The Vigilantes

Terror is no stranger to Morocco these days. Last year Moroccan terrorists killed some 200 people and wounded 500 more.

Many a European in Morocco now carries a gun as a matter of course. But not all the terrorism in Morocco is perpetrated by native Moors, and not all the European guns are used in self-defense. In recent weeks, there has been an increase of cases of European terrorism aimed at the natives. Often the activities of the "counter-terrorists," as they call themselves, are conducted with the tacit complicity of local cops, who have little patience with the slow-moving machinery of French justice. "What?" bellowed one indignant Casablanca policeman recently. "Arrest Frenchmen for killing these Moroccan pigs? They ought to be given the Legion of Honor." Seeing Nothing. Morocco's French-colonial vigilantes are largely concentrated in three small, tightly knit undercover groups: the White Hand, Agir (to act), and the more formally titled Organisation de Defense Anti-Terroriste. They meet in favorite bistros to discuss their plans and plots over glasses of pastis. Their earliest targets were Moors picked off in dark alleys, but in time they moved on to bigger game, like the prominent Moroccan Lawyer Omar Slaoui, who was shot last August by two Frenchmen posing as police. Small Moroccan businessmen are frequent targets, and so are native school teachers. Frenchmen suspected of favoring the Moroccans by advocating peaceful compromise are also singled out for quick punishment. "Pig, you've sold out to the rats; you will be a feast for the worms," ran one threatening letter to a government official which was signed "The True Frenchmen." One night last October a bomb was thrown into the apartment of the editor of Casablanca's Maroc Presse, who advocated a liberal, evolutionary solution of the Moroccan problem. Another bomb exploded in the home of a French industrialist who the week before had made a vague speech recognizing the existence of "difficulties." Meanwhile the terror kept up against the Moroccans themselves. One wealthy local merchant was cornered in his garage and riddled with machine-gun fire. Another was killed as he drove to work in his green Ford Anglia. It was broad daylight and two Casablanca cops were standing nearby. Both denied seeing a thing.

Last Drink. Unable to trust the local police, French authorities called in help from Paris. Ten inspectors, said to be on vacation, arrived in Casablanca and by luck turned up one local cop who was willing to talk. Albert Forestier was a tough, 25-year-old ex-racing cyclist and newspaperman who had joined the police force only a few months before. He was soon an avid vigilante as well, but when his friends bombed the home of his old editor, he turned sour. Albert's story to the French detectives was complete with names and dates. Before he could tell it to a judge and jury, however, he died in an automobile crash. Was it an accident? Nobody knows.

With Albert gone, the officials had lost their best lead, but there are still many secondary sources to follow, though they are made difficult by the conspiracy of silence. In a bistro in Casablanca, three late-staying Moroccans asked for another round of drinks. "Go on, give it to them," the proprietor told his wife. "It's the last drink they'll ever have." Riding home in their car a few minutes later, the Moroccans were shot down by a blast of machine-gun bullets. Names like that of the bistro's proprietor are often spoken of in connection with Moroccan antiterrorism. But until unintimidated witnesses stand ready to testify, the officials are helpless. "We need an airtight case," insisted one French authority last week. "We can't risk a trial in which the European terrorists will be acquitted."

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