The Life Span of Alternative Media: Cases of Lakome and Mamfakinch in Morocco

Introduction

Born out of a combination of cyber-activism and the globalization of protest, alternative media  are precarious in the kind of semi-autocratic, semi-liberal, or hybrid political configuration that is seen in Morocco. Still, some journalists and activists chose Morocco as the setting in which to launch a new generation of online media during the turmoil leading up to the mobilizations of 2011. There, they found a mix of anti-system information and marginal opinions. These journalists and activists consider these new spaces to be alternatives—even havens—for freedom of expression, and distinct from traditional media that was discredited, highly controlled, and had fallen victim to self-censorship. However, when we look at the life span of these digital activist media, we realize that they did not manage to overcome economic pressures and political repression. This paper[1] focuses on the life cycles of two alternative media (Lakome and Mamfakinch) and how they interacted with the political and economic powers. Both media were born as side phenomena related to the so-called “Arab Spring,” which was hurriedly labeled a “social media revolution.”

Concepts and Context

Well before digital media were developed by professionals, the practice of sharing news online existed as civic action. The first symbolic act of what has since been coined as “alternative media” took place in 1999 in Seattle, as a reaction to the World Trade Organization’s annual conference. Thanks to activists and parallel networks, alter-globalization non-governmental organizations (NGOs) initiated one of the first public websites dedicated to producing pieces of information rarely (if ever) shared by mainstream media outlets. Known thereafter as the Independent Media Center, or Indymedia, the website has been defined by its founders as “a network of collectively run media outlets for the creation of radical, accurate, and passionate tellings of the truth.”

The literature on alternative media, described as being produced “by and for citizens, with civic content” (Hadl 2007[2]), is quite prolific. Various labels are used to name such media: from “radical media” (Downing 2001[3]) to “citizen media” (Rodriguez 2001[4]) and from “critical media” (Fuchs 2010[5]) to “social movement media” (Atton 2003[6]). The researchers tackle the different aspects of these media in three premises that Benjamin Ferron (2012, 137) summarized:

“First, alternative media producers and promoters are analyzed as challengers of the status quo, ‘heterodox’ agents producing and circulating media outside—or against—the ‘mainstream’ institutions, including, in particular, the state apparatus, the capitalist market, and the dominant media (heterodoxy/autonomypremise). Second, the organizations that promote these media are generally considered as representatives of ‘civil society,’ working hand in hand to promote progressive social change (unity/cooperation premise). Third, alternative media are assumed to be produced ‘democratically’ by marginal, subaltern, minority groups of citizens, in order to ‘give voice to the voiceless’ in the public space and ‘empower’ counter-publics (democratic/grassroots premise).”

During the last decade in Morocco, this activist model has not been reproduced as such. Rather, three main trends could sum up the emergence of online media in the recent Moroccan context: The first one, from 2005 onward, was characterized by personal blogging, then by mobilization of social media. Both were produced by young activists, pointing out corruption, clientelism, and rent-seeking attitudes. Some of these citizen journalists would become frontline activists in the 20 February Movement,[7] and some bloggers also united under the flag of the pioneer Arabic-language outlet Hespress, launched in 2007.

The second trend illustrates a constrained shift, starting in 2009, when independent journalists and editors (from paper and online media) launched their own new outlets. This shift coincided with a crisis of so called “independent journalism,” which saw state repression, unfair trials, economic pressure, and self-censorship end an unprecedented era of free press that had been seen from 1997 to 2008.

Finally, the third path stems from both and is a mitigated one, where professional and citizen journalists engage with cyber-activists in a common experience. Their goals are rooted in broadening sources of information, producing anti-establishment narratives, and revealing uncovered stories. How do they proceed? What are the hurdles that confront them? How do they manage to survive (or not) in a hybrid regime? Through lengthy interviews with the main editors and journalists of these media, this paper explores the sociology of actors and analyzes the historical, economic, and political configurations in which they operate, in an effort to understand what is at stake for these alternative media during their endeavor to exist or survive.

Lakome, a Contested “Refuge”

Let us tackle first the case of the news website, Lakome. Quite interestingly, the outlet’s name refers both to the French “la com” (communication), and to the public, as the expression “lakoum” in Arabic means “to you all,” or, to people. The tagline reads “from here starts freedom,” which conveys the site’s main editorial orientation; its initiators consider it to be “independent” and officials consider it “dissident” or “oppositional.” Actually, the motto expresses what the site’s founder, journalist Ali Anouzla, describes as his ethical position: “to be free from any institutional or financial constraints."[8] The statement is definitely close to the Indymedia narrative, which defines itself as an alternative media willing to “inspire people who continue to work for a better world, despite corporate media's distortions and unwillingness to cover the efforts to free humanity.”[9]

Lakome was launched in December 2010. The main founder, Anouzla, and Aboubakr Jamaï, who helped create a French version of the platform a few months later, are both renowned professionals, and were editors of newspapers (Le journal and Assahifa Al Oukhra) that they were forced to shut or sell after a series of political, legal, and economic pressures. Moreover, they shared a common experience as founding members of a media professionals’ corporation at the weekly newspaper, Al Jarida Al Aoula, from 2009 to 2010. Unfortunately, this experience came to an end as stakeholders were unable to maintain a coherent and independent editorial line due to divergent interests.

Hence, their move to digital at Lakome was mainly in the interest of “displaying uncensored news of public interest, to create a well-informed public opinion.”[10] In that sense, online media was viewed as a “refuge” from what Anouzla calls “the Establishment hegemony on information."[11] He believes, in this context, that a modest size, low budget, and team of only dedicated professionals is the best guarantee for independence. Economically, the model is based on the founders’ initial investment of 100,000 dirhams (around 12,500 USD at the time), funds from additional work as freelancers and consultants, profits from Google advertising (which culminated in 500,000 dirhams in 2012), other rare advertisements, and the contributions of volunteer activists and modestly-paid professionals. The aim was to keep “independent” from financial dominance. As the American media scholar Henry Jenkins puts it, “it’s only by keeping small, converging media could preserve participative culture.”[12]

Quite interestingly, with the income standards of French- and Arabic-language journalists being quite different, the two-version site needed additional funding. Thanks to Jamai’s connections, International Media Support (IMS) subsidized the effort through banners (on Mandela or Ghandi for instance) to avoid legal restrictions in Moroccan press code that prevents direct international funding of media. Reliance on international support was constant in Lakome’s breakthrough. Even when Moulay Hafid Elalamy, then chairman of the leading insurance group Saham, suggested enhancing Lakome’s capital through a scattered press group, Anouzla refused for fear of compromising “free will.”

To this end, both of Lakome’s editors decided at the outset that they would rely on three main assets: a politically liberal and openly critical op-ed position in the interest of democratization of free speech; a network of whistleblowers and activists as alternative sources of information; and the enlargement of the media spectrum to include blogs, social media, videos, and news.

The fact that the so-called “Jasmine Revolution” in neighboring Tunisia started less than a month after Lakome’s launching was a stimulating factor. Not only did the website echo the sentiment of popular protests, but also that of nascent digital activism. Though coincidental, the timing gave an extraordinary boost to what looked like a totally new media outlet in Morocco at the time. After the first month, the site quickly reached more than 40,000 visitors per day.[13] Later, it produced reports in collaboration with the daily Akhbar Al Youm in Tunisia and Egypt, and its role as the closest media to the 20 February Movement squarely positioned the site as the amplifier of rebel youth voices. Its editors tried to strike a balance between offering opinion and reporting information, but its main source of differentiation and flow of visitors came from a mixture of profiles in the newsroom: junior reporters endowed with some experience in print journalism and active members of the movement who were very well connected online (mainly Najib Chaouki, Omar Radi, and Aziz El Yaacoubi).

The team was composed, at its epitome, of a pro-Amazigh activist, a member of the Alternative Movement for Individual Liberties (MALI),[14] a 20 February Movement activist, and an Islamist engineer, a mix that corresponded to Anouzla’s wish to create media for people’s advocacy.[15] In order to define more properly this conception of journalism, let us focus on Lakome’s treatment of a specific case: the Daniel Galvan affair. 

If media were to be gauged on any criterion, it would be that of “social influence.” In the case of a Spanish-Iraqi secret agent who was sentenced to thirty years in Moroccan prison for pedophilia, and then pardoned by King Mohammed VI (along with forty-seven other Spanish prisoners), it is very interesting to look at the details of Lakome’s dual role in covering this affair.

Every year, the royal palace publicly announces the number of prisoners to whom the King gives pardon, either to be released or to be given a reduced sentence. Before the Coronation Day celebration in July 2013, the ex-King of Spain, Juan Carlos II, was visiting Morocco and asked the authorities for a favor on behalf of the Spanish citizens in custody. When it comes to royal decrees of pardon, the media never publicize names, just figures. This time, a lawyer and human rights activist published Daniel Galvan’s name and records as a dangerous pedophile, recalling the fact that children’s rights’ activists had applauded his sentence as a breakthrough.

This piece of information might have gone unnoticed if Lakome cyber activist 20 February Movement member, and journalist Hamza Mahfoud had not fact-checked it, and, finding it reliable, conveyed it on a larger scale. Not only he did produce a news document on the website but also engineered, from his desk in Lakome, a Facebook page and Twitter campaign designed to mobilize people in the street against the royal pardon. The success of his actions proved that the 20 February Movement’s spirit of standing against corruption and arbitrariness was still alive. The demonstrations took place, and although they were severely repressed, the King reacted in an unexpected way: he backpedaled, disapproving of his own decision, and visited the victim’s families to publicly express his empathy.

In no other Moroccan online media was there such an intricate relationship between journalism and activism. But, less than two months after the Daniel Galvan coverage, Lakome faced the most critical moment in its existence: the detention of its liberal founder and publisher, Anouzla himself, on charges of “providing material assistance to, defending, and inciting terrorist acts.” Anouzla is the first professional online journalist and editor to be taken into custody in Morocco for matters relating to his media work. Other online content producers faced similar persecution as bloggers or citizen journalists, but not as professionals. Anouzla is also the second influential journalist to be charged under anti-terrorism legislation, after Ali Lmrabet, editor of Demain, faced similar charges in 2005.

What exactly was Anouzla charged with? Here are the facts: Lakome shared a video produced by al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM), which had initially been posted on the website Al Andalus and which El Pais correspondent, Ignacio Cembrero, publicized on his blog. The video condemns Morocco’s royal power, concluding with: “Al Qaeda invites Moroccan youth to immigrate towards Allah."[16] Though Lakome linked to Cembrero’s post while pointing out the content’s nature was “a propaganda video,” Anouzla was slammed with charges for Lakome’s reposting of the video.

During his incarceration, Anouzla was described as “a fifth column” in a press release launched by some of Morocco’s main parliamentary parties. At the same time, Anouzla’s advocates led an international campaign that saw the Washington Post publish a highly critical editorial, saying “Morocco should drop absurd charges against a journalist.” Anouzla was detained in prison for more than a month, during which time Morocco’s public telecommunications regulator (ANRT) shut down access to Lakome’s website (though an alternative digital address was maintained from a server abroad).

Even if international pressure led to Anouzla’s release, his trial is still pending. And even though the website reopened, its formerly large audience and influence has waned since 2014; it ceased publication on its French-language sister site and became a minor producer of online news, ranking far behind the most widely-visited online portals (like Hespress, Goud, Al Yaoum 24, and le360). Lakome no longer fills the same role it occupied for more than three years, as a free space open to public opinion and debate. Its representation as a “contested refuge” and the fragile status of its founder, given his pending criminal case, mean it now survives due mostly to its reputation.

Mamfakinch, Hacked Hope

Mamfakinch is an information portal, launched on 17 February 2011 by a collective of bloggers and net-activists. The name of the site is derived from a Moroccan colloquial expression which can be translated as "we will not give up," "we will not let go," or "no concessions." The website was created on the margins of the call for demonstrations on 20 February 2011 from the eponymous movement, calling for broad political and socio-economic reforms (which included constitutional reform, dissolution of parliament, dismissal of the government, separation of powers, a parliamentary monarchy, social justice, etc.).

This slogan-name is not new to the Moroccan political lexicon. It was overtly borrowed from the expression used by Mohamed Bougrine[17], a human rights activist and political prisoner, who used it to declare his refusal of claim to the financial compensation granted to victims of the "years of lead" during the creation of the Equity and Reconciliation Commission.[18] Along with the Forum for Truth and Justice, an association created in 1999 to defend the rights of the victims of the years of lead, Bougrine used “mamfakinch” to signify that such compensations were insufficient to address the long past of human rights abuses in Morocco.

The website that bears Bougrine’s slogan was created on the eve of the first 20 February Movement demonstrations, and it covered all of the protest movement’s demonstrations during the busy year of 2011.[19] The site provided a good deal of information about the events (videos of weekly events, testimonies of various victims of repression and corruption, press articles on the movement, coverage of Moroccan news, etc.). The different materials were shared in Arabic, French, and English. The site has played an undeniable role in connecting the mobilizing movement with the virtual sphere: covering the demonstrations served as a bond between the virtual and the real. In a short time, it became a space for the exchange of information on political developments in Morocco. For a number of Moroccan Internet users, it has been perceived as the media instrument of the 20 February Movement, though the team of Mamfakinch rejects this label. Hisham Almiraat, cofounder and spokesperson of the website, explained: “That is not what we are pretending. Some of us are members of the 20 February Movement, while others are not. We represent Mamfakinch, a collective group, nothing more."[20] 

The website announces: “Even though we belong to different political tendencies, we all have in common values of democracy, freedom and respect of human rights. Mamfakinch.com does not claim to be a newspaper, but rather is a new citizen media that believes in the right of access to information—information that is often ignored, if not distorted, by other more or less official media.” The website’s ambition was thus to become a "news agency of the people." 

Structured in sections (news, mobilization and activism petitions, live reports and releases, points of view, comment), Mamfakinch aims to alert citizens. The purpose, publicized on its Facebook page, is to promote "links, documents, videos, news and reports dealing with corruption in Morocco.” It continues: “This initiative aims to alert the general public on the importance of this phenomenon in Morocco and encourage thinking about ways and means to fight against it."

Audience engagement occurs through links that encourage publishing on Mamfakinch and invite users to comment. But the site does not work on the principle of open publishing, as participation is moderated by the site’s managers and administrators. To publish, the user is directed to a small form to complete (mandating name, email, subject and message). This setting allows webmasters to control the users' publications. Likewise, the function of leaving comments is governed by a series of rules with the same control.

The collective that created and managed the site consists of thirty Moroccan bloggers[21], mostly located outside of Morocco. Their links with Tunisian bloggers played an important role in the emergence of the idea. This is how its co-founder and spokesperson, Almiraat presented the origin of the project in a 2012 interview: "I have been working for the news website, Global Voices for three years, and this platform allowed me to work with Sami Ben Gharbi, co-founder of the Tunisian site Nawaat.org.”[22]

The Tunisian site Nawaat played a central role in the events in Tunisia as it was the only independent media organ to display the actions of the anti-Ben Ali protest movement.[23] Creating the Moroccan equivalent of this "dissident" platform was Almiraat and his friends’ ambition. The call to demonstrate on 20 February 2011, launched by young Moroccans via social networks, was also the occasion to inaugurate Mamfakinch. Almiraat returns to this founding moment: "The site was born on 17 February, three days before the start of the pro-democratic demonstrations in Morocco. [...] We started from the observation that the Moroccan activists who called to protest against the regime were the victims of a campaign of disinformation by the local media. We therefore created Mamfakinch.com in a context of disinformation and propaganda because we felt the urgency of being able to offer an alternative media using the technologies accessible to all."[24]

The founders of Mamfakinch borrowed the principal function of Nawaat, namely to continuously circulate a flow of information. Later, this information would be picked up by other media (foreign, in most cases, like Al Jazeera), and finally it would reach the average citizen. Almiraat explains this three-sequence cycle as follows: "What Facebook and Twitter are doing is dissemination. They amplify the voice of ordinary people and citizens. Then there is a second level: that of the platforms on which the information is cross-referenced and is filtered, like Nawaat and Mamfakinch, which are ‘popular news agencies.’ Finally, there is a third level: that of traditional media, such as Al Jazeera, which played a very important role. We start from the citizen: there is a lot of information circulating, rumors, lies, propaganda. Then we come to the level of the ‘people's news agencies’ that filter information and also make their own propaganda, because we all have our political opinions and therefore tend to ignore some information and give more credit to others. Finally, there is the traditional media that pick up all that and spread it to the general public. And it is this information, disseminated by Al Jazeera, that returns inside the countries confronted with protest movements and which is seen by a very wide audience, which somehow closes this virtuous circle."[25]

Only a few weeks after its launch, Mamfakinch recorded half a million visitors, proof that the site was filling a void where the so-called traditional media practiced self-censorship. This success is explained by the vigor of sociopolitical criticism and the format of enunciation adopted by the site: testimony, denunciation, emotional expressions of the victims, radicality of the words, etc. However, with the entanglement and the excess of information offered, the risk of opacity and of reducing the public to a narrow circle of individuals, is great. This risk raises big questions about the democracy of the web and the democratic pretention of such platforms.

Linked to the diminishment of social and political demonstrations, which were at the heart of its raison d’être, Mamfakinch was abruptly closed in 2014. Today, it remains open as online archive of the dynamics of 2011, as framed by both its founders and users. In an official testimony from one of its founders, we find some explanation: “Mamfakinch was an innovative phenomenon within the context of a Moroccan media crisis. This assessment is no longer valid today (in 2014), at least in my personal opinion. The site has been monotonously run since late 2012 and has made several errors (…)" 

After the year anniversary of the 20 February Movement, Mamfakinch found itself struggling to keep its audience’s attention. Almiraat explained the process of downfall: “We felt that we did not interest people anymore because everyone had gone back to their normal lives. The dominant mood in the Arab world is resignation: ‘between the Islamists on one side and dictatorships on the other, I’d rather stay home and do nothing.” 

The unofficial reasons are more linked to the uncertainty of the political context and the controlled nature of the hybrid regime. In 2012, the editorial team members of Mamfakinch were targeted with spyware. It is paradoxical that such control happened when the popularity of the outlet was seriously decreasing. For Almiraat, the Hacking Team must be held at least partly responsible: “They poisoned this wonderful technology that allowed us to express ourselves anonymously and fearlessly. They killed this. People started thinking ‘the rules have changed. I am not going to take any more risks.’”[26]

Since the 2012 spyware attack, members of Mamfakinch’s editorial team have taken different paths. Outraged by repression which, in some cases, went as far as on-the-ground intimidation of media activists’ family members, some of them decided to abandon activism. Yassir Kazar, a former lecturer in business intelligence at Université Paris Descartes, decided to change his job and start a computer security business. Others continue their activism, such as Samia Errazzouki, who is working as a journalist and preparing her PhD dissertation on recent Moroccan history, challenging mechanisms of repression from both sides.           

Discussion

The comparison of these two media outlets—one based on citizen volunteers and the other on a hybrid model of media activists—is undoubtedly enlightening. It first tells us that these media assert their alternativeness on the grounds of their suspicion towards traditional media, and based on their presentation of, as aforementioned, “information that is often ignored, if not distorted, by other more or less official media." 

Actually, this mistrust of the classical media, seen to practice self-censorship and deprived of “the audacity to tackle certain sensitive subjects" was at the heart of the creation of both Lakome and Mamfakinch. In this regard, they responded to a youth who were yearning for uncensored truth. Since the virtual audience chooses its content knowingly, engagement with these outlets underscores agreement from the audience that the traditional media try to bluff or blur the cards. By taking this “pure” stance, alternative media are, by the same token, represented as marginal.

Secondly, we notice that, born in a semi-autocratic context, these media are bound to a “liberal” moment that was perceived by the actors as a favorable political opportunity, but they are unable to transcend this moment. Both were forced to close or self-limit when the political tension was reduced, and public attention drawn away. Interestingly enough, while their motivation is the expansion of freedom of speech, their demise signals the scope of tolerance in their country. In that sense, they play the role of barometers of hybrid regimes, indicating shifts from permissiveness to arbitrariness. 

Thirdly, it would be misleading to believe that being “citizen media” would mean these media are morally “good.” Even if—and maybe because—they are based on values of participation, these media are also ethically biased by the urge to share more and more information, while sometimes deprived of professional expertise and know-how. This is mainly true of Mamfakinch, whose founders started by creating a blog where all information was dumped in bulk. Later, they confessed that they made mistakes, namely publishing erroneous information without checking it as professionals would do. 

In both online media, the mix of would-be, supposed, or experienced journalists and activists led sometimes to publishing erroneous, raw, or insufficiently cross-checked information. In that sense, “citizen” could also mean “common” media, which could sometimes display news of lesser quality. It could likewise cease to practice citizen journalism, when it comes to filtering opinions and forums of discussion. This is partly an indicator of their belonging to “hybrid” contexts but also a proof that the promotion of one's own opinion and propaganda is also a corollary of citizen media. In that sense, these are not "neutral" and "objective" media, but militant and committed ones. 

One of the main paradoxes we could decipher in the cases of these media was that the more they strive to depart from classical media model and restrictions, the more they looked for recognition, or at least reproduction, from classical media, in order to gain more visibility. That is exactly what happened in both cases, when international renowned media, like Al Jazeera, Le Courrier International, or El Pais quoted them or re-published some of their articles. But classical media recognition also became a source of trouble, as they faced limitations and pressures every time after this attention from classical media. As if being alternative condemns them to target only a minority. And therein lies their paradoxical status: Alternativeness brings reputation, which, in turn, brings surveillance and control.

Of course, this tragic cycle is inevitable due to the scarcity of financial support and the precarious state of these media structures and their human resources. The business model of both alternative media we studied, when not based on volunteering, relies on low salaries and international, unofficial NGO subsidies, which make them most vulnerable.

Finally, the hybridity framework helps to understand how the configuration of political economy in the location where the alternative media are born makes them even more fragile. This does not exclude actors’ interventions and interactions; it encompasses them. But the arbitrary status of these political contexts does not seem to leave enough space to take risks in public spheres, which leaves younger generations indifferent, frustrated, struggling for voice, or looking elsewhere.[27]