With a new Israeli government trying to outstare a new US Administration, Taliban rockets raining on Kabul, simmering tensions within Iran and a delicate handover in Iraq, it seems capricious to point one's finger at a spat between the Moroccan minister of communications and the editor of the French newspaper Le Monde.
The Moroccan government this week prohibited sales of the Moroccan magazine TelQuel (and its Arab version Nichane). The immediate reason is entirely rooted in Moroccan politics. But the incident is representative of a wider condition in several Arab states facing a delicate transition in the near future.
Some background on the Moroccan case: The two magazines, together with Le Monde, conducted a poll on King Mohammed VI's popularity on the tenth anniversary of his ascent to the throne. The result: an overwhelming approval rating of 91 per cent (with 51 per cent having a "very positive" evaluation).
So why would the government prohibit it, saying it was illegal? Eric Fottorino, Le Monde's editor, has proclaimed himself astonished.
He ought not to be. Khalid Naciri, the minister for communications, made the case abundantly clear for the satellite news channel France 24 on Monday.
Despite the overwhelmingly positive result, simply asking the question is deeply subversive. It suggests that the king's position depends on his performance. It frames him as a player within the political system, whereas it is part of his aura of authority that he lies outside politics, serving selflessly simply to guarantee it.
Mr Naciri tacked between two arguments. First, a legal one: the king's position is guaranteed by the Constitution, and therefore to interrogate it is unconstitutional, irrespective of the poll's result.
The constitutional argument addresses the charge of censorship. Mr Naciri pointed out (truthfully) that the Moroccan press has extensive freedom of expression. (It has published, one might add, even charges of election rigging).
But is a Constitution off the bounds of democratic discussion?
Here, the goal posts shift. The monarch becomes "sacred" and appeal is made to another basis of legitimacy: the claimed direct descent of the ruling dynasty from the Prophet Mohammed.
Taken together, the arguments claim two different things: That the Constitution ratifies the monarchy and that it is the king that ratifies the Constitution.
But the moral is the same: take the king away, and the system falls apart. After me, the deluge.
As an argument, it is in its own way plausible. The Moroccan king is, thanks to his position and to his manoeuvring skills, the one broker deemed by city and countryside, and by rival political leaders, to be able to protect the one from the other. By virtue of embodying the state, he is the country's largest employer; but he is also the most powerful private entrepreneur, his wealth the equivalent of six per cent of his country's, according to Forbes magazine.
Such a dominant position does not simply make him the largest player in the game. It makes him, to a significant degree, the arbiter as well as the creator of the game.
Over a quarter of the respondents who thought his first 10 years were good also think the monarchy is authoritarian. Sixty-nine per cent said his vast personal wealth was good for the country: an incentive to improve the national economy. At the same time, most respondents believe not enough had been done to tackle the widespread poverty.
Such answers show just how much the king is identified with the country. One does not necessarily judge the ruler bad because he is authoritarian: rather, one judges how good he is given that he is authoritarian. The more his private interests are entangled with economic policy, the better it might be for the public weal.
Hence why it is near impossible to envision a future order without such a figure. He is the answer to the problems he himself creates. With the system of rival alliances built around him, if he goes, there is a risk of a political implosion and a descent into chaos.
While the Moroccan monarchy is a distinctive creature, the idea of an irreplaceable figure - without whom, the deluge - is a spectre in several other countries. For reasons of age or ill-health, both Egypt and Tunisia might see a handover of presidential power next year. In both cases, for different reasons, the country's political imagination cannot confidently envisage a smooth handover.
Other Arab countries - usually classed among the "moderates" - can be named. But beware of smirking at the thought of "our" superiority over "theirs". The dividing line is not so clear.
Italy, for example, cannot imagine a political present without Silvio Berlusconi, elected in part in the hope, not despite, that he would treat his country like his business.
Meanwhile, several other Western states, faced with a financial crisis caused by reckless profiteers, continue to think that only the people who created the public problem know enough to be able to provide the solution (which is why they have largely been bailed out).
The Moroccan dynasty, dating back to 1660, is sometimes represented as a throwback to an earlier age, at once more courtly and ruthless than ours. But in its blurring of private and public interests, and its capacity to make an alternative seem unreal, it is a bright image of our present collective predicament.
ranierfsadni@europe.com