Shaken Kingdom

Economic troubles spark riots

Two nations in a single setting. Along Rabat's fashionable Avenue Mohammed V, Moroccan businessmen chatted and soaked up the warm winter sun at the outdoor cafes, and young women scurried across the capital's Place des Alaouites to their mid-morning appointments. At a major intersection a few yards away were contingents of police outfitted with full riot gear and swinging batons at their sides. Pointing to other men in civilian clothes lingering near by, a taxi driver mused aloud, "Undercover officers. They've been here since Saturday, following 'the Troubles.' "

The Troubles erupted early in January in a series of protests that swept across the country with surprising ferocity. First, high school students upset over the rumored imposition of new examination fees stormed the streets of Marrakesh. Then the riots quickly spread from that cosmopolitan southern city to the far poorer Mediterranean north. Protesters included students free on New Year's vacations, young people out of work, housewives and others fearful of a new round of government austerity measures that would mean hikes in food and fuel prices. Before a precarious order was restored, the government had called out the royal army, cordoned off three northern towns, closed the University of Marrakesh, and imposed a tight news blackout that made firsthand coverage impossible. Official estimates put the death toll at 29 and the wounded at 114. Foreign diplomats called the figures conservative.

Late last week the rioting appeared to be over, but the regime of King Hassan II, 54, who has ruled since 1961, was clearly shaken. The protests could not have come at a more inopportune moment: Hassan happened to be host to the 42-nation Islamic Conference summit meeting in Casablanca. Embarrassed and angered, the King went on television early last week and blamed an improbable conspiracy of "professional Marxist, Zionist and Khomeinist" agitators for fomenting the violence in order to discredit the conference.

The more likely cause was money, or the lack of it. Morocco has been beset by a series of economic setbacks in the past few years. A severe drought, now in its third year, has seriously impaired agricultural production and rendered useless hydroelectric projects in which the government had invested heavily. As a result, the country is relying on oil imports for 85% of its energy needs, and paying for them with a dollar that has gained more than 40% in value against the dirham since 1981. At the same time, prices on the world market for phosphate, Morocco's main export, have dropped to less than half what they were in the mid-'70s.

To cope with the crisis, Hassan turned to the International Monetary Fund. Since 1980, Rabat has borrowed more than $700 million. But the IMF demanded that Morocco cut food subsidies and initiate other austerity measures bound to displease the public. Such staples as sugar, flour and cooking oil shot up 67% in price.

But given their problems, Moroccans are doing a lot of hoping these days--hoping that the dollar will weaken, hoping that the U.S. economic upturn will spread across the Atlantic, hoping that the rains will come. Hassan, meanwhile, continues to hope for a calm without a storm.