Two years on, Morocco’s PhD reform still leaves students confused and divided

Two years after Morocco’s new PhD reform was introduced, confusion continues to ripple through university corridors. What was meant to modernize doctoral studies and bring “excellence” to research has instead left many students struggling to keep up with unclear rules, long mandatory classes, and a system that still feels unfinished.

The reform, launched in the 2023–2024 academic year, was supposed to mark a clean break from the past. The Ministry of Higher Education promised to make doctoral studies more transparent and rigorous. 

Every PhD student would now have to master English and digital tools, attend international conferences, and publish at least two papers in approved scientific journals. 

The new credit system, borrowed from Europe, meant every activity, from lectures to publications, now counts toward a total of 180 points.

But while the goals sounded ambitious on paper, the rollout has been messy.

“There’s no communication, no care, and barely any guidance from supervisors,” said a third-year PhD student at Sidi Mohamed Ben Abdellah University in Fez, who asked to remain anonymous. 

“We get almost no response when we ask for help or clarification. Then came the problem of the mandatory classes, that’s when things got worse,” she said.

In her first year, she said, all PhD students within the same lab, even those working on completely different topics or specialties, were put together in the same classroom for these new modules. 

“It didn’t make sense; some classes had nothing to do with my field,It was total chaos,” she recalled. “Some classes were in English, which I liked, but others were in Arabic, including the exams and assignments, even though my research is in English.”

What bothered her most, however, wasn’t just the mix of languages, but the rigid schedule. 

“Most PhD students have jobs and live in other cities,” she explained. “I’m lucky because I rent a place in Fez, but I was also working, so it wasn’t easy. Then they started adding new systems and rules without giving any explanation. Professors didn’t know, administrators didn’t know, no one knew anything. We were all confused and frustrated.”

Last year, things changed slightly. Instead of combining all specialties, the university organized separate classes for each field. But the new timetable was even more demanding. 

“Classes ran every Friday and Saturday, from eight in the morning until seven at night,” she said. “Complete insanity. I was exhausted. Sometimes I’d just go home before the last two or three classes. And I wasn’t the only one, imagine the students coming from other cities.”

When students complained about the lack of flexibility, the response wasn’t encouraging. “They told us, ‘If you care, you’ll figure it out.’ When we asked for classes to be in English, they told us to suck it up,” she said.

 “We were never consulted about anything. They just introduced a new system and wanted nothing to do with feedback. My friend and I almost quit our PhDs at the same time,” she said.

“There’s zero flexibility; no online classes, no recorded lectures, no alternative assignments. You either show up or you fail,” the student said.

Despite the frustration, she said she still believes in the value of research. “I actually learned more from attending other people’s defense sessions than from these classes,” she said. “The idea of reform isn’t bad, but this was done with no planning, no rules, and no respect for our realities.”

When the Ministry announced the reform, it described it as a “pedagogical overhaul” designed to “bring coherence and excellence” to Moroccan research, but students say there’s nothing pedagogical about classes that run all day, are irrelevant to the their theses and taught in a different language than that of their PhDs.

Universities were instructed to follow a new structure: standardized doctoral hubs, common core classes, and strict monitoring of publications.

Abdelatif Kiday, Dean of the Faculty of Education in Rabat and member of the National Scientific Research Committee, defended the plan as a much-needed shake-up. “The goal is to ensure PhD students are equipped with modern tools,” he said. “It’s no longer acceptable for researchers to ignore global trends in science and technology.”

But on the ground, students say the ministry’s vision hasn’t translated into clear action. Courses are often scheduled last minute, with little coordination between faculties. Some students have to travel hours just to attend a few sessions a week.

The reform also introduced a new “Doctorat d’Excellence” track for students under 26 who can commit full-time to research in exchange for a MAD 7000-dirham monthly scholarship. The idea was to attract young, dedicated researchers and end the culture of part-time doctoral studies.

But the age limit and exclusivity have sparked criticism. Academic Abdelssamad Belkbir called the program “elitist,” saying that competence, not age or free time, should define excellence. 

“The ministry should focus on quality and integrity,” he said, “not arbitrary barriers that leave out older or working students.”

A different story in Beni Mellal

But not all students share the same experience. In Beni Mellal, Chahrazad Saraj, a third-year PhD student says her faculty has managed the reform with care and flexibility. 

“Honestly, when I read about the reform at the beginning I understood the reasons behind it but it didn’t motivate me and I didn’t find it interesting,” she said. “Still, the faculty and my PhD lab have managed to make us live this experience in the best conditions, they are very flexible and they understand our circumstances.”

She accepts the ministry’s push for interdisciplinary training but warns it adds “more constraints to already existing constraints,” especially the mandatory classes that pull time away from thesis work. 

At the same time, Saraj compares the new system favorably to the old one: rather than hunting for conferences and logging hours in a paper booklet, “the new system is fine.” 

There’s “an equilibrium between in-person and online classes,” she explains, and the lab and university actively listen and propose solutions for students who are struggling.

In her first year, Chahrazad recalls, only three or four classes were directly relevant to her dissertation; the rest were interesting but redundant for her because she already knew that material. though she acknowledged many peers did need basic digital training, for example. 

Each module is assigned to a specific teacher with roughly nine hours of instruction in total, and scheduling is handled with flexibility.

“Some teachers are not so strict with attendance for students living far away, and they tried to make tests into assignments instead of in-person exams,” she said.

Still, Chahrazad is candid about limits and says she doesn’t believe the coursework will directly improve her research or help finish her thesis. 

“I think there should be no classes in a PhD program,” she said, “and if there are, they should be online.” 

Even so, Saraj’s overall verdict is cautious but positive, a sign that when universities apply the reform with understanding and adaptability, it can feel manageable rather than crushing.