The Doyle Engaging Difference Program - Georgetown University

On one of my first few days in the Kingdom of Morocco, a professor jokingly reassured a room of American students that in leaving the United States, we had gained freedom of speech. While I quickly learned I wasn’t free to speak about every topic in Morocco — like the status of Western Sahara, for example — that professor was right that we could now talk about certain horrific injustices in the Middle East without being as afraid. In many ways, the three and a half months I spent living under an Islamic monarchy were the most free I have felt in my life.

Beyond having the privilege to travel around new countries with friends, I felt free in Morocco because my identity as a Muslim connected me to the country I lived in as opposed to making me a target of suspicion, judgement or just plain confusion. Growing up in the U.S., I have had no choice but to reflect on what it means to be a Muslim – not just on a personal, religious level, but from a political and national security lens. In Morocco, however, being a Muslim was not an identity marker that made me an outsider. Instead, it was often an instant ticket in. The fact that my Muslim identity, something very important to me, was not something to worry about cleared up a lot of space in my mind. Small things, like no one thinking it strange when I paused what I was doing to complete one of the five daily prayers, or more serious things, like not feeling the pressure of representing my community to people whose first associated word with Islam is terrorism, allowed me to relax about my outward Muslim appearance. 

Of course, Moroccan society was still entirely new to me. Many of the people around me, including my host family, spoke little English, which pushed me to communicate by clumsily mixing French, standard Arabic, and Moroccan Darija. I became accustomed to darting between cars in order to cross the street, navigated challenging gender norms, and learned to drink at least three cups of tea a day. There were even differences in the way Islam is practiced. At times, I felt way out of my depth and struggled, but I also felt empowered because I was figuring it out and truly enjoying it.

Maybe because getting the hang of a new way of life boosted my confidence, or because the anxiety of being Muslim was lifted, or simply because I was determined to make the most of my experience after travelling across the Atlantic Ocean, but for whatever reason, I found myself befriending the people around me much more naturally than I would at home. Moroccans typically greet each other by saying “Assalaam u alaykum,” or simply “Salaam!” which translates to “peace be upon you.” They then repeatedly ask how the other person is doing: "Labas?" "Kidayr?" "Kl shi mzyan?" "Kl shi bkhair?" "Kl shi wadak?" As a result, my interactions with new people usually began from a very wholesome place. On top of that, many people were so excited to know more about me and to welcome me to their country.

The kindness I was met with made me remember that the world is full of amazing people and encouraged me to initiate connection with strangers. I befriended my neighbors, like the elderly tailor who worked down the street from where I lived, or the man who sold sfinj (Moroccan doughnuts) to me at a discount because I was at his shop way too often. I stopped to talk to my friends’ host siblings on my way home. When my friends and I played soccer, kids of all ages who we’d never met before would join us. Collectivist Islamic values and Moroccan culture combined to create a sense of community that felt like a warm hug. It was fulfilling to be part of a neighborhood that at the very least, knew each other, and at its best, supported each other. 

It did not escape me that as I enjoyed some of the most exciting months of my life, I was living in a bit of a bubble. My friends and family back home were watching with horror as President Trump’s second term progressed and the U.S. became even more hostile towards minorities and vulnerable communities, both domestic and abroad. In the days leading up to my departure from Morocco, I began to worry about getting back into my country. Concerned relatives called me with strict instructions for how best to avoid unwanted attention from airport security. Thankfully, I made it home safely, but it was obvious that things have gotten much, much worse. One of the first stories I heard when I got back was that ICE had taken an innocent man from my local Home Depot for questioning despite him being a citizen.

As I try to make sense of peaceful protestors being punished and military parades for the president’s birthday, there are a couple of lessons I would like to keep in my mind. First, the U.S. and the West are not the only places where you can experience freedom and equality, or where people care about democratic rights. Every community’s way of life comes with its own pros and cons and people are more eager than I thought to learn about alternative perspectives. Second, I hope to keep making an effort to get to know the people around me. The warmth and hospitality that Morocco made me familiar with exposed me to incredible people. As basic as it sounds, the best way to understand religion, politics, society, and culture is to talk to the people who live it. So talk to the person next to you. Share your story. Listen to theirs. It could restore your faith in humanity.