Committee for the Abolition of Illegitimate Debt

Health Minister Amine Tahraoui tried to stage surprise inspections, but when a citizen questioned him about the lack of equipment and solutions, his answer — “go demonstrate in Rabat” — exposed the arrogance of power. It was not advice but dismissal, a polite way of saying, “go away”. Instead of calming anger, it set it free.

On September 27 and 28, young people across Morocco filled the streets. They call themselves GenZ212, but there is no party banner, no leader’s portrait, and no idol to follow. Their demands are simple and direct: social justice, health, and education. The state replied with arrests — forcibly detaining peaceful demonstrators, harassing people and treating them as the system treats them: obey orders, even when they are wrong. Many officers act like they have nothing in common with those they beat, but they share Share A unit of ownership interest in a corporation or financial asset, representing one part of the total capital stock. Its owner (a shareholder) is entitled to receive an equal distribution of any profits distributed (a dividend) and to attend shareholder meetings. the same lives and hardships. This repression did not silence the movement; it multiplied it. By September 30 the protests were bigger, proof that brutality cannot erase dignity.

The priorities of power are obvious to everyone. Survivors of the September 2023 Al Haouz earthquake still live in plastic tents, while high-speed trains and football stadiums rise at record speed. Hospitals and schools decay, while stadiums shine. Today, Morocco is divided into two parts: the Morocco that is polished and clean for tourists and expats who can afford it, and the Maghrib experienced by the majority, where schools, hospitals, and infrastructure are neglected.

Ports became another front. At Tanger-Med, dockworkers and protesters refused to unload ships suspected of carrying weapons for Israel. This demonstration was not symbolic; it disrupted the machinery of global militarism. At the same time, Morocco hosted Israel’s Golani Brigade during the African Lion 2025 drills, training together in tunnel warfare and high-tech combat. The same unit, accused of abuses in Gaza, had already trained on Moroccan soil in 2024. These are not distant alliances. For protesters, they are signs of complicity: the regime invests in military partnerships abroad while denying life at home.

This generation has grown up online. They have seen two years of genocide in Gaza streamed live. They know the names: Pegasus spyware, Israeli surveillance systems, weapons bought with public money. They see accounts on X that promote Morocco–Israel relations, and they feel confused and desperate to justify a partnership that benefits no one in Morocco. Their hasbara is useless against a generation that has watched Gaza burn in real time and understands that this relationship only brings danger and shame.

The anger is not only about hospitals, ports, or geopolitics. It is about the daily life of millions. Prices climb, wages stagnate, and unemployment crushes hope. Families survive on remittances sent from relatives abroad while the state builds stadiums and high-speed trains. This is why the protests feel like a flood — not a single issue, but all grievances converging.

Morocco’s rulers thought they learnt from the Arab Spring. They made a few small reforms to contain anger, hoping to control the future. But now it is clear that those changes were only temporary walls. The effect of this uprising is more promising, and the tide could easily spread to other Arab countries.

At the same time, new dangers rise from the far right. Groups like the Mowahhidin and Zlaijia wrap themselves in nostalgia for a past they never lived, glorifying history while ignoring the present reality of repression, poverty, and neglect. They speak of pride while the people suffer.

Against this, Morocco’s culture of mutual aid shines brighter. It is something deeper than politics — as seen in catastrophes, earthquakes, and daily life. Neighbours care about each other when the state abandons them. It is this spirit that makes the movement possible: solidarity as survival.

There are no leaders here, no portraits, no idols. Some politicians tried to appear at the beginning, but most went silent or exposed themselves as part of the same system. For the youth, the Makhzen is not order but oppression, a machine that protects a ruling class while sacrificing the country’s future. And yet, despite repression, a new future is already visible in the streets: a movement without heroes, without portraits, without idols — only people together, horizontal and collective, refusing to be silent.

And there is also a call going outward. This struggle is not only Moroccan. Messages are circulating for non-Moroccans, for expats living in the “nice” Morocco of cafés and services, who escape the costs of capitalist Europe. If they can afford care, they can also support Moroccan youth by sharing their voices and protecting them. Because the struggle is one.

From Agadir to Rabat, Casablanca, Oujda, Fes and beyond, the cry grows louder every day:

We want real change. We want social justice, health, and education.

Peace. Love. Unity. Respect.