The documentary “HASSLA”, which shows the dead end in which the youth of a mythical district find themselves, is a mirror. You have to be stupid to break it.
Who does not know Hay Mohammedi? Who doesn’t like Hay Mohammedi?
I come from Borgone (Burgundy district), obviously we hated all the districts of Casablanca because we thought we had something special, that the others did not have, except the “Hay”.
You can speak badly of others, even of Borgone (even though it is the most beautiful neighborhood in Casablanca and all of Morocco!), But the Hay cannot. You can not. You respect. Nothing to do my brother, you respect.
The Hay is the exception from Casablanca and even Morocco. As a child, I thought it was just the TAS district, that football club that grew up in the shadow of Wydad and Raja. A club of losers, magnificent losers who never won anything and didn’t bother anyone. And that’s why we liked them.
I also knew that the Hay was the district of the “kariane”, the central quarries, the first shantytown that arose like a huge mushroom on the northern outskirts of Casablanca.
But it wasn’t just that.
I knew that the Hay was the starting point of trade unionism, the real one. What is unionism, really? This is class consciousness. This is when the oppressed come to understand their condition, to transcend themselves and to see beyond the tip of their nose, their tribe, their neighborhood.
The Hay has taught us other lessons. With Nass El Ghiwane, Lemchaheb, Lahcen Zinoun and a few others, he made us understand that art can grow like wild grass in wasteland, that there is always a pearl or a gem at the bottom of the trash bag. (but you have to get your hands dirty before grabbing it). And that folk art, after all, is a way of standing. Dignity above all.
And then, what else?
I’m from Borgone, but it’s like I’m from the Hay. It has to. I think other people are in the same situation, holding on to this neighborhood like a religion, something sacred.
And yet!
Like so many Hay lovers, I saw the documentary “L7sla”, or the dead end, like a slap in the face, in the true sense of the word. A wound. Sonia Terrab’s documentary, which 2M had the audacity to produce, is hurtful. He does not stroke in the direction of the hair. He hurts. He shows the Hay as a trap in which desperate youth struggle before giving up soul, most likely. Like rats.
The film damaged my certainties and my pride. He ignores the glory of Hay, his past battles. He forgets his victories. It’s an urban snapshot, harsh and uncompromising. It shows and listens to a youth who is scary, who messes up, who screams at the stadium and everywhere, who screams very loudly, but whom we never listen to.
I want to shout too: where is my Hay? How do I find my certainties? What could I still hold on to, what tree branch and what miracle, what dream?
When a documentary takes me out of my comfort zone and disturbs me to such an extent, when the reality it reflects hurts me, I clap with both hands.
The Hay refers to other neighborhoods, its dead end is that of a large part of the youth of this country. The film is a reflection which gives us to see this reality. It’s a mirror. You have to be stupid to break it!
