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The Disaster of Terminology… Was “Displacement” a Slip of the Tongue or a Weapon of Confusion?
In journalism, not all mistakes are equal. There are errors that can be corrected and errors that fundamentally undermine the profession. What Younes Meskine said about the events in Ksar al-Kebir does not fall under benign slip-ups; rather, it is a core example of the second type: an error that, if intentional, is catastrophic, and if unintentional, is double the calamity.
Describing the evacuation of residents from areas flooded by powerful torrents as “displacement” presents two bitter possibilities. Either you know well the meaning of the term and chose it deliberately, which indicates a grave ethical failure, as you have turned a rescue operation into an indictment, the state into an adversary, and the victims into political material. Or you do not know the difference between evacuation and displacement, making the disaster even worse, because ignorance of the term in this case is as dangerous as bad intentions.
Displacement, linguistically, legally, and in terms of human rights, is not a trivial word. It is a heavy criminal term linked to wars, armed conflicts, ethnic cleansing, and states that forcibly expel their people from their homes. What occurred in Ksar al-Kebir was an emergency evacuation imposed by nature and dictated by a state of imminent danger, with the state intervening using rescue boats, shelter centers, the army, and civil protection to safeguard the primary right: the right to life.
This raises a question that cannot be ignored: Why this description now? And why through a foreign channel? And why in language that is understood outside its national context, and interpreted internationally through uncompromising political and human rights lenses?
The journalist is not this naive. Words spoken on an international channel are not uttered frivolously. We know, and everyone knows, that what accompanied this natural disaster was not only powerful floods but also floods of media confusion, led by platforms known for their hostility towards Morocco, aimed at belittling the state’s efforts and transforming any field success into a narrative of failure and violation.
In this specific context, the use of the term “displacement” adds fuel to an already ready-to-ignite fire. No one on those channels will inquire about the subtle differences between Arabic terms. The word is seized, translated, and politically exploited. Here, the journalist, whether intentionally or unintentionally, becomes a part of a smear campaign rather than a monitoring authority.
The most alarming aspect of all this is that the discourse did not criticize the management methods, the conditions of shelter, or the speed of response— all of which are legitimate angles for journalistic critique. Instead, it jumped straight to a serious ethical and political characterization, criminalizing the act rather than questioning it, and distorting reality instead of dissecting it.
Journalism, when facing disasters, is tested in its true essence. It must either be a voice of reason and accuracy or turn into a sensationalist trumpet that confuses politics and relief, seeing the state as protector and the state as executioner. The difference between the two is a single word, but it is a deadly word if placed in the wrong context.
If Younes Meskine intentionally used this description, it is an unforgivable professional disaster. If it was unintentional, the catastrophe is even greater, as it means that a long-experienced journalist no longer weighs their words or realizes that a statement made abroad could return home like a knife in the side of the truth.
In moments of danger, a journalist is not asked to applaud, but at the very least, not to distort. Because saving lives is not a subject for linguistic experimentation, nor is it material for cheap bidding, nor a bridge to platforms looking for any word to distort an entire country.
