One day, I decided to wind down. So, I went to a café just around the corner. There, I noticed something entirely bizarre yet completely normal. At the table next to me, a guy was chugging an orange juice directly from the rim of the glass, intentionally ignoring the plastic straw sitting next to it.

You know why? Because somewhere along the line, Algerian culture decided that sucking through a plastic tube is, somehow, inexplicably a threat to your masculinity.

It’s funny, really. Until you realize it isn’t. If your status as a man can be dismantled by a piece of cylindrical plastic, then the questions you need to ask yourself are endless.

You roll into the Redjla game, where your masculinity is constantly on probation. One wrong move and you’re instantly machi radjel.

The Shield That Never Came Off

One way to understand why Algerian men walk around like they’re constantly on trial is to always refer back to history.

The Colonial Era.

Back then, France didn’t just target the land; it also targeted the mind. Specifically Algerian manhood. How? By hypersexualizing the “Arab male,” cutting him off at the knees financially, and attacking his dignity. Our grandfather’s response was forged by a version of masculinity built for war. The Mujahid was the foundation of a silent, impenetrable, fiercely protective version of masculinity. 

This was a brilliant defense mechanism, actually. The problem is that the war ended in 1962, yet this model still stands today. 

This wartime tactic evolved into Rejdla Zayda. We took what was once a beautiful, necessary concept of protection, and corrupted it into a permanent performance where the ultimate penalty for breaking out of the script is being labelled machi radjel.

The Co-Authors of Redjla

This is the part that might get me in trouble, but hey, since we’re friends, we’re going to be honest. 

Men did not build this trap alone. Women are also co-architects of Redjla.

Logically, we learn how to be men not only from our father figures, but from the women who raise us. In a culture where a mom mocks her son for crying, parroting the “radjel ma yebkich” phrase. Or even the sister who defends her brother’s aggression with the “it’s normal, he’s a man…” when he snaps at the family. We are taught early on that sensitivity earns you a scoff, mockery, while aggression earns you respect.

Take a look at any Algerian family, and you will see the same pattern. Mothers raise their sons to dominate, and their daughters to serve. 

So, if you’re a woman reading this, if you want a healthy partner, brother, or son, you have to deeply look at what kind of masculinity you’re nurturing. You cannot demand emotional intelligence from a man who was punished for having emotions.

An Overdue Debt

So, what’s the cost of living inside such a rigid system?

In short, it’s truly destroying our minds. The state of mental health in the Arab world is a silent epidemic, with nearly half of Arab men experiencing depressive symptoms. Yet, we’re clinging to this model that clearly doesn’t fit our current lifestyle.

We’ve been taught that showing emotion is a loss, so we praise the opposite: the man who smokes two packs a day, suppresses everything, and pretends he’s fine. That’s not stress management. That’s punishing yourself, and calling it resilience.  

Your Redjla begins to dictate that you must be the absolute stoic, the unmovable boulder, and the most dominant force in the room. What do you think will happen when the economy collapses, which is something out of your hands? Or where you cannot afford an apartment until you’re 49? When life inevitably happens to you, it doesn’t feel like you lost the game. It feels like you lost your right to exist.

This is why Algerian men pull away. It’s why we lose it over something as stupid as a guy cutting us off in traffic. Meanwhile, we’re just suffocating under the weight of an identity that demands perfection while it punishes us for being human.

The Plastic Übermensch

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not telling you to trash Redjla. There’s a deep and heartfelt beauty in Algerian masculinity. One where we don’t need to import Western frameworks to figure ourselves out. We just need Redjla to live up to its own name again.

A balanced Redjla holds a virtuous core and rejects the plastic performance. It treats people according to their actual needs. When sons learn emotional literacy alongside responsibility, it allows daughters to learn ambition alongside respect.

It’s a masculinity built to raise better generations. Healthy sons who can feel and provide, healthy daughters who can build and be protected. A Redjla that actually delivers the Algerian most virtuous act. Liberation.

We’ve spent the past six decades proving we’re tough enough to survive history. Now, it’s time to prove we’re brave enough to build a better future.

Next time you’re in a café trying to drink your ice-cold orange juice, just use the damn straw.


Mujahid: A person who engages in jihād—literally, one who strives or exerts effort. Depending on context, jihād may refer to various forms of religious striving and, in martial contexts, armed struggle or fighting.

Redjla zayda: Rigid Masculinity.

Machi radjel: Not a man.