Abdallah Stouky, as it is pronounced

He cries in my heart. As it rains on the city… This morning of July 12, 2022, the sky of my soul is low and gray. A few minutes ago, when I jumped out of bed, I heard the news: In the first images of Infinity, broadcast by the James Webb telescope, Abdallah Stouky, our Abdallah, Âazizi, found a doorway to eternity. And the Chants de Maldoror, which he so enjoyed, undoubtedly led his first steps in this other of his travels. The sky of my soul is low and gray; He cries in my heart. When it rains on the city; yet I am without sorrow.

But where does this monotonous languor that grips me come from? Could it be, even if he didn’t care, my resentment for this tribute – deserved a thousand times – that we never gave him and for this honor – a thousand times owed – that we never gave him? Or is it this last injustice – he who knew so well the weight of words and professed the right word and the essence of ideas – to have said on the day of his balance only the things he found meaningless, only the most ephemeral products of his understanding of things and situations?

Urbi and orbi

How can we forget to mention the generosity of this man who shared everything with everyone, he who made the short scale for many of us, by making us acquainted with and ashamed of giants and giants like Mustapha El Kasri (the author from “The Mousetrap”), Mehdi Bennouna, Abdeljalil Fenjiro (La Dépêche, Maghreb Arabe Presse), Jacqueline Fabre, Hamid and Kaki Skali (Maghreb Informations), Mohamed Loghlam and Zakia Daoud (Lamalif)?

Is it possible that we neglect to say what he has achieved so that journalism, hitherto a militant livelihood, became a real profession, dignified, rewarding, with real career prospects, even if it was in the service of a political party, within the Mithaq-Al Maghrib Group, the press body of the brand new RNI? Finally, is it possible not to remember that within this same institution, 33 years before the 2011 Constitution, he was already putting into practice the principles of gender equality and equality with an editorial board “half a half” and salaries for all three times higher than the best in the business.

But in his view there was not as much essential as in the journalism he advocates: journalism of freedom, journalism with a spine, claws and teeth but which does not stiffen, never scratches or bites unnecessarily. These values, professed in Morocco, will also be professed around the world, from Senegal to Vietnam, through New Brunswick and Val d’Aosta, when, elected to his presidency, he will undertake to restore the tarnished weapon of the International Union of journalists and the French language press.

books and people

It leaves other traces, of ink and paper, the fruit of a militant act: the works of Éditions Stouky. Militant act because it proposed at the beginning to make available to the public a sum of knowledge that had long been banned in our country by republishing certain issues of the magazine Hespéris.

For the record, he gave way in editorial works to a few cursed creators, including the poets Ahmed Bouanani and Mohammed Khaireddine and the painter Baghdad Bennas. Finally, the man; I knew his generosity, his doubts too; but not this vulnerability that makes him a good man and that will appear fleetingly only on the day when he was alone to support Jacqueline Jaï at the funeral of his son Farid, he let himself be overwhelmed by a suffering that had no effect. in the tenderness that overwhelmed him when he spoke of Aida, his only daughter… Abdallah, I know that wherever you are, if you read this text, you will still fool me with a sentence like “I took you for an honest man and here you are in the thuriferous genre”; if you do, remember that neither your death nor ours can make us stop loving you.

And then I also want to remind you that you never gave me back my “Haouz de Marrakech” and my “Legend of Goumier Said”; you don’t need it anymore now that you can meet the authors directly…

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