In recent weeks, several Moroccan cities have witnessed demonstrations where, beyond the traditional solidarity with Palestine, slogans and symbols have expressed explicit sympathy for the Iranian regime and for what Tehran calls the “axis of resistance.” These gatherings have emerged in a particularly tense international context, marked by escalating military tensions in the Middle East following strikes and operations carried out by Israel with the political and strategic backing of the United States against structures linked to Iran.
In this climate of regional war and collective emotion surrounding the Palestinian tragedy, some Moroccan activists have taken a further step: transforming solidarity with Gaza into an alignment—sometimes almost blind—with Iran’s geopolitical narrative.
This phenomenon remains marginal within Moroccan society, but it deserves serious analysis. It reveals a deep contradiction between certain militant discourses and the very foundations of Morocco’s religious and institutional identity.
Morocco is built upon a unique religious architecture within the Muslim world. For centuries, the country has been organized around a precise doctrinal balance: Sunni Islam according to the Maliki school, the theology of Ashʿarism, and the spiritual dimension of Sufism. This framework is not only theological; it is institutionally guaranteed by the role of the Moroccan sovereign, who holds the title of Commander of the Faithful. Through this role, the king—today Mohammed VI—embodies religious unity and safeguards the national spiritual sphere against radicalization and foreign influence.
The Iranian politico-religious model, however, is based on an entirely different logic. The Islamic Republic of Iran is structured around the doctrine of Wilayat al-Faqih, theorized by Ruhollah Khomeini during the Iranian Revolution of 1979. In this system, supreme political authority belongs to a Shiite religious jurist who governs in the name of divine law. Such a system presupposes the existence of a structured clerical hierarchy exercising direct political authority—an idea foreign to Sunni Islam and, even more so, incompatible with the Moroccan model, where religious authority is national, historical, and embodied by the monarchy.
The contradiction is therefore obvious: politically supporting a regime founded on Wilayat al-Faqih amounts, in a sense, to legitimizing a model that competes with the Moroccan institution of Imarat al-Mouminine. In other words, behind geopolitical support for Iran sometimes lies an implicit challenge to the religious architecture that underpins Morocco’s stability.
The recent demonstrations illustrate precisely this shift. In several rallies, slogans went beyond simple denunciations of war or expressions of solidarity with Palestinians and explicitly glorified the “axis of resistance” and its actors. The Iranian regime is portrayed as the main defender of the Muslim world against Israel and the United States.
This simplified representation, fueled by social media and activist narratives, produces an emotional form of adherence in which geopolitical complexity disappears in favor of a binary worldview: on one side the oppressors, on the other those who resist them.
Within this narrative, Iran becomes a heroic figure. It matters little that its politico-religious project is fundamentally foreign to Moroccan Islam; little that its regional alliances are driven by strategies of power; and little that its relations with Morocco have been marked by serious diplomatic tensions. Emotion prevails over coherence.
How did some Moroccan activists arrive at such a paradoxical position?
The first explanation lies in the emotional centrality of the Palestinian cause. For decades, solidarity with the Palestinian people has been deeply rooted in Moroccan political consciousness. The problem arises when this solidarity is instrumentalized to justify alignment with regional powers whose objectives go far beyond defending Palestinians.
In many activist narratives, the equation has become simplistic: Israel is perceived as the aggressor, Iran presents itself as Israel’s enemy, therefore Iran automatically becomes a legitimate ally. This reasoning deliberately ignores doctrinal, geopolitical, and strategic realities.
The second factor lies in the ideological convergence between certain Islamist currents and segments of the radical left. The former mobilize the rhetoric of the “umma” and Islamic resistance, while the latter rely on an anti-imperialist worldview. Despite their doctrinal differences, these two milieus converge around the same symbol: Iran as a power challenging the West and Israel. This convergence creates an unusual intellectual alliance in which doctrinal coherence becomes secondary to the logic of geopolitical camps.
A third factor concerns internal dynamics of political contestation. In certain activist circles, adopting positions that contradict those of the Moroccan state becomes a way of asserting political relevance. Morocco’s diplomatic normalization with Israel within the framework of the Abraham Accords has amplified this phenomenon. For some activists, opposition to this policy leads to rhetorical escalation that ultimately idealizes the Iranian regime.
Yet Moroccan authorities have clearly expressed their concerns regarding Iranian influence. Morocco severed diplomatic relations with Iran twice—first in 2009 and again in 2018. In the latter case, Rabat accused Tehran, through Hezbollah, of providing military support to the Polisario Front. Considering the centrality of the Sahara issue in Morocco’s strategic doctrine, this accusation places the Iranian question squarely within the realm of national security.
In this context, the complacency of some Moroccan activists toward Iran appears not only as a doctrinal inconsistency but also as a political irresponsibility. It normalizes the influence of a regime that Moroccan authorities regard—rightly or wrongly—as hostile on a matter of vital national interest.
Can this be called treason? From a legal standpoint, the term is heavy and presupposes specific acts: collaboration with a foreign power, undermining territorial integrity, or participation in networks of interference. But from a moral and political perspective, the question deserves to be raised. When a Moroccan activist glorifies a politico-religious model that contradicts the foundations of Moroccan Islam and supports a power accused of hostility toward the Kingdom, they objectively contribute to weakening the symbolic foundations of the national structure.
This is particularly regrettable because Morocco represents, in the Muslim world, a rare model of religious balance. Moroccan Islam—shaped by Maliki jurisprudence, Ashʿari theology, and Sufi spirituality—has enabled the country to build a tradition of coexistence and moderation recognized far beyond its borders. This model, grounded in the centrality of Imarat al-Mouminine, has played a decisive role in preventing radicalization and promoting an Islam of the middle path.
Undermining this balance in the name of imported geopolitical alignments would be a historic mistake. Solidarity with Palestine is legitimate and deeply rooted in Moroccan consciousness. But it must never become the gateway for ideological influence that contradicts the religious, political, and historical foundations of the Kingdom.
Morocco has never needed to import a foreign religious model in order to defend justice or support oppressed peoples. Its strength has always rested on its ability to combine fidelity to its traditions, institutional stability, and openness to the world. It is precisely this balance that today deserves to be defended with clarity and responsibility.
(*) Isaac Hammoush is a Belgian-Moroccan journalist and writer. Author of several books and opinion pieces, he focuses on societal issues, governance, and the transformations shaping the contemporary world.
