Morocco

Between a public outing and an internal battle - The multifaceted resistance of queer people in Morocco

Since 1988, the so-called “Coming Out Day” has been celebrated annually on 11 October to encourage LGBTQ+ people to publicly stand up for their sexual orientation and gender identity. This day also draws attention to all those who do not have the opportunity to come out and is therefore also representative of all neglected and silenced queer people in the world. This raises not only the question of how important visibility is for queer people, but it is also important asking how freedom can exist in hostile environments despite massive restrictions. In this respect, it is particularly worth having a look at Morocco.

The predominantly Muslim state, in which different cultures have always converged, is seen as a link between Europe and Africa, as well as between the Western and Arab worlds. In this heterogeneous society characterised by contrasts, a small but steadily growing LGBTQ+ community is trying to affirm itself and stand up for its visibility. Morocco is strongly hierarchical and for many Moroccans it is the centralised state and the religiously legitimised monarch that maintains the balance between the different social groups and makes Morocco a symbol of stability in North Africa. The balancing act between the modern and cosmopolitan reality of people from urban areas on the one hand and a reactionary Islamic world view on the other is just as much a part of Morocco as the desire of young optimists to make a new start or the fear of many other people that they will not be able to preserve their own cultural identity. How does the queer community organise itself in the face of these social dynamics and how does it manage to explore and claim spaces of freedom?

Structural homophobia: more than just complex circumstances

According to Morocco's penal code, ‘lewd or unnatural acts with a person of the same sex’ (Article 489) are punishable by law.[1]  In view of the 2011 constitution, which does not guarantee homosexuals any legal protection but does grant every citizen the right to privacy, a principle that is fundamental to Morocco becomes clear: the distinction between private and public. Behind closed doors, freedom is tolerated and homosexual acts are generally not prosecuted. Other topics such as prostitution and premarital sex show parallels to homosexuality in this respect, as these are also illegal and often taboo, but individual freedoms can coexist to a certain extent alongside the rigid religious and political structures.

According to many LGBTQ+ people, the lack of understanding on the part of many politicians for the concerns of queer people and the insufficient legal protection – particularly against assault and vigilante justice – represent one of the biggest challenges today. Given the reform of the penal code, which was initiated in 2023, Akaliyat, one of the few active NGOs in this area, is campaigning for representatives of the LGBTQ+ community to be heard in the reform process.[2]  So far, however, dialogue on an equal footing and active participation in the debate has been practically futile, which does not seem surprising considering the homophobic statements made by former Justice Minister Mustafa Ramid, who devalued homosexuals as “trash” and advised them to change their gender.[3]

Rigid social norms, such as patriarchal gender roles, continue to have a major influence on Moroccan society, even within the community. The vast majority of queer people try to conform to the prevailing role models and therefore often struggle with internalised homophobia and self-hatred. Although basic medical care is relatively well provided, at least in the cities, in the form of HIV-prevention-centres, there are nearly no services that are perceived as trustworthy when it comes to psychological support. In the form of ad hoc workshops, parts of the community are therefore trying to design new services and implement them at a local level. For many young people, these community meetings and workshops are their first experience of a so-called safe space in which they can express themselves freely. This represents an important moment in the constitution of their own identity. A young non-binary person from Marrakech reports: “I can only dance and dress the way I want without having to conform to a masculine ideal here; that's why these moments are so important for us.”

More liberal western countries are often seen as an inspiration, but what is remarkable about most young adults in the LGBTQ+ community is that they express their queer identity in symbiosis with their own culture and religion. One can only imagine the value these individuals would bring to Moroccan society and culture through their expressiveness and pride alone, if it were just a little more open and inclusive.

But even though this minority has always been part of Morocco, it remains stigmatised. Many actors either do not want to acknowledge their centuries-old existence, or the LGBTQ+ community is sterilised as a supposedly destabilising intruder and turned into an external enemy. This is just one of the multiple reasons why the community is increasingly distancing itself from the West. Another notable reason stems from post-colonialist theory: “It was the French who brought their moral concepts based on racism and oppression to Morocco at the beginning of the 20th century, and with them the sodomy laws that had already been abolished in France. This was the only way a conservative sexual morality of radical Muslims could replace liberal Islam in Morocco,” explains an activist from a queer art collective. He adds: “France was an important role model for us for a long time, but why should we orientate ourselves on someone who is on the decline? They can't get a grip on the problems in Europe either.” A pansexual Amazigh (the correct term for the large population group of ‘Berber’) from the rural Atlas region explains: “Morocco is not a liberal country, but it is more anarchic and wilder than in other parts of the world, so you can find freedom everywhere: you just have to look for it”.

Where freedom can be found

One example that can be used in this context is social media. On the one hand, it is a crucial channel of communication and essential for the organisation of community events. In addition, it plays an important role when it comes to getting to know other queer people in your own neighbourhood. However, even though the internet brings new freedoms, it also harbours certain dangers, as demonstrated by a forced outing in 2022. Hundreds of profiles were leaked from dating platforms and publicly denounced.[5] “This event was traumatising for all of us’ reports a 21-year-old from Rabat. He knows people who have lost everything and have been rejected by their families in the midst of the pandemic. “The fear of being outed was omnipresent” he reports, which is another reason why he would never consider coming out himself. Another young man from the south of Agadir comments on the issue of coming out as follows: “Maybe those around me know that I'm gay, my mum probably already suspects it; but what hasn't been said doesn't exist and until then it's not a problem. It's only when it's public that you must take a stand as a family and then suddenly there's a lot more at stake.”

However, there are other examples of openly queer people for whom coming out was less of a problem. A designer from the hip beach town of Essaouira explains that he was already a “weirdo” as a child; his flamboyance was well known in the local community, and nobody was particularly surprised that he outed himself as homosexual. In Morocco, however, coming out easily and with it the free development of one's personality remain a privilege that depends on social status, education, place of residence and above all, your wallet. Freedom, yes, but not everywhere and not for everyone.

Being transgender is also increasingly accepted by society, at least in urban areas, and there are several prominent examples of trans people and their outings, which contribute to social discourse in a special way, not least through social media. Nevertheless, it is difficult to assess the extent to which Morocco's hegemonic understanding of masculinity has an influence on the freedom of different queer groups of people. Both masculine identity and the conservative role model appear to have been undermined in recent years in the face of increasing economic constraints and feminist debates (the declamatory, renitent exaggeration of one's own masculinity is of course no indication of this). This in turn has a negative impact on non-conforming groups such as non-binary and intersex people, who dare to disturb the black and white utopia of the innocent population by their mere existence.

In view of the highly fragmented society, the queer community seems to be willing to accept this: As long as the radical Islamists at the other end of the spectrum are tolerated even less than you are and as long as you don't have to fear for your own life, that's the price you will have to pay for social peace. For many of the grassroots activists, the priority is thus a silent fight for better conditions, safe spaces and the balancing out of new freedoms, rather than for more visibility and public presence. This approach should certainly not be judged from a Eurocentric perspective, especially when bearing in mind that hardly anyone of the community lacks the necessary courage and optimism. Queer people in Morocco deserve understanding for the complex daily struggle they face with themselves, their own cultures and a paternalistic state.

A coming out as a political statement is an important tool for the LGBTQ+ community to stand up for acceptance and against stigmatisation. But on a day like 11 October, all those who cannot actively express their identity and their allegiance to the queer community should not be forgotten. Hidden in the shadows, they are the ones paving the way for equal rights and universal freedom for all people. A queer activist summarises it as follows: “I live openly as a queer person and contribute to the visibility of all those people who cannot do so themselves. Even if the opposition gets stronger and stronger, in the end it's about defending the freedom we've won and not letting them get us down. But the fight we are waging remains tough and tedious.” Furthermore, he concludes that he is optimistic about the future because he has long since put his fears aside and that nothing can disturb him anymore.

Linus Hiemer is a student of political and social sciences as well as gender studies at the Freie Universität Berlin and Sciences Po Paris. He writes political analyses for the Friedrich Naumann Foundation for Freedom in Morocco, where he recently completed an internship lasting several months.

Author's note: All quotes are freely translated from French and Spanish.

[1] Es drohen Haftstrafen von sechs Monaten bis zu drei Jahren oder einer Geldstrafe von 120 bis 1200 Dirham
[2] https://telquel.ma/instant-t/2023/06/19/lgbtq-lassociation-akaliyat-demande-a-participer-au-debat-sur-la-reforme-du-code-penal_1817605/
[3] https://telquel.ma/2015/07/07/ramid-conseille-changement-sexe-les-homos…
[4] https://www.dw.com/en/moroccos-lgbt-community-faces-death-threats-after-online-outing/a-53210537
[5] https://www.dw.com/en/moroccos-lgbt-community-faces-death-threats-after…