The recent migratory crisis in the Spanish exclave of Ceuta shows no signs of attenuation. Quite on the contrary: events are gradually turning more unsavoury as the situation takes its toll on the local population.
Civil unrest is inevitable when 70,000 migrants (mainly young men) take up in a city of 80,000 inhabitants, occupying public spaces and creating an unprecedented problem of cohabitation, crime, safety and salubrity. And, although the bulk of that contingent has already returned to Morocco, a few thousand (mostly Sub-Saharian migrants) remained camped in the streets and the beach (at least until a Royal visit was announced), prompting eventual clashes between locals and the migrants, as well as with the Spanish police.
International public opinion appears to be divided on this particular subject, and we have heard all sorts of claims: from the outrage at Spain still possessing colonies in Africa and calls for sympathy towards the migrants, to the looming threat of a Moroccan invasion. For the sake of intellectual honesty, it behoves addressing some of those claims and shed some light on the most contentious issues.
The history of Ceuta commences three millennia ago, as a Phoenician settlement. Throughout Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, the city fluctuated between Roman, Carthaginian, Byzantine, Vandal and Visigoth control; always in the sphere of Roman-Christian influence and, often, politically linked to the peninsula – be it as the Hispania Transfretana or the Baetica province.
The Muslim invasion in the 8th century brought Ceuta into the sphere of influence of Islam for seven centuries, fluctuating between the different Caliphates, Emirates and Taifas that formed the ever-shifting map of Muslim power in Spain. The original Christian and Romance-speaking population of the city was able to survive during these turbulent times, suffering a fate similar to the Hispano-Christian population of other occupied cities on the Iberian Peninsula. That is to say, a situation ranging from relative peace and tolerance to unconditional submission and all intermediate hues, depending on the political status of the moment. Portugal conquered Ceuta in 1415, thus bringing it back into the Western Christian orbit. And dynastic vicissitudes landed it definitively into the Spanish crown in 1578—with the approval of its inhabitants—where it has remained until present time.
Bearing in mind that if the current State of Morocco dates from its independence from France in 1956 or arguably back to the establishment of the current ruling Alawi dynasty in 1666, it is sufficiently clear that Ceuta has never been part of Morocco as we know it.
Perhaps the modern mind, imbued by a cartographical fetishism inherited from the Enlightenment, struggles with the concept of exclaves. One would wonder whether the same outrage is displayed at places like Alaska, Istanbul, Kaliningrad or Gibraltar (which is a genuinely Spanish territory de facto occupied by force). The truth is that territorial discontinuity has always been a valid and accepted mode of political organisation, and often quite successful (let us remember the Hanseatic League and other such confederations throughout history).
But, of course, nationhood, however nebulous a term it might be, cannot be solely defined by these positivist administrative or dynastic circumstances; it requires a more organic approach. During all these historical tribulations, Ceuta never lost its core of Christian Romance-speaking population.
If we take a casual stroll about the streets of Ceuta, it will not feel very different from being in Málaga, Seville or any other Andalusian city. We will hear people speaking in Spanish amid Spanish shops and typical Spanish architecture. Evidently, as any frontier city, it displays a certain degree of multiculturalism, and it contains a notable Muslim minority of Moroccan heritage —many of whom are descendants of Moroccan soldiers who fought in the Spanish army.
But even these citizens, accustomed to European standards of prosperity, welfare and freedom, reject strongly the idea of Moroccan annexation. As would do Moroccans of the contiguous regions, benefitting considerably from the relatively easy trade with a European city.
Spain did indeed partake of the European colonisation of Africa in the 19th and 20th centuries, adding Equatorial Guinea, Western Sahara and a northern strip of what is now Morocco under its Imperial belt. However, all these territories were granted their independence in the second half of the past century.
In the case of Western Sahara, nevertheless, the country was invaded and annexed by Morocco with U.S. support before the Spanish plans for independence could be carried out. This would avoid the emergence of a new country that could side with Algeria in the turbulent times of the Cold War—whereas Morocco has always been a faithful ally of the United States.
The case of Ceuta and Melilla, the two Spanish exclaves in northern Africa, is therefore completely different from the actual process of colonisation that took place during the Scramble for Africa.
These two cities are as Spanish as the Canary Islands, and as Spanish as Kaliningrad is Russian or Alaska is American. “Africa begins at the Pyrenees” is a renowned adage originated in Napoleonic France with scathing intent, giving vent to the frustration of the enlightened French at the Spanish stubbornness in rejecting the bayonet-sanctioned modernity that their Gallic neighbours altruistically tried to share down south.
Notwithstanding the irony of how bad the aphorism aged for France, such remarks were welcomed in Spain with indifference, disbelief or outrage. Spanish intellectual Miguel de Unamuno, however, embraced it proudly. Spain looks both north to Europe and south to Africa, yes: the Africa of Tertulian and Saint Augustine, of Romans and Byzantines, of Vandals and Visigoths… the Western Christian Africa whereof Ceuta and Melilla are the last bastions. Not the Muslim Africa, of which Spain is its antithesis.
We are still accustomed to seeing an invasion as an ostentatious military operation wherein a national army illegally enters another country with the objective of annexing or occupying it. However, this view requires several caveats.
Firstly, an invasion does not necessarily always have the aim of territory occupation; it could have other political goals such as economic gain, diplomatic pressure, civil unrest or public opinion manipulation (e.g. all U.S. régime change operations).
Secondly, modern warfare avails of a much wider, ambiguous and subtle array of agents than it used to. Military historian Martin van Creveld argues in his book “The Transformation of War” that the traditional Clausewitzian vision of war, with its rational trinity of Government-Army-People, is becoming obsolete and new forms of warfare will become the norm in the modern world. Among other characteristics, modern warfare will witness the rise of more ambiguous belligerent agents such as terrorist groups, organised crime or political movements. In this new hybrid warfare, the utilisation of civilians and migration fluxes as a method of coercion will become increasingly more commonplace.
Morocco is not strange to the use of civilians as a weapon to obtain political returns. The most blatant example being the aforementioned Green March in 1975, where 350,000 civilians were sent marching towards the Spanish positions in Western Sahara to force capitulation and cession of the territory to the Kingdom of Morocco.
Over the past decades, Morocco has used migration fluxes to castigate Spain at times of diplomatic tension. The latest notable example being the 2021 incident, when a wave of 8,000 migrants crossed illegally into Ceuta after a deterioration of diplomatic relations over the question of Western Sahara.
Due to the bilateral agreement between the two countries to share border protection, Morocco has a permanent trump card to put pressure on Spain by relaxing control of both the Ceuta border and their southern border to allow the passage of Sub-Saharan migrants.
Everything points at a similar situation triggering the recent migration crisis. A law to confer Spanish citizenship on Sahrawis who were born while still a Spanish colony has been being discussed for years now—about to get passed at time of writing—a move that is due to exasperate the Moroccan régime.
If that was not enough, Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez visited Algeria to discuss a gas deal a mere fortnight before the border incident. Algeria, being the main ally of the Sahrawi people, is consequently Morocco’s principal geopolitical rival. And Spain has been juggling that hot potato for decades, torn between its historical ties to Western Sahara and its need to maintain cordial diplomatic relations with both Morocco and Algeria.
Whatever the Spanish Government did to aggrieve its Moroccan counterpart, the latter has deemed necessary to flex some geopolitical muscle and send an unequivocal warning. Police reports denounce indeed a palpable permissiveness—when not open connivence— of the Moroccan border security forces.
Which means that the events that took place in late July, insomuch as they were orchestrated by a hostile power with geopolitical motivations, can be classified as an operation of hybrid war.
“Greater Morocco” is a nationalist concept popular in Morocco since its independence, which advocates for the annexation of, what some believe to have been, territories historically associated with the Moroccan sultan. That is to say, not only Western Sahara as they already possess, but also Mauritania, parts of Mali and Algeria, and the Spanish exclaves of Ceuta and Melilla.
Although not an official objective of the Moroccan government, it is a trope often invoked to inflame patriotic sentiment among Moroccans and to maintain Spain under a mild state of threat.
Spanish Ceuta and Melilla constitute a clear asset for Morocco as they offer a very convenient and quick way to European trade. Not to mention the political rewards that they can get from Spain by using immigration as a pressure tactic —such as substantial development aid.
What consequences would actual annexation have? Some claim that Ceuta provides a crucial geostrategic position to control maritime traffic between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic, but Morocco already has the Tanger Med, a large busy trading port located in a similar position at the Strait of Gibraltar. Also, one could easily surmise how most of the Spanish population of Ceuta would relocate on the peninsula, letting Ceuta become, gradually, just another Moroccan city. What makes Ceuta and Melilla stand out in the area is not some unfathomable genius loci, it is the fact that they are Spanish cities with Spanish institutions populated mostly by Spaniards; change that to Moroccan population and institutions, and eventually you will have cities with average Moroccan standards.
So a potential Moroccan annexation would leave Morocco with no substantial geostrategic gain, loss of lucrative trade with a prosperous European territory and, most importantly, loss of the political cash cow that Morocco wisely milks through the means of border control. The Moroccan régime, notorious for its acumen in geopolitical manoeuvring, clearly understands this. Therefore, and notwithstanding any bombastic rhetoric they might occasionally employ for psychological effect, these kinds of operations are aimed towards political threat rather than actual occupation.
Thomas Hobbes famously proclaimed that the State prevents society from descending into chaos. However, Ceuta offers yet one more empirical evidence of the falseness of that statement. The state of chaos wherein the city finds itself stems precisely from the existence of overarching political institutions with territorial sovereignty and monopoly of violence. Namely, the Moroccan state orchestrating the invasion and the Spanish state failing to protect the territory under its jurisdiction.
The European Union has long relied on externalisation of border control to northern African countries. In exchange for economic support and other privileges, these countries vow to commit resources to the control of migration fluxes into Europe. A clever manner to be relieved of a duty which would be at odds with the sanctimonious rhetoric of the E.U.: passing the buck on to countries unshackled by Western guilt and virtue-signalling.
This clever ploy poses two fundamental risks, nonetheless: firstly, vulnerability to potential political instability—let us recall the migration crisis succeeding Gaddafi’s toppling— and, secondly, granting them the possibility of weaponising migration as a political threat, as in the present case.
In light of that, one would have serious reservations in believing that Ceuta’s integration into higher structures of power —viz. E.U. and the Spanish state— guarantees a better defence of its borders. The principle of subsidiarity is here paramount, since no one knows better than the Ceutíes how to manage their borders, immigration rules and potential crises.
In fact, we have witnessed how the civil society is always more expeditious than the Government in having a reaction towards these incidents, be it of a peaceful nature (like closing the shops or providing for immigrants) or of a more bellicose inclination (such as the recent clashes) when patience wears too thin.
Therefore, a higher degree of autonomy for Ceuta would result in a more efficient management of its borders and would reduce the incidence of tragic events like the current one. The city’s size is no impediment for an adequate fulfilment of these functions; small political units can reach agreements of cooperation with other units —and I am convinced that it is in all Europe’s interest that Ceuta remains stable and protected—, but Ceutíes ought to be able to negotiate the terms themselves. Immigration is a phenomenon that can be positive, negative or neutral; but it ought not to be imposed on a community. Everyone has freedom of movement but also property rights, and the latter trumps the former.
The Lex Salica of the Franks, which notably influenced multiple European legal codes, had a curious tenet re migrations: any one person settling in another village would require unanimity of the local inhabitants to accept him, and they still had a trial period of one year to raise concerns on the newcomer.
Whilst these particulars are rather strict and impracticable in the modern world, the core principle of delegating responsibility to the settled community is an interesting one which would merit some consideration. Not only would it protect property rights and foster a sense of freedom and responsibility, but it would also allow for a marketplace of different approaches and policies to blossom where each community could serve as a model to the rest.
Conclusion
However this crisis is solved, and whatever news are spread in the interim, some salient points are to be born in mind:
Sergio Fernández Redondo hails from Asturias, in northern Spain, and is located in Co. Waterford. Although he has degrees in engineering and translation, his range of interests encompasses History, linguistics, economy and political philosophy. An enamoured of Irish culture and languages, his inevitable (and enduring) latest endeavour is to master the language that produced the first vernacular literature in Europe.