Moroccan Journalism Unmasks Gerando: When Deception Becomes Material for Mockery and Exposure
Hicham Gerando’s outings have ceased to stir controversy and instead evoke professional pity. The man who long tried to market himself as a “voice of opposition” has today suffered a resounding credibility collapse, transforming from a maker of claims into rich material for Moroccan journalism, which has not only debunked his narratives but also launched a public workshop to dismantle his methods, revealing the emptiness of his rhetoric, the inadequacy of his tools, and the dangers of what he promotes.
The story did not begin today, but it reached its peak when Gerando published images he claimed documented recent anti-Moroccan regime graffiti, attempting to imply a “popular uprising” and silent protests in the streets. However, this attempt soon backfired when the newspaper Express TV, through its dedicated team combating fake news, revealed that the images were unrelated to the present, dating back to 2012, and had been published over 13 years ago on a Moroccan website, which had previously led to an official investigation and the detention of those involved.
This was not merely a journalistic scoop but a full-blown scandal. Using old images, whose cases had been closed for years, to fuel a fictitious narrative of unrest cannot be classified as a “mistake” or “misjudgment”; it falls squarely into the realm of deliberate deception and an attempt to stoke the flames of discord. Here, the mask finally fell away, revealing Gerando for who he truly is: someone recycling outdated lies, believing that collective memory is short and that the digital space is without guardians.
The fall did not stop there. The newspaper Al-Muhrir revealed an even more embarrassing incident when Gerando published a video claiming it was filmed in the outskirts of “Ouled Berjal” in Kenitra, allegedly documenting a suspicious shipment linked to a person he referred to as “Nabil the Terrible.” A mere few minutes were enough for the truth to emerge. Technical investigations proved that the video had no connection to Morocco, originating instead from an incident that occurred on January 24, 2026, over the waters of the Guadalquivir River near Aznalcázar in the province of Seville, Spain.
Faced with this, Gerando hurriedly deleted the video, desperately attempting to erase the digital trace of his crime. However, the deletion, as the newspaper stated, was not a salvation but an additional indictment. One who claims to have “reliable sources” does not confuse Kenitra with Seville, nor does one import incidents from the other side of the Mediterranean and pin them onto Moroccan geography unless those “sources” are merely fake accounts and stolen materials from the internet archive.
Kawalis Al-Yawm went even further, describing Gerando’s actions as “blatant visual forgery,” asserting that he had transitioned from verbal lying to a systematic appropriation of foreign content in a desperate attempt to keep his “buzz” machine running. The newspaper did not treat him as an “opponent” but categorized him among “forgers,” asserting that his deletion of the video after being exposed was not a moral retreat but an implicit admission of guilt against the truth and the public.
What links these incidents is not just lying but an entire operational style based on cut-and-paste methods, importing images and videos, and reassembling them into misleading narratives with the sole aim of boosting views, attracting funding, and trading in anxiety and fear. It is a complete professional and ethical bankruptcy that has made Gerando a model of what mediocrity can achieve when disguised as “struggle.”
Amidst this continuous downfall, the role of professional journalism emerged prominently. Journalist Najiba Jalal, editor-in-chief of Express TV, dedicated consecutive episodes of her program “Shin Tan” to dissecting Gerando’s operational methods, exposing with sharp sarcasm his professional folly, and unveiling files that demonstrated how his narratives are concocted, how lies are inflated, and marketed as “shocking truths.” This was not defamation, but a defensive journalistic act that clarified the points and reminded that freedom of expression does not equate to a freedom to lie.
Today, the question is no longer: What does Gerando publish? But: Why are there still those who believe him? Moroccan awareness, as affirmed by several newspapers, has become the solid wall against which these digital myths crash. Every fabricated image, every stolen video, and every baseless claim quickly turns into new evidence of guilt, added to a growing black record with each outing.
Thus, Moroccan journalism not only exposed Hicham Gerando but also transformed him into a case study on how to fall from the illusion of influence to the depths of public mockery. He fell because he wagered on forgetfulness, on dullness, and on the confusion between opposition and lying. The result is clear: renewed disappointment, accumulated scandals, and a portrayal of a person no longer seen as anything but a maker of failed illusions, who sold a delusion… and was revealed.
