“I would leave everything as it is now”: Father of jailed Amazigh Riffian leader speaks about the movement that shook Morocco

Entering the Zefzafis’ house was like entering a different world, one in which time had lapsed. The positions of the furniture had barely changed since Nasser Zefzafi’s absence, as his father, Ahmed Zefzafi indicated while pointing at different places of the house.  Black flags were still waving on their rooftop since May 29, 2017, when Nasser was detained for having led the biggest protests of the century in the Rif.

“They broke this door,” said Ahmed, pointing at the main entrance to their house, “and entered with fifty-four members of the national police brigade.” That’s how he remembers the last memories with his son, who is now a figure for the Amazigh Riffians worldwide.

2016-2017: The awakening of Nasser and the Hirak movement

Nasser Zefzafi became known for being one of the most outspoken activists during the Riffian revolts that took place from 2016 to 2017. The Hirak Rif Movement was sparked as a result of the killing of fish vendor Mouhcine Fikri by a garbage truck  after his goods had been confiscated by the authorities.

However, the revolts that followed were not only a sign of popular solidarity towards the unfortunate street vendor. Fikri’s death was just the symptom of a general policy of alleged marginalization and neglect that has been directed toward the Rif region and its people – predominantly Amazighs or Imazighen, the indigenous people of the North of Africa – for years.

At that time, Nasser was not an activist. He, like many Riffians at the time, was unemployed and had started to see his future become blurry as his region – in contrast with other areas of an increasingly modern Morocco – continued its downward spiral of poverty. 

“It was only from that day on that he began to take to the streets, to participate in peaceful marches with flowers and candles in Al Hoceima,” says Ahmed.

Despite his humble beginnings, Nasser quickly became one of the leading figures in the movement: delivering speeches, organizing weekly concentrations and, especially, encouraging his people not to give up on their peaceful demands for dignity.

“I cannot say that Nasser was a leader nor a boss. But he brought up the Hirak, the movement,” Ahmed says. “On that night, when Fikri died, if [it]had not been for Nasser, nothing would have ever happened.”

Nonetheless, Nasser’s bravery came with a price.

20 years of prison for ‘threatening national unity’

“On May 26, they broke our door in search of him, but he was not home, he was hiding,” Ahmed recalls. “On [May]29, at 6 o’clock in the morning, Nasser was already in the hands of the national brigade. From that moment on, they took him in a helicopter and tortured him until he arrived in Casablanca’s prison.” 

Nasser Zefzafi was detained over charges related to “undermining interior state security,” the public prosecutor of Al Hoceima’s Court of Appeal announced upon his capture. He was also said to be detained over suspicion of “obstructing freedom of worship,” as  he had interrupted a Friday prayer sermon in a local mosque for its critique of the Movement’s protests. 

In June 2018, a Moroccan court sentenced Nasser to 20 years in prison for undermining public order and threatening national unity.

“Since 1956, they have had this narrative that we want to change the regime,” claims Ahmed, referring to the period following the formal independence of Morocco from the French, which led to a series of internal clashes with the Rif, who still consider themselves marginalized. “But which regime can I change with some candles on the street? If the army, with colonels and generals, were not able to change it, for example, in the coup of 1971; how can Nasser with a box of candles in the street change the regime himself? It makes no sense.”

It has now been more than five years since Nasser was imprisoned, and he still has 15 more to go.  

The price of speaking out

Although distance makes things hard, Nasser calls his parents almost every day, trying to be as cheerful as possible. However, Ahmed  tells us that his son’s condition is worsening day by day.

“When he entered prison he was in perfect health, but now, he has three chronic diseases,” he says. “This week they found microbes in his stomach, and he has developed different respiratory problems as well.”

The alleged poor conditions and ill-treatment of Riffian detainees have been raised as an international concern by NGOs such as Amnesty International. In one of its online pieces, the famous organization exposes how the lawyer of Omar Bourhass, who was detained with Nasser, said that “police beat him while ordering him to say ‘Long live the King,’ stripped him of his underwear, broke two of his teeth, and threatened and insulted him following his arrest in Al Hoceima.”

But Nasser is not the only one who has paid a huge price for protesting; his parents have too.

When asked about the consequences he and his wife had suffered for being Nasser’s parents, Ahmed said: “There is nothing now, but when we were in Tangier for medical treatment, we were disturbed many times. Spies came with us to our house, to the restaurants, to the cafés…everywhere.”

And, despite  all this, if he was able to go back in time, Ahmed claims he would not have tried to prevent Nasser from doing what he did. “I would leave everything as it is now,” he says. 

He is proud of what his son did, and even though his imprisonment hurts him, he believes he did what he had to do to stand for the rights of Amazigh Riffians, who have for so long been forgotten.

“The only thing we want is to live under a human rights regime; to live free, to enjoy the fortune of our land…But there is no one to talk to,” states Ahmed, attesting that the demands of the movement his son led were only those of dignity, respect and attention towards the Riffian people. Indeed, some of the concrete things they were asking the government for were as simple as the construction of a hospital, the establishment of more educational institutions, and the fostering of their local economy. 

“At least with the Spanish, there was employment,” Ahmed recognizes in a tone of disappointment, acknowledging  that life under their former colonial power was not as different as the situation facing the Rif today.

But Ahmed has not given up hope and knows that the flame of freedom his son sparked cannot so easily be blown out. He reveals that he receives letters, paintings and drawings in his son’s honor from Riffians and progressive activists from all around the world, for whom his son’s struggles continue to be an inspiration.

Nasser Zefzafi continues to be regarded as a person speaking for many Amazigh Riffians. He might be the one behind bars, but the Rif community continues to mourn his imprisonment as if they, too, are in the cell with him.

“In the Muslim world, there are two ways to explain these black flags,” says Ahmed as he shows me the big black flags hanging on their rooftop. ”Some will say we are Shiites and others will say we are from Daesh. Which of the two are we? Neither. We are mourning, and until my son comes out of prison, they [the flags] won’t stop hanging in his memory.”