Before the French Came, Fez Already Knew How to Govern Itself
Reflections on a city, its institutions, and the meaning of civilization
When we speak of the history of Fez, we often speak of its magnificent monuments, its scholars, its mosques, its medersas, and its extraordinary architectural inheritance.
We admire the beauty of its houses, the intricacy of its craftsmanship, and the maze of narrow streets that have survived the passage of centuries.
But there is another Fez that deserves our attention.
It is the Fez that knew how to organize itself.
Long before the arrival of the French Protectorate in 1912, the city had developed institutions that governed the everyday lives of its inhabitants.
They were not modern institutions in the European sense, nor were they free from injustice, corruption, or the abuse of power.
But they belonged to a society that had spent centuries learning how to live together.
And that, to me, is one of the most fascinating aspects of civilization.
A City Is More Than Its Architecture
When I walk through the old medina of Fez, I do not see only buildings.
I see the remains of relationships.
A marketplace was not merely a place where people bought and sold goods. It was also a place where reputation mattered, where professional conduct was regulated, and where craftsmen were expected to respect the standards of their trades.
A neighborhood was not merely a collection of houses. It was a community whose inhabitants recognized obligations toward one another.
A mosque was not merely a place of worship. It could also be a center of learning, public life, and communal identity.
These relationships were supported by institutions that had evolved over generations.
The Pasha represented the authority of the Sultan.
The Muqaddam supervised the affairs of the neighborhood.
The Muhtasib regulated commercial conduct, weights, measures, and market practices.
The Amine, a respected master craftsman, represented the professional knowledge and standards of his guild.
The Qadi administered justice, assisted by the Adoul, whose written documents preserved legal agreements.
And through the Habous, charitable endowments helped sustain institutions that served the community.
Each had a particular responsibility.
Together, they formed part of the framework through which Fez conducted its affairs.
The system was far from perfect. Authority could be harsh, social hierarchies could be rigid, and communal supervision could become interference.
Yet its imperfections do not erase its achievements.
Fez had developed an urban civilization long before European modernity arrived at its gates.
The Marketplace Was a School of Responsibility
I have always been fascinated by the role of the Amine.
He was not simply an official appointed to supervise craftsmen.
He was generally a man whose knowledge of his profession had earned him recognition among his peers.
His authority rested partly upon the respect of those who understood his craft.
When disputes arose between masters, workers, or apprentices, the Amine could intervene.
He helped preserve professional standards and the reputation of the trade.
Consider what this tells us about the society.
The craftsman was not expected merely to produce something and sell it.
His work carried a responsibility.
The quality of his craftsmanship reflected not only upon himself but also upon the profession to which he belonged.
The marketplace therefore possessed a moral dimension.
Of course, dishonesty existed. Otherwise, there would have been little need for inspectors, regulations, and arbitration.
But the very existence of these institutions reveals an understanding that commerce could not be separated entirely from responsibility.
I find this particularly relevant today, when we often measure economic success almost exclusively through growth, profit, and consumption.
The people of old Fez understood something that modern economies sometimes struggle to remember:
A market cannot survive on transactions alone. It also depends upon trust.
The Neighborhood Was a Living Institution
The Muqaddam offers another window into the organization of Fez.
He was responsible for matters that affected the daily lives of the neighborhood's inhabitants.
Cleanliness, security, night watchmen, neighborhood gates, and certain disputes all fell within his responsibilities.
His authority was local.
He knew the streets, the families, and the social circumstances of the people among whom he lived.
This familiarity could make governance more responsive to everyday needs.
It could also become intrusive.
A neighborhood where everybody knows everybody may offer solidarity, but it may also leave little room for privacy.
That is the complexity of communal life.
The same relationships that protect us can sometimes constrain us.
Still, the existence of the Muqaddam reminds us that urban administration did not begin with distant offices and impersonal regulations.
It also grew from the immediate responsibilities of living beside other people.
The Arrival of a Different Order
When the French Protectorate was established in 1912, Fez was not an empty administrative landscape.
It possessed its own traditions of government, legal authority, commercial regulation, and communal organization.
The Protectorate introduced a new municipal council, combining Moroccan officials and representatives selected by the city's notables.
The council discussed sanitation, public works, finances, education, and the regulation of urban life.
But its decisions operated under French administrative supervision.
This was a significant change.
The city continued to possess Moroccan institutions, yet the location of ultimate political authority had shifted.
The Protectorate also introduced European-style urban planning, developing a Ville Nouvelle alongside the historic medina.
Elsewhere, the geography of Moroccan power was changing.
Rabat became the political capital.
Casablanca expanded dramatically as the kingdom's principal commercial and industrial center.
Fez remained a great center of scholarship, religion, craftsmanship, and cultural memory, but it no longer occupied the same position within Morocco's political and economic life.
These changes did not erase Fez.
But they altered the relationships that had sustained its importance for centuries.
When Cities Change, People Change With Them
A city is not a fixed object.
Its life depends upon the movement of people, goods, knowledge, and opportunity.
As Casablanca expanded, commercial opportunities attracted merchants and families from other Moroccan cities, including Fez.
Muslim and Jewish families participated in these transformations, although their experiences were not identical.
The Jewish community of Fez had long maintained its own institutions while contributing to the commercial, professional, and cultural life of the wider city.
Over the twentieth century, economic change, colonial policies, political developments, and migration transformed the relationships between Morocco's communities.
The eventual departure of much of Morocco's Jewish population was a profound loss to the country's social and cultural fabric.
Its causes were complex, and its history deserves to be told with care.
But one consequence is unmistakable.
When families leave a city, they take more than their possessions.
They take their voices, their memories, their professions, their customs, and the relationships that connected them to their neighbors.
The streets may remain.
The houses may remain.
But the human landscape changes.
And sometimes, what disappears from a city cannot be restored by preserving its buildings.
What Does It Mean to Preserve a Civilization?
Today, Fez is celebrated as one of the world's great historic cities.
Its medina is admired for its architecture, craftsmanship, and extraordinary continuity.
Yet I often wonder whether we pay enough attention to the ideas that made such a city possible.
We restore monuments.
We preserve façades.
We photograph doors, fountains, and courtyards.
But do we always understand the relationships that once gave these places their meaning?
A fountain was not merely a beautiful architectural feature.
It served a community.
A marketplace was not merely a picturesque collection of workshops.
It sustained an economy of skills and relationships.
A charitable endowment was not merely a legal arrangement.
It expressed an understanding that wealth could carry responsibilities beyond the individual who possessed it.
And a neighborhood was not merely a collection of buildings.
It was a place where generations learned the difficult art of living together.
I do not believe that preserving Moroccan identity means refusing change.
Civilizations have always changed.
Fez itself is the product of centuries of encounters, adaptations, inventions, and transformations.
What matters is whether change allows a society to carry forward the wisdom it has accumulated.
Modernity should not require a people to become strangers to themselves.
Nor should respect for tradition prevent us from recognizing the injustices that traditions sometimes preserve.
The challenge is to learn from the past without becoming its prisoner.
The City and Its Civilization
The history of Fez's governance teaches us something that extends far beyond Morocco.
Institutions matter.
Laws matter.
Public administration matters.
But no institution can replace the human relationships that make a society possible.
A city may possess magnificent buildings and still lose its sense of community.
It may enjoy economic prosperity while weakening the bonds of trust between its inhabitants.
It may become administratively efficient while forgetting the responsibilities people owe one another.
The Fez of earlier centuries was not a perfect society.
But it reminds us that civilization is more than the accumulation of wealth, monuments, or political power.
It is also the knowledge a people develops about how to live together.
And perhaps this is what we should remember whenever we speak of preserving the heritage of Morocco.
A government administers a city. Its people give it a civilization.
The first can be reorganized by decree.
The second must be cultivated across generations.
