How Ceuta is rejecting the far-right's anti-migrant agenda

Nearly a thousand years ago, the great Andalusian poet and polymath Ibn Hazm reflected on the ties that bind people together through affection and loyalty, writing: “Love, may God exalt you, is in its essence a union of souls”. Although he was penning his ideals about romantic love, his works speak to something broader and contemporary regarding the bonds that unite communities through a shared history and devotion to the land.

In few places is that ideal more vividly realised than in Ceuta - a city where Christians and Muslims have long lived side by side on Europe’s southern frontier. Yet when the recent migrant crisis thrust Ceuta into the global spotlight, some sought to turn an external border emergency into an internal cultural conflict.

Spain’s far-right party, Vox, argued that the crisis vindicated its long-standing warnings about immigration and national identity. However, in its attempt to divide the citizens of Ceuta, the party underestimated the city it claimed to defend.

A rich history of diversity

Ceuta’s greatest strength directly opposes parties and nationalists from either side of the Strait of Gibraltar, desperate to use the city as leverage in geopolitical disputes.

The Spanish enclave was controlled by various powers over the centuries — Phoenicians, Romans, Byzantines, and then a succession of Islamic dynasties starting in the 8th century (Umayyads, then later the Almoravids, Almohads, and Marinids, among others).

Ceuta's history later became the site of imperial musical chairs: Portugal claimed it in 1415, before the creation of the modern Moroccan state, but it was later absorbed into the Hispanic Monarchy after 1580 and left Spanish by the city’s own choice when Portugal and Spain split in 1640.

An undeniable tool in Spanish control of the western Mediterranean in the aftermath of the Barbary raids and later in the modern epoch, as a fort sitting directly opposite UK-controlled Gibraltar at one of the busiest maritime chokepoints on Earth.

For centuries, however, it was treated as an administrative afterthought, just another municipality under Cadiz province, until 1995, when Spain’s constitution finally gave it autonomous status. During this time, Ceuta lost its free-port privileges upon Spain's EU entry in 1985, a trade-off locals still debate.

Today, Spanish Christians, Arab Muslims, Sephardic Jews, and Sindhi Hindus from pre-partition India make up the rich local population. The city is filled with narrow Mediterranean streets and tapas bars sitting a stone’s throw away from mosques. Spanish is on Ceuta’s tongue by law, but Darija hums and rolls audibly underneath.

But the parameters of what could appear to be relative harmony were tested in recent days when border controls between Morocco and the Spanish enclave crumbled, and an estimated 60,000 people chaotically crossed into Ceuta. The event resulted in the heartbreaking and avoidable death of an estimated 141 people.

Anti-Muslim, anti-migrant agenda

What played out following the mass crossing into Ceuta has punctured the rhetoric around Spanish sovereignty and identity vis-à-vis immigration and Muslims.

Vox leader Santiago Abascal described the event as an “invasion” and called for permanent militarisation of the enclave.

Of course, Abascal’s sentiment extends beyond simply wanting to defend Spanish sovereign borders; he seeks to peddle his political agenda that includes bashing a progressive government. He has been an unabashed critic of Muslim immigration and has viciously questioned their place in Spanish society, going as far as calling for the suspension of procedures for acquiring Spanish nationality for immigrants descended from “Islamic countries”.

The far-right leader also stated that Islam cannot co-exist in Spain.

Perhaps Abascal expected his comments to the press to rally support in Ceuta, given his party secured five seats in the 2023 municipal and regional elections.

But his hateful rhetoric didn’t resonate with the many, as a protest was organised against Abascal’s visit in the aftermath of the mass crossing. People marched and declared that they did not want fascists on their streets, and chanted: “Ceuta is united and not divided; we the Muslims, the Christians, the Hindus and Jews have made Ceuta what it is”.

Similarly, when the Neo-Nazi party Núcleo Nacional sought to take advantage of the xenophobic hysteria by attempting to organise a rally to echo great replacement theories, young Ceutans very quickly chased them away.

The organisation’s leader, Alvise Pérez, who also serves as a politician and member of the European Parliament, called for the expulsion of all migrants, and locals made it clear how they felt about his views through protest. He was chased into a bar and eventually had to be led away by Police.

It is a testament to Convivencia in Spanish history through Al-Andalus that anxiety over borders and divisive rage bait did not translate into widespread hostility between neighbours. In fact, back in 2021, a left-wing political party called Ceuta, Ya! was established to unite the people against the very divisive politics peddled by the likes of Vox. The Party, which is made up of both Muslims and Christians of varying ages, sought to remedy the rise of far-right nationalist scapegoating.

Many of Ceuta’s Muslim residents have lived in the city for generations. Their citizenship is neither conditional nor recent. Attempting to cast suspicion over an entire community because migrants desperately sought a better life in a European territory ignores the reality of the city itself. But its people have already sent a strong message and made clear they won’t be blinded by hateful political noise.

Amira Rodriguez is a writer based in London, UK.

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