Martin Jay
Can Morocco really move forward with a Herculean PR opportunity like the World Cup while clinging to such an antiquated and flawed approach to handling the press?
It is a comical oddity that those working in communications are often the worst communicators of all - and journalists may be the worst among them. When I consider MENA governments generally, I see a clear lack of foresight in communication that others often miss. Government information departments nearly always operate on a linear model of message delivery, failing to grasp that communication must be a two-way street.
In the summer of 2016, I waited for hours in line at the Syrian embassy in Beirut to submit an application for a journalist visa to enter Syria. The lack of a reply, I suppose, is an answer in itself - but it underscores my broader point: communication is not a dark art, yet most governments in the region get it spectacularly wrong, especially in their dealings with foreign journalists.
To date, the limited influence Rabat once had with foreign journalists - up until around 2010, when attitudes distinctly shifted - has dwindled to practically nothing. Many might argue this is preferable: why engage with journalists if it means allowing them into Morocco to write negative stories?
I would beg to differ. Hardly a week passes without a negative story about Morocco - always written by a journalist based in Europe - hitting the stands, feeding the world's appetite for critical reporting on the kingdom, especially in France. It is not simply that having fewer foreign correspondents in Morocco lends credibility to more sensational, sloppy reporting from newsroom stars in Paris. It also means nuanced subjects that once entered the media ecosystem now get left by the wayside.
So imagine my sympathy for Morocco's latest dilemma: the struggle to attract Anglo-Saxon journalists to write about Western Sahara. This challenge was highlighted in a recent opinion article featuring Rabat's doyen of the international media scene, Dr. Yasmine Hasnaoui. What the author - and likely Dr. Hasnaoui herself - may not realize is the decline in English-speaking journalists in Morocco and how Rabat's policies are directly responsible for this new media landscape.
With almost no British or American correspondents based in Morocco, how could an obscure subject like the Sahara ever see the light of day in Europe's press ? In 2007, when I arrived in Morocco, there were 155 foreign journalists accredited by the Ministry of Communication, many in the prime of their careers. Today, there are around 70, most of them younger and less established.
Rabat's decision-makers would have you believe the world has changed and that this shift has nothing to do with them - that it reflects a new trend in London, Paris, and Washington side-lining foreign correspondents. But that is simply untrue. The real reason is that Rabat itself has, since around 2010, made it increasingly difficult for foreign correspondents to obtain accreditation. The flawed logic behind this is a kind of twisted arithmetic: the risk of negative coverage - or even the balanced scrutiny that foreign journalists bring to issues that could otherwise spiral out of control - outweighs the benefits of their presence, which include holding the government accountable for governance failures and human rights scandals.
But on major issues, like how Western Sahara is reported and debated, Rabat has clearly miscalculated. The Sahara receives no meaningful coverage because the very people in the Anglo-Saxon world who could have written about it - seasoned foreign journalists once based in Rabat - have all been run out of town. The irony is beguiling: Rabat's elites now lament the lack of coverage on one of their most cherished issues, even though not a single major U.S. or U.K. newspaper has had a correspondent, freelance or otherwise, based in Rabat since around 2011.
Yet negative press continues to flow from London, Paris, and Washington - whether stories about the king's private life, animal cruelty, protesters beaten in custody, or a missing French national. There are no longer journalists in Morocco to cover these stories with the objectivity and diligence needed for the country to present itself and its achievements in the proper light. The 2023 hit piece on the king by The Economist, delving into the private life of Mohammed VI, would likely never have been commissioned if Morocco weren't shrouded in such mystery and enigma - a direct result of stifling foreign journalists' ability to work in the country in the first place.
So what message is being sent ? At best, there is no message at all. Those who are interested are left waiting and drawing their own conclusions - much like my own application for a Moroccan press card, submitted in Rabat last October, which is still pending.
With the World Cup coming to Morocco, this may be the perfect moment to adopt a more thoughtful approach to media relations and turn the page on this outdated method of treating foreign journalists like enemies of the state. Managed well, they can be your greatest asset - not only as communicators who can spark informed debate on issues like Western Sahara, but as ambassadors who promote the country to foreign investors.
For the past 15 years, I have watched Morocco fall on its own sword, getting this equation spectacularly wrong and paying a heavy price for its misjudgement. It is time to turn the page, leave the Assad school of public relations behind, and recognize that making Rabat a hub for foreign journalists covering North Africa - or even the continent - can only benefit Morocco. Consider Dubai and Beirut: both are media hubs that enjoy positive returns from journalists who are often more agreeable when reporting on their host country than on its neighbours.
Can Morocco really move forward with a Herculean PR opportunity like the World Cup while clinging to such an antiquated and flawed approach to handling the press ? With so much at stake, surely Moroccans deserve better.