Protests

This morning I was awoken to sounds of protest.

I am in the capital, Rabat. Right off the grand rue. And today, citizens are protesting Gaza. I don’t know what that means, but I doubt it means they are “anti-Gaza.” I don’t get what they hope to accomplish by protesting, or why this protest was planned since at least Thursday to happen on Sunday on a day when the administrative buildings they are shouting in front of are mostly empty. Maybe so more people could participate? But isn’t getting the message to people who can hear the point more important than your multitude? But what is the message exactly?

I wanted to see.

I have never been to a protest before.

I had no intentions of getting involved, I just wanted to view how many people were there. To get a feeling for the atmosphere.

So I went.

It is at least a mile long and as time passes growing exponentially. It’s loud. It’s been going on for hours. It is a swirling sea of red, green, white with a little bit of black mixed comprised of a mélange of Moroccan flags, Palestinian flags and keffiyehs.

I was uncomfortable. I was with a friend and I wanted to get closer to see, to take a picture… and he advised me I shouldn’t get any closer, and probably shouldn’t take a picture there either. I got a little closer to see anyway, but then I was suddenly stricken with a vague sense of fear and severe discomfort and did not so much as remove my camera from its case. When I walked the few feet back to him, he said, “I don’t like this, I want to go.” I instantaneously replied, “Me too,” and we immediately turned and walked the remaining way to our hotel in profound silence.