Before the French ever arrived with guns and flags, Morocco was already collapsing from within. In a forgotten memoir written in exile, Sultan Moulay Abdelhafid—the last independent monarch before the French protectorate—delivers a scathing posthumous reckoning, blaming the fall not on colonial conquest, but on corruption, betrayal, and the slow death of a state rotting from the inside. Sultan Moulay Abdelhafid Alaoui, Morocco's last sovereign before the French Protectorate, governed the nation during one of its most turbulent periods, from 1908 to 1912. His reign ended with the signing of the Treaty of Fes on March 30, 1912, which formally established a French protectorate over Morocco, effectively ending the country's independence. Vilified by many Moroccan nationalists as the monarch who «sold» the country and portrayed in colonial historiography as a compliant ruler, Abdelhafid sought to reclaim his legacy through his memoir, «Daa' al-'Atab Qadim» («The Malady of Ruin Is Ancient»). The memoir was written during his exile in France after his 1912 abdication. Composed between 1924 and the early 1930s during his reclusion in the Château de la Loire and later in Enghien-les-Bains, the memoir was published posthumously in 1957. The text serves as a political meditation, philosophical indictment, and attempt at historical redress. This article attempts to shed light on a perspective that has received insufficient scholarly attention: the last independent Moroccan Sultan's own analysis of why Moroccan sovereignty collapsed. His personal testimony offers a rare insider's view of the complex internal dynamics that facilitated foreign domination, challenging simplified narratives that focus primarily on external forces. The Diagnosis : Ancient Maladies In his memoir, Abdelhafid argues that Morocco's collapse resulted from long-standing internal decay rather than sudden external forces. «The rot had already taken hold; I merely signed its certificate», he writes with stark clarity. This statement is not a plea for absolution but a recognition of systemic failure. His rule, he suggests, became a metaphor for a kingdom caught in contradiction: «pretending to resist while secretly submitting, holding the Quran in one hand and European contracts in the other». Abdelhafid placed Morocco's decline in historical context, connecting it to earlier periods including the surrender of Larache to Spain in 1609 by the Saadian Sultan Mohammed al-Ma'mun, which he saw as opening the door to subsequent colonial incursions. He also linked the deteriorating conditions of his era to the reign of Sultan Abdullah bin Ismail al-Alawi (d. 1757), during which corruption flourished and the Bukhari slave army increasingly interfered in political affairs. The Sick Body : Governance in Collapse The Sultan portrays Morocco as a sick body whose organs had failed. «How could I defend a body whose limbs refused to respond, whose heart beat only for its own pride?» he asks. The political illness of Morocco manifested not as foreign occupation but as internal passivity, addiction to precedent, and reverence for institutions that had long since hollowed out. What Abdelhafid inherited was merely the shell of a once-functional Makhzen. «I was not king of a state—I was manager of a habit», he writes bitterly. The Makhzen issued orders obeyed only on paper. Its representatives inspired fear not through wisdom but through greed. What began as a governance system had degenerated into «an ecosystem of corruption». Even from his position at its summit, Abdelhafid could not direct it. Though formal symbols of authority remained—the Sultan's seal on documents, his image on coins—Abdelhafid recognized that his foundation was crumbling. He occupied a throne supported by «fear, habit, and fragmented loyalties—not by vision or consent». «Power without legitimacy is like a body without soul: it moves, it functions, but it does not live», he observes. The French, in his view, didn't seize his power—they found it already depleted. Yet history remembers him not for his attempts but for the surrender. «Sovereignty, when surrounded by vultures and traitors, is less crown and more cage», he reflects. «I wore it not like a jewel—but like a chain forged in duty and sealed with shame». The Betrayal from Within Among the most painful aspects of Morocco's decline, according to Abdelhafid, was the role of religious authorities. When religious leaders should have rallied resistance, they instead issued fatwas urging «wisdom» and «patience»—terms he viewed as code for political submission. «They traded jihad for jurisprudence, courage for consensus, and truth for salaries», he writes. These religious figures did not merely fail the Sultan, he argues, but failed Islam itself by «weaponizing its quietism to calm a burning people». Abdelhafid's account of palace dynamics is equally damning. His court functioned not as a fortress but as a theater, with actors playing parts scripted in Paris. Ministers who smiled in his presence hosted French envoys at night. «I was not surrounded by men—I was encircled by mirrors, each reflecting only what I wished to see», he confesses. These were not mere cowards, he argues, but active collaborators disguised as loyalists. Perhaps most telling is Abdelhafid's assessment of silence as the most dangerous political force. «It was not the roar of cannons that unseated me, but the absence of words when they were needed most», he reflects. Courtiers nodded at his speeches but remained silent when decisions faltered. «This silence was not peace—it was rot, and it spread faster than fire. And when a ruler speaks alone, his throne is already halfway empty». Abdelhafid condemns the intellectual failings of Morocco's ruling class. His generation of leaders «spoke eloquently but thought little». They recited poetry and quoted scripture but failed to produce any new ideas to rescue their homeland. «We praised the glories of our ancestors while auctioning their bones», he laments. The elite, intoxicated by nostalgia, clung to imperial memories while losing actual territory. They held conferences while cities fell and debated tax law while foreign accountants rewrote their budgets. «The ink of wisdom had dried, and all we had left were perfumed signatures on blank pages handed to us by Europeans with smiles and swords». Failed Reform Attempts One of Abdelhafid's early ambitions was to modernize Morocco's administrative apparatus, especially the Makhzen. He envisioned a more centralized, rationalized, and accountable bureaucracy. But his attempts quickly foundered on the entrenched habits of local officials. «I tried to streamline the court's functions, to end the culture of bribes and duplicity», he wrote, «but I soon realized I was trimming the branches of a tree whose roots were soaked in decay». Provincial governors, caïds, and notables resisted reforms, fearing a loss of autonomy and patronage. While decrees were issued from the royal palace, their enforcement remained symbolic. The state, he lamented, had no real instruments of control beyond the paper it wrote on. His reflection: «The sultan rules on parchment, but the real law is written in coin and in fear», underscored the impossibility of reforming a state without first confronting its moral collapse. Military Reform Confronted by increasing European encroachment and internal instability, Abdelhafid sought to reform the military. He attempted to reorganize the army, improve training, and import modern weapons. However, as he later confessed, «I gave the soldiers rifles, but no doctrine; uniforms, but no unity». The Moroccan army remained divided along tribal and regional lines, with many soldiers loyal only to their local commanders or ethnic affiliations. French advisers infiltrated even the logistics of weapon procurement, undermining sovereign control. Abdelhafid realized that mere imitation of European military structures was futile without national cohesion and professional leadership. «Our army looked modern», he wrote, «but it was still marching to the drums of the past». In the end, this fragmented military posed more of a threat to internal order than to foreign forces. Political Reform Perhaps the most tragic revelation in Abdelhafid's memoir is his admission that no reform, however rational or urgent, could succeed in a vacuum of political will. «Every reform I attempted», he wrote, «was greeted first with applause, then with sabotage». Reform failed not for lack of ideas, but for lack of a class willing to implement them. The scholars were too cautious, the merchants too fearful, the tribes too fragmented, and the elite too compromised. French diplomacy exploited these divisions masterfully. Even among his own advisors, Abdelhafid found betrayal: «I was a shepherd whose dogs ran with the wolves». He realized too late that reform requires not just laws and budgets, but loyalty, shared sacrifice, and institutional trust—none of which existed in the Morocco of his time. His final verdict was somber: «I tried to build with ghosts; and when I looked behind me, I stood alone». The Colonial Takeover and Abdelhafid's Dilemma Abdelhafid had anticipated unified popular resistance to colonization, but when it arrived, he found it «too little and too fractured». Instead of a united front, he encountered tribal calculations and hesitation. «The river did not overflow—it trickled, and the thirst remained», he laments. By the time nationalist consciousness awoke, the colonial administration had already established itself. His account of signing the Treaty of Fes in 1912 is haunting in its clarity. «That day, my hand trembled not from fear—but from the weight of a thousand years collapsing onto my wrist», he writes. He characterizes the treaty not as a protection agreement but as «a public execution of Moroccan sovereignty, with me as the unwilling executioner». Significantly, he notes that he was not forced at gunpoint but compelled by «the subtle cruelty of inevitability». France had orchestrated what he calls «a siege without cannons» through economic pressure, internal sabotage, and elite complicity. By the time of the signing, he found himself isolated and paralyzed, with the ink «still wet when I felt a chapter of our history close forever». Abdelhafid is unequivocal: «I did not sell Morocco—I signed its surrender because every other gate had already been breached». The tragedy, in his view, was that France weaponized the language of reform. «They spoke of roads, schools, and trade—but their maps led only to the treasury», he writes. Under the guise of progress, the French created dependency: their railways transported soldiers, their schools rewrote Moroccan history. The French «praised our heritage as they dissected it, put it on display in museums like a corpse dressed in silk». Exile and Historical Testament For Abdelhafid, exile represented not merely geographical displacement but an existential loss. «The crown weighs heavier when it sits on an empty head», he reflects—not from arrogance, but because in losing Morocco, he lost both territory and the language to describe it. He saw his comfortable French exile for what it was: «gilded mourning». «No enemy is crueler than memory», he writes, «because it visits you every night, not with weapons, but with the voice of your father asking, 'What did you do to our name?'» Contrary to common perceptions of sovereignty as glory, Abdelhafid experienced it as an unbearable weight. «To reign without control is to watch a flood from the rooftop of a house with no doors», he writes. His memoir represents not merely personal reflection but historical testament. «If I must be remembered, let it be by my own pen, not by the pen of my enemies», he declares. His account is not self-justification but reckoning—with himself, his contemporaries, and future readers. A Voice from the Past Sultan Abdelhafid's memoir stands as a significant document for understanding Morocco's colonial experience. Written from the unique perspective of the monarch who signed away his country's sovereignty, it provides insights often absent from standard historical accounts. The personal anguish he expresses alongside his political analysis offers a nuanced view of a complex historical moment. The publication of «Daa' al-'Atab Qadim» more than a century after the events it describes allows contemporary readers to evaluate Morocco's colonial experience with greater historical distance. Abdelhafid's central thesis—that Morocco fell not primarily because of external strength but internal weakness—remains a point of historical debate. His detailed account of palace intrigue, religious compromise, and intellectual bankruptcy presents a counter-narrative to simplistic views of colonization as purely external imposition. In his final passages, Abdelhafid addresses future generations directly: «If I failed, let it be a lesson. If I suffered, let it not be in vain. I was not a perfect Sultan, but I leave these words hoping they will guard a future better than the past I could not save». His memoir thus serves not only as personal testimony but as historical warning about the fragility of sovereignty and the ever-present dangers of internal division when facing external threats.
