Jerando and the Fabulous Saga of the Cardboard Conspiracy

Hicham Jerando, also known as “Khariando” to friends and mockers alike, continues his conspiracy marathon with the gusto of a B-movie screenwriter desperate for relevance. In his murky videos, somewhere between grimaces and nervous chuckles, he waves keywords like trophies: “Operation Mars,” “Fargot,” “Patriot”… they sound like ‘90s video games, but he treats them like sacred truths.

It’s not so much what he says, but how. He speaks like someone who just walked out of a disinformation lab, spouting cryptic phrases wrapped in pseudo-technical jargon and shady allusions. His latest invention? The “poison fingerprint” — a concept so vague and absurd it claims to prove everything… and nothing. It makes The Da Vinci Code look like a peer-reviewed thesis.

And around him, the extras laugh. Not at the imaginary enemies he denounces — no, they laugh at him. Even his old fellow conspirators have jumped ship. His echo chamber now lives on in deserted Telegram channels and internet corners where trolls outnumber true believers.

Khariando imagines himself hunted, persecuted, victim of a galactic conspiracy — surely led from Rabat in coordination with NASA. He dreams of being a whistleblower, but he’s just a rumor-monger, spinning his grudges into low-budget political fan fiction.

The saddest part? It’s not that he lies. It’s that he might believe it. He’s trapped in his own mental theatre, where he’s the author, the hero, and the last viewer left. His “revelations” are as sturdy as a sandcastle against a tide of reality. Ask him for proof, and he replies with wild gestures, vague threats, and sound effects fit for a bad thriller.

No, Hicham Jerando is neither a thinker nor a victim. He’s a failed illusionist, a tightrope walker without a rope, an ideologue without ideas. And if history ever remembers his name, it will probably be in a civics textbook under: “How not to become a political clown.”