Education in Morocco: Pandora’s Box!

I am not a political scientist.

I neither possess the expertise nor the pretension to claim such a title.

I am simply a Moroccan citizen and artist—engaged, concerned, and deeply affected by what has been unfolding in my country over the past several weeks.

And because I believe that the artist has a role to play in society, that their voice is not a posture but a responsibility, I write these lines not to judge, but to understand. For I believe that art, thought, and speech are also forms of engagement.

What follows is a humble reflection—personal and sincere—inspired by His Majesty King Mohammed VI’s speech at the opening of the 11th session of Parliament on October 10, 2025.

A speech of remarkable clarity—neither enigmatic nor purely ceremonial—that, in my view, deserves to be read with the attention it demands, far from the emotions of immediate headlines.

A Speech of Warning and Hope

This was not a political ritual but a strong signal.

His Majesty firmly reminded us that Morocco’s priorities must now be social justice, civic dignity, and national cohesion. But beyond the words, I saw a deeper message: a call to collective responsibility. For when a people demand a Constitution rooted in democracy, as in 2011, they must also accept what democracy entails: the responsibility of their choices.

Governments do not fall from the sky, nor are they handed down by the Sovereign—they emerge from the votes of the people. And when the outcome no longer pleases, we must learn to look inward before pointing fingers.

It is only by owning our collective choices that we can begin to transform what overwhelms us: our relationship to citizenship, responsibility, and education—for it is there, in my view, that everything begins. Morocco cannot move forward without real social justice or a collective awakening of responsibility.

What struck me was the clarity of the message. There were no hollow phrases nor vague metaphors—only a call to return to the essentials: The development of the country cannot rely on slogans or complacency. It demands concrete reforms, strong institutions, and collective commitment. In other words, the Morocco of tomorrow depends on the quality of its citizens.

But beyond the substance, there was the tone.

A tone both firm and calm, almost pedagogical, inviting not reaction but introspection. A call, in essence, to stop searching for culprits and to understand that the nation and its future are built together—power and people intertwined—in the clarity of responsibilities and the consistency of actions.

And if this speech resonated deeply with me, it is because it echoes a more profound unease that we all carry without truly naming it: that of an educational fracture that feeds all others. For behind every injustice, every inequality, every social despair, there is, almost always, a failure of education.

It is this link that I wish to explore.

Not as a statement of helplessness, but as a starting point:

How can we hope for a fair, modern, and coherent Morocco if the school itself reproduces the inequalities it is meant to combat?

Of course. Here is the translation, crafted to read as if it were originally written in English, capturing the tone, nuance, and flow of the original text.

Moroccan Schools: A Cycle of Reform and Disillusion

For decades, education in Morocco has been a tale of grand promises and profound disappointments. Each era has brought its own parade of plans, strategies, and reforms: the National Charter for Education and Training (1999), the Strategic Vision 2015-2030, the Framework Law 51.17, and more recently, the implementation of the 2022-2026 Emergency Program.

On paper, Morocco has never been short on ideas.

Budgets have grown, infrastructure has improved, and enrollment rates have risen. Textbooks have been revised, teacher training modernized, and digital classrooms piloted.

And yet, the core problems remain, and a pervasive sense of stagnation lingers.

It’s as if something at the very heart of the system resists all change.

Because beyond the reforms, there are human realities.

A school is more than a building or a curriculum—it is an ecosystem of values.

And as long as that ecosystem is corrupted by indifference, opportunism, and a lack of vocation, no reform, however ambitious, will ever bear fruit.

The Real Breaking Point: The Teacher

In my view, the heart of the problem plays out in the classroom, in the relationship between the student and the person meant to open up the world for them: the teacher.

The profession, once a vessel for idealism, has lost its sense of calling.

Today, a troubling majority—not all, alas—no longer choose to teach out of passion and conviction, but for security.

A stable job, three months of vacation, a guaranteed salary—and often, the opportunity to teach privately on the side, all with the tacit complicity of the government, society, and, most directly, parents.

Comfort, over mission.

The result: the sacred fire of teaching is slowly dying.

This situation creates a kind of silent hypocrisy:

We demand a quality education, yet we tolerate those who provide it viewing their work as a mere livelihood, not a mission.

Today's teacher, for the most part, no longer wants to "shape a generation"; they want to make a living—and who can blame them, when the system itself no longer values them?

But this is precisely where the fracture lies: education is not a job like any other. It is a moral responsibility, a commitment to the future.

And if that commitment erodes, everything else collapses.

Private Schools: A Symptom of a Deepening Divide

Meanwhile, the private sector thrives, steadily carving out a deep social chasm.

What was once a minority choice has become the norm for middle-class families. Fleeing the public system has become a reflex for educational survival.

This creeping privatization is not trivial: it signals a total loss of confidence in public schools, creating a two-tiered society:

On one side, the children of the private system, prepared for global competition; on the other, those in the public system, left behind in a broken model. And all the while, the state, instead of fixing the quality of public education, sometimes seems content to offload the educational burden onto the private sector. Education, meant to be a great equalizer, is becoming a marker of social injustice.

The Citizen: The Missing Piece of the Reform

Yet, the state cannot bear the entire burden.

We all carry a part of this problem within us.

We have stopped believing in the value of knowledge.

We have transformed school into a simple public service, a right to be consumed rather than a commitment to be honored.

Parents disengage, teachers withdraw, students lose motivation—and everyone blames "the system."

But the system is us.

It is our collective relationship with knowledge, culture, and responsibility.

A country that values appearance over substance cannot produce a vibrant school system.

The Real Priorities for the Coming Decade

If Morocco is to break this cycle, we must, in my view, place meaning, justice, and vocation back at the center of the educational project. Here are what I see as the absolute priorities:

1. Restore the teaching mission. Not just through salary, but through dignity, continuous training, and social recognition.

2. Rebuild trust in public education. Public schools must become centers of excellence again, not a punishment for the poor.

3. Regulate the commodification of knowledge. The private sector must not become a refuge for the privileged, but a regulated complement serving the nation.

4. Educate citizens before graduates. Education must rediscover its role in educating—in the civic, cultural, and moral sense of the word.

5. Put culture, the arts, and critical thinking at the heart of the curriculum. We do not learn to live by repeating lessons, but by learning to think.

6. Decentralize and humanize educational governance. Morocco is a diverse nation; its schools must be too.

7. Reconcile school with society. Parents, teachers, institutions, and citizens must find a common language around the youth.

Conclusion: Relearning to Believe, to See, to Feel, to Hope

Ultimately, all of it—the reforms, the plans, the speeches—will remain empty words if we keep treating the symptoms instead of the disease. The Moroccan school system doesn't need a digital miracle or yet another five-year plan. It needs a moral reawakening.

But not only that. We must remember what makes us human: our capacity to feel, to dream, to create, and to communicate with one another. We must reinterpret education through the lens of art. Because school, without art, becomes a factory for producing functionaries. And art, without school, spins in a void.

I deeply believe that art is a form of education, perhaps the truest form.

Because it teaches us to see differently.

To doubt.

To imagine.

To love.

And that is something no reform, no textbook, no minister can ever decree.

If we want this country to move forward, artists must step out of their bubbles, and teachers must step out of their comfort zones.

Let the ones inspire, and the others transmit.

Let schools become places of life again, not waiting rooms.

Let culture no longer be perceived as a luxury, but as the invisible engine of a living society.

I don't have a miracle solution.

I don't speak as an expert; I speak as a citizen, an artist, a guy who loves his country and aches to see it running in circles.

But I know one thing: as long as we fail to nourish the mind and the soul in equal measure, nothing will change.

And perhaps it all begins there—in a classroom, in a workshop, on a stage, in the eyes of a child who, for the first time, understands they have the right to dream.

Until that faith is reborn, no reform, no roadmap, no budget will ever be enough. Because the problem with education in Morocco isn't in the walls—it's in our hearts.

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