"An individual voice can be heard in a choir that otherwise sings in unison. This is something that is not excused"
About this Quote
A choir is supposed to erase the seams. Ben Jelloun’s line turns that comforting metaphor into a warning: in systems that demand unison, individuality isn’t just noticeable, it’s punishable. The phrase “can be heard” sounds almost innocent, like an accident of acoustics. Then he snaps the trap shut with “not excused,” a chilling choice that borrows the language of discipline, courts, and confession. Difference is framed not as dissent, but as an offense requiring pardon. And pardon, importantly, is denied.
As a poet who has spent decades writing in the long shadow of authoritarian habits and social conformity in the Francophone Maghreb, Ben Jelloun understands how power polices tone as much as content. The choir here reads as nation, community, family, even the literary establishment: any collective that equates harmony with obedience. The “individual voice” isn’t necessarily heroic; it might be shaky, untrained, or simply unable to blend. That ambiguity is the point. What gets targeted in repressive cultures isn’t only the eloquent rebel, but the person who cannot fully perform belonging.
The subtext is less about celebrating the lone voice than about exposing the mechanisms that make it costly. Unison becomes a moral alibi: if everyone sounds the same, the system can call itself peaceful, orderly, cohesive. Ben Jelloun reminds us that cohesion often depends on someone swallowing their notes, or being forced to. The line lands because it makes “harmony” sound like surveillance.
As a poet who has spent decades writing in the long shadow of authoritarian habits and social conformity in the Francophone Maghreb, Ben Jelloun understands how power polices tone as much as content. The choir here reads as nation, community, family, even the literary establishment: any collective that equates harmony with obedience. The “individual voice” isn’t necessarily heroic; it might be shaky, untrained, or simply unable to blend. That ambiguity is the point. What gets targeted in repressive cultures isn’t only the eloquent rebel, but the person who cannot fully perform belonging.
The subtext is less about celebrating the lone voice than about exposing the mechanisms that make it costly. Unison becomes a moral alibi: if everyone sounds the same, the system can call itself peaceful, orderly, cohesive. Ben Jelloun reminds us that cohesion often depends on someone swallowing their notes, or being forced to. The line lands because it makes “harmony” sound like surveillance.
Quote Details
| Topic | Freedom |
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