentality posse—the folks who march to the beat of situations and circumstances, spinning a web of lies and hypocrisy as they go. I found it tough because my honesty and no-nonsense attitude were rare like a diamond in a field of pebbles. People expected me to dish out lies as if I were a counterfeit artist forging illusions on the canvas of conversation, just to go with the social flow.

 Oh, the struggle was real! I suffered because I refused to partake in what I call social hypocrisy. They wanted me to flash a grin at people I couldn't stand, all in the name of social decorum, as if my feelings were supposed to take a backseat to theirs. I was expected to bend the truth, sprinkle fairy dust over unpleasant realities, and perform the delicate dance of social hypocrisy. However, I couldn't bring myself to play the game.

 Then, as I ventured further into the wider world, I stumbled upon the stark reality that hypocrisy is the cherished policy du jour. I crossed paths with folks who championed family values but were caught red-handed cheating on their spouses. I met religious leaders who preached about honesty but were later exposed for spinning tall tales. I encountered people who wore a friendly facade when things were smooth, but showed their true colors in times of adversity. And don't get me started on those who claimed to be against discrimination but then spewed out racist and sexist remarks like confetti.

 I was told that we're all hypocrites at times, that our actions needn’t always line up with our beliefs. I was told about the existence of "white lies," and it left me feeling a bit bewildered. It struck me as curious that people would assign colors to lies in an attempt to rationalize them. Translation? Be an angel in the daylight and a mischief-maker when no one's watching. Spread kindness and compassion during the day, and let loose your satanic side when night falls. What kind of society are we brewing here?

 Allow me to shed a bit more light on the matter: there's a clear distinction between the art of courtesy and the murky waters of hypocrisy. While courtesy is all about embodying politeness, respect, and good manners, hypocrisy takes a detour into the realm of deceit, lies, and dishonesty. Picture it like this: courtesy is the VIP section of genuine behavior, while hypocrisy is the uninvited guest crashing the party with a bag full of duplicity. Simply put, doing the right thing without the right intentions is a one-way ticket to the land of the hypocrites.

 A moment of silence for Mr. Ourrach, my primary school teacher, may he rest in peace. He left an indelible mark on my mind with his lesson from the famous and cherished Iqraa textbook: "Wherever you go, be mindful of your actions, for the eyes of God are always upon you." Oh, my, what a textbook! It brimmed with captivating tales of morals and values, weaving a mosaic of wisdom that resonated with the very essence of life. It wasn't just a book; it was a treasury of timeless lessons that sparked the imagination and guided the soul.

Our First Radio Noureddine Boutahar

Growing up in the countryside during the late sixties and seventies was a unique experience, especially without the ubiquitous presence of TVs. In the rural setting of my childhood, my dad was among the few who possessed a tabletop radio, our exclusive source of at-home entertainment. This box-shaped device, powered by hefty, non-rechargeable batteries, needed time to warm up before efficiently transmitting its waves.

The front of the radio featured an indented panel housing controls and a speaker outlet. The lower part contained three knobs - one for turning on the radio and adjusting volume, another for selecting stations, and the third for changing the wavelength from long to medium. This radio was not just a device; it was the center of our entertainment universe.

Gathered around it, my family and I would listen to captivating radio dramas that sparked our imagination. Closing my eyes, I could transport myself to different times and places, enchanted by the theater of the mind. For my dad, the radio was a vital source of information. He tuned in for news updates, talk shows, and in the evenings, Amazigh programs, given that the Amazigh language had limited airtime from 16:00 to 20:00.

In the bustling heart of our expansive family, a sense of reverence and a hint of secrecy embraced the enchanting melodies of Amazigh songs—a symphony reserved for moments when we couldn't share them together. Laden with the essence of love and romance, these tunes became our private indulgence, set aside for times of seclusion. So, whoever desired to immerse themselves in the lyrical tales emanating from the radio had to find a moment of solitude.

Yet, Fridays emerged as extraordinary deviations from our usual clandestine routine. On these hallowed evenings, our abode resonated with the profound wisdom of Imadiazen, the Amazigh poets. Completing our field work and tending to the farm animals earlier than usual, we would gather around the radio, immersing ourselves in verses that intricately wove narratives of piety, faith, and invaluable religious counsel at the onset of the broadcast. As the evening unfurled, we'd be captivated by Imadiazen's poems, each one delving into diverse topics and themes, adorning our Friday nights with a mosaic of eloquence.

As children, laying a finger on that prized possession was strictly off-limits, and we always had to patiently wait for Dad to take the lead, albeit occasionally sneaking in stolen moments of radio bliss. However, when I reached my mid-teens and entered high school, I was granted the honor of using the radio without needing Dad's permission. It swiftly became a cherished pastime during school vacations, etched vividly in my memory. The radio transformed into my go-to companion for exploring various music genres, thrilling dramas, and the latest news, with a special emphasis on English programs.

Serving as my inaugural English teacher, I tuned in to BBC broadcasts, progressing from picking up a few words to understanding phrases, sentences, and eventually grasping the entire main idea. Listening to news in both Arabic and Amazigh significantly enhanced my comprehension of BBC's English global updates.

Concerns arose when my dad worried that the radio might be fostering passive behavior and laziness, especially given the agricultural work we had to attend to. Thus, an informal agreement was reached—moderate radio use was permitted only during leisure times, ensuring a balance between the radio and my farm responsibilities.

Amidst the symphony of those countryside days, our humble radio, albeit the only game in town, played a pivotal role, not merely as a purveyor of entertainment but as a gateway to enlightenment, cultural immersion, and family unity.

Too Good too Stupid Noureddine Boutahar

I shared the proverb "I taught him archery every day... yet when his arm gained might, he aimed at me" on my Facebook page. The overwhelming response in likes and comments inspired me to create this article, drawing on Arabic resources from the Internet.

This particular proverb, well-known among Arabic-speaking intellectuals, is part of a poem with a captivating story behind it. The verses' attribution varies, with some crediting Malik ibn Fahm al-Azdi and others assigning it to Aws ibn Ma'n al-Muzani. The prevailing consensus in literary sources leans towards Ma'n ibn Aws al-Muzani as its originator.

Those linking the proverb to Malik ibn Fahm recount a tale of familial betrayal. Malik was a ruler presiding over a sprawling domain with his family at his side. Among his offspring, the youngest, Sulaimah, held a special place in his heart. Yet, within this familial tapestry, jealousy wove its treacherous threads. Driven by envy, Sulaimah's brothers deceitfully whispered accusations into their father's ears, alleging that Sulaimah neglected his guard duty. Eager to confirm these allegations, Malik, the concerned patriarch, stealthily approached to observe his son in action. Sensing an intruder, Sulaimah, with bow and arrow in hand, prepared to defend. In a heartbreaking twist, Malik's voice rang out in the darkness, pleading, "Don't shoot, I'm your father!" A fatal miscommunication followed, as Sulaimah responded with a tragic declaration: "Oh father, the arrow has reached its target." As he drew his last breath, his father uttered the now-famous verses:

 

Behold the irony of nurturing a child,
Feeding him with the delicate tips of my hand.
I taught him the art of archery every day,
Yet, when his arm gained might, he aimed at me.
The intricacies of verses I carefully taught him,
Only for his own rhyme to turn against me.
I nurtured him to embrace vitality,
Yet, when his mustache unfurled, he betrayed me.

...

The verses of this poignant poem reveal Malik's profound amazement and disbelief. He had invested his heart and wisdom in raising a child, imparting skills and knowledge, only to find himself repaid with the bitter currency of ingratitude.

The narrative brims with various themes, yet the verses resonate particularly among Arabic-speaking communities, serving as a poignant expression of disillusionment when kindness is met with harm. Similar English proverbs echo this sentiment: "Biting the hand that feeds you," "Don't throw pearls before swine," "Plant flowers in others' gardens, and your life becomes a bouquet of thorns," "The tree of kindness is often felled with the axe of ingratitude," and "The snake you charm today will bite you tomorrow."

I appreciate the phrase coined by the Shah of Iran: 'Ingratitude is the prerogative of the people.' It unfortunately suggests that a lack of gratitude is a trait often found in human nature. Some people take your kindness for granted, while others underestimate it. So, as the Russian proverb wisely advises, "Trust but check."

 

Read to Write Noureddine Boutahar

 My friend Khalid Nkhaili recently told me about his admiration for my writing and expressed curiosity about my journey in developing this skill. Well, let me take you back to the roots of my love for writing—a passion that sprouted in the fertile soil of my childhood, nurtured by my deep affection for reading.

Growing up in a serene Moroccan countryside, I attended a school with no books at home and no library to quench my literary thirst. However, my love for reading knew no bounds. As soon as I could decipher words, I eagerly devoured the Souk’s* offerings, which wrapped our groceries, vegetables, and fruit in old newspaper pieces. Those crumpled sheets became my literary treasures. I would meticulously straighten them, immersing myself in the articles within. Though I didn't fully grasp the content, occasionally stumbling upon news from my father's old transistor radio added a layer of familiarity.

Another unexpected source of reading material was the medicine boxes brought home by a sick family member. The drug information sheet became my favorite, captivating me with its dual language presentation in Arabic and French. Little did I know that this would be the starting point for my journey to becoming proficient in French, a skill that would prove valuable from my junior school days onward.

Upon moving from the countryside to the bustling city of Meknes after primary school, I discovered a true treasure—the city library. My newfound haven, the “Librairie Municipale” library, became a sanctuary where I not only read voraciously but also borrowed books to continue my literary exploration at home.

This dedicated reading routine bore fruit, significantly influencing my writing style. I began crafting compelling paragraphs and essays that garnered praise from my teachers. In junior school, my instructors, including Madame Massardier, Madame Boulanger, and Monsieur Dupont, alongside an unnamed Arabic teacher, actively encouraged my writing endeavors. Their support fueled my passion.

Transitioning to university life, influential professors like Mr. Ezzroura and Mr. Jamari continued to champion my writing in English. Their mentorship, among many others, played a pivotal role in shaping my literary journey. In one memorable instance, Mr. Jamari took the initiative to share a snippet of one of my essays with our classmates. His discerning comment echoed in my ears — a prophecy, it seemed — as he boldly declared that I was destined to be a writer. This pivotal moment not only bolstered my confidence but also ignited a flame of ambition within me.

Once I found a comfortable rhythm in expressing myself, I took the plunge into the world of “journalism”. I began submitting articles to a few Moroccan newspapers, composing them in both Arabic and French. While not a regular occurrence, the moments when my work graced the pages and captured the attention of the general public were truly gratifying. Witnessing my words in print was a source of pride, fueling my passion for sharing stories and ideas with a broader audience.

Today, acknowledging the profound impact of reading, I eagerly took steps to ensure that my children could savor its delightful rewards. The enchanting tunes of bedtime tales continue to resonate as cherished chapters in the hearts of my little ones, especially my beloved daughters. They joyfully reminisce about those bedtime adventures, considering them among the finest moments of their early years. It truly warms my heart to see that the love for reading and books has taken root in each of them.

Remarkably, one of my daughters, Rime, has emerged as a budding wordsmith, crafting exceptional articles that find a home in prestigious global publications. Witnessing her talent bloom is not just a source of parental pride but a testament to the enduring power of reading and storytelling within our family.

The bottom line, the axiom "Nemo Dat" holds true in the symbiotic relationship between reading and writing. A profound truth underscores my writing journey: one cannot master the art of writing without immersing oneself in the vast ocean of literature. Reading provides writers with ideas for structure, language, literary techniques, and effective ways to convey a writer's purpose, replenishing the creative energy needed for continued writing.

* Moroccan outdoor weekly market.