I had a lot of memorable experiences when I was in the Peace Corp from 1977-1979, but one of them has always stood out in my mind. Iím thinking about it a lot these days.

I taught English as a second language in Morocco, which is a Muslim country of primarily Arab people on the northwestern corner of Africa. For a few months I rented the bottom level of a house in the middle of the city from an elderly Moroccan couple, Fatna and Driss. They lived upstairs.

They took me under their wing, so to speak, and we became good friends, as good as a Moroccan family could be to an American guy. There were a lot of cultural and religious barriers that prevented what I would consider real closeness.

I moved to another house on the edge of the city because I felt too claustrophobic in the middle of the bustling medina. But I kept in touch with my Moroccan family. Every Friday, which is their holy day, they would invite me to a noon dinner. It was great for me. I not only got a delicious meal, usually cous-cous, I also got to visit with my friends.

I spoke ìderizha,î which was the name for dialectal Arabic. Some people called it ìlow Arabic.î Every Arab country has its own version of low Arabic. It is a totally different language than high Arabic or classical Arabic, which is the Arabic taught in school or found in books.

One day after our Friday noon meal, Fatna and I were sitting and visiting. The radio was on. The broadcast was in classical Arabic, which I could not understand.

I asked Fatna what they were saying.

ìMon-arf,î she said with a hint of resignation in her voice. I donít know.

ìWhat do you mean you donít know?î I asked in derizha. My voice probably had a startled tone to it, because I was perplexed.

ìI canít understand it,î she went on. ìI canít speak classical Arabic.î

Fatna told me that she never went to school, and was not taught how to read or recite the Koran, which is where most schooling starts for Moroccan children. But it was more than the lack of schooling that bothered me, it was that a society and a system did not care to educate or include people like Fatna. It was a very simple and effective way to subjugate her, keep her in her place. And not just her, obviously, but many others like her. If you canít even understand the language of knowledge and power, you will remain ignorant and powerless.

Things were changing in Morocco back then, and perhaps Fatna was the vestige of a dying generation. But my hunch is there are still a lot of Fatnas throughout the Morocco countryside, and in many less-progressive Arab countries than that. Yes, Morocco was considered a progressive Arab country, with decent civil rights and many Western influences. Much more so than Iraq, for example.

How long will it take a country like Morocco to become what we consider a democracy, where people like Fatna can participate, understand, read, vote? Theyíve been working on it for 1,000 years and they have not succeeded, and they would not succeed if we came in with 150,000 troops and said, ìWeíll help you change.î

They have to want to change, and they donít want to.

Itís very discouraging to me these days because of the war in Iraq. I hear people talk about bringing democracy and freedom to Iraq, and I think of Fatna, and the society that kept her from school, from the mosque, from even understanding the language that half of her country spoke.

It might sound good to say, ìLetís make it better.î But it wonít happen unless it comes from within the people of Iraq, or Morocco, or any other country you choose. Iím convinced of that, and all the White House propaganda in the world wonít convince me otherwise.

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