The sudden mass crossing into Spain’s North African enclave raises questions that Europe cannot afford to dismiss as merely another migration crisis. The timing, Morocco’s behavior, and the growing strategic alignment between Rabat, Washington, and Tel Aviv point to something potentially more consequential: the weaponization of migration as an instrument of geopolitical pressure against Spain — and, by extension, against the European Union itself. In the end, it resulted in a political crisis within the EU.
What happened in Ceuta — and why the numbers matter
Within roughly 24 hours, tens of thousands of people entered the Spanish enclave, with estimates ranging from around 50,000 according to Spanish authorities to approximately 60,000 in reports cited by the international press. Given Ceuta’s population of roughly 87,000, the influx represented an extraordinary shock to a territory of its size. The Spanish government deployed military personnel and armoured vehicles as local security forces struggled to contain the situation.
The most revealing statistics, however, came afterwards. Within roughly a day, more than 48,000 people had already returned to Morocco. Many migrants themselves said they had discovered that there was little or nothing waiting for them in Ceuta: no accommodation, food, work, or realistic route into continental Spain.
This is precisely what makes the episode so unusual. A spontaneous migration movement normally develops over time, driven by economic distress, conflict, or established smuggling routes. Here, thousands appeared to converge almost simultaneously after rumours spread through social media that the border was effectively open.
Several migrants told journalists that Moroccan police had encouraged them to cross. One described officers allegedly telling people to “enter Spain.” Other testimonies suggested that the border suddenly became permissive before Moroccan forces later re-established control. Morocco denies deliberately facilitating the movement, and Madrid itself has not formally accused Rabat of orchestrating it.
But that leaves the central question unanswered: how does a heavily fortified border suddenly cease functioning?
From migration crisis to geopolitical weapon
The timing is impossible to ignore.
Over the past two years, Pedro Sánchez’s government has become one of Europe’s most outspoken critics of Israel’s conduct in Gaza. Spain recognised Palestine, recalled its ambassador to Israel, imposed measures targeting Israeli settlement activity, and moved towards a permanent arms embargo. Madrid also refused to facilitate certain U.S. military operations connected with Israel and, more recently, connected with the confrontation with Iran, including denying access to Spanish military facilities for operations it considered incompatible with its position.
The political confrontation with Washington has likewise intensified. U.S. officials and Trump himself have attacked Madrid over defence spending, NATO commitments, and Sánchez’s foreign-policy choices. At the same time, Washington was beginning to question Spain’s sovereignty over Ceuta and Melilla. In April, Republican Congressman Mario Díaz-Balart, a close ally of Secretary of State Marco Rubio, publicly argued that the two enclaves were geographically part of Morocco rather than Spain. Days later, a U.S. House Appropriations Committee report described them as being “in Moroccan territory” under Spanish administration and urged Rubio to help negotiate their future status.
Israel, meanwhile, has openly objected to Spain’s diplomatic pressure. Israeli officials have warned that countries conducting what Benjamin Netanyahu described as a “diplomatic war” against Israel would pay a price. The Israeli ambassador to the United Nations even seized upon the Ceuta crisis to question Spain’s moral authority. Prior to this, on 25 May 2019, Benjamin Netanyahu’s son Yair Netanyahu tweeted: “Dear Arabs and Muslims. Want to free occupied Arab Islamic lands? Here’s a good start!” Following this, a map highlighted Ceuta and Melilla.
None of this proves that Washington or Tel Aviv ordered a migration operation against Spain, but geopolitics does not always operate through written orders. Influence can be exercised through incentives, diplomatic signalling, algorithm manipulation, strategic partnerships, funding opposition NGOs, and the creation of permissive environments; sometimes all means are valid.
That is where Morocco becomes crucial.
Morocco, the Abraham Accords, and an old colonial dispute
Morocco’s role cannot be separated from the transformation of its relationship with Israel and the United States, nor from the turbulent triangle linking Rabat, Madrid, and Algiers. Spain’s relations with Morocco have repeatedly oscillated between strategic cooperation and diplomatic confrontation, with the Western Sahara dispute at their core. At the same time, Algeria — Morocco’s main regional rival, particularly over Western Sahara and competing visions of Maghreb leadership — has become increasingly important to Spain as an energy and strategic partner. Algeria is Spain’s leading supplier of natural gas in 2026, while Madrid and Algiers are now working to expand gas supplies and broader energy cooperation, as discussed in Sánchez’s visit to Algiers a few days ago.
For Morocco, closer Spanish-Algerian ties risk strengthening its principal regional rival at a time when Rabat is seeking to establish itself as the dominant economic and strategic hub of the Maghreb.
Madrid’s renewed rapprochement with Algiers therefore has consequences well beyond the energy market: in the zero-sum geopolitics of the Maghreb, closer Spanish-Algerian ties inevitably affect Morocco’s strategic calculations.
Morocco’s role cannot be separated from the transformation of its relationship with Israel and the United States, and its ups-and-downs relations with Spain.
Since joining the Abraham Accords in 2020, Rabat has moved from a discreet interlocutor with Israel to an increasingly important, formalised defence cooperation and security partner. Intelligence and military cooperation have expanded: the 2021 Israel–Morocco defence memorandum established a framework for cooperation in intelligence, military training, and defence industries, followed by growing Israeli arms and surveillance-technology sales. In parallel, Washington intensely strengthened Morocco’s strategic position by formally recognising Moroccan sovereignty over Western Sahara in December 2020.
This creates a new strategic triangle: Washington–Tel Aviv–Rabat.
Ceuta and Melilla sit directly inside this geopolitical equation. Morocco considers both territories to be occupied Moroccan land, while Spain regards them as integral parts of the Spanish state. Ceuta has been under Spanish rule since 1580, and before that, it was a Portuguese colony; the dispute is therefore deeply rooted in the historical legacy of European colonialism in North Africa.
Migration can consequently become more than migration. It can become a form of coercive diplomacy.
The 2021 Ceuta crisis already demonstrated the possibility. More than 10,000 migrants entered the enclave after a diplomatic dispute between Madrid and Rabat over Spain’s medical treatment of Polisario Front leader Brahim Ghali. The current episode is vastly larger. Trump and Netanyahu made clear that Spain’s defiance would have consequences.
The question is not whether Morocco has an interest in keeping the Ceuta question alive. It plainly does. The question is whether the post-Abraham Accords alignment has created an environment in which Moroccan pressure against Spain can indirectly serve wider American and Israeli strategic objectives.
Europe’s shame: when an attack on Spain becomes Europe’s problem — but Spain stands alone
Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the Ceuta crisis was not what happened at the Moroccan border, but Europe’s reaction.
Instead of immediately demonstrating solidarity with Spain, several EU governments moved to distance themselves from Madrid: Italy suspended Schengen free-movement arrangements with Spain and demanded Spain’s suspension from the Schengen area, while Denmark, Sweden and Finland backed calls for restrictions. France tightened controls and reinforced police and gendarmerie on its border with Spain. As Belgian former diplomat Raoul Delcorde put it on the Italian proposal, such a thing is a “legal aberration.”
Moreover, according to Frontex, in the last five years, Italy’s irregular arrivals have been double those of Spain. Meloni’s approval rating is declining sharply – this could be another reason for Italy’s ludicrous reaction, as migrants entering Spain do not go to Italy; Italy has had a negative net migration rate since 2012: more people, especially the more qualified Italians, are leaving Italy; Spain alone has received 300,000 Italians.
This episode exposes one of the EU’s oldest contradictions.
Europe has created a single internal market, a common area of free movement, and increasingly integrated external border mechanisms. Yet when one member state comes under extraordinary pressure at the Union’s external frontier, the instinct of some governments is not solidarity but blame, distancing and political opportunism.
The irony is profound. An assault on Spain’s external border is therefore, in a very real sense, an assault on Europe’s external border too.
If migration can be deliberately manipulated to pressure one member state, and the response of other members is to threaten that state with isolation, the message to Europe’s adversaries is dangerously clear: the EU can be divided through its weakest points. Ceuta should not become the laboratory in which Europe discovers that migration can be weaponised not only against a country but against the European project itself. It revealed what the EU project is when it comes under stress.
And Europe should be asking a much more uncomfortable question: who benefits when migration becomes a weapon against a European government that has challenged Washington and Tel Aviv, while Morocco’s strategic importance to both continues to grow?
The answer may not yet be proven. But dismissing the question would be an even greater strategic mistake.
Given the negative repercussions of the lack of solidarity, including from the European Commission, 22 EU leaders signed a letter over the weekend accusing Spain on the Ceuta issue and demanding a meeting. Paradoxically, Italy – after finding that there is no legal basis to restrain Spain from the Schengen area – signed the letter, while states most devoted to EU political and institutional integrity – France, Portugal, Ireland and Luxembourg – did not. However, it cannot be considered a letter of “unity” as intended, because the signatories blamed the Spanish Supreme Court for what happened in Ceuta and, to a lesser extent, in Melilla.
In turn, Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez wrote a letter to the EU Commission President Ursula von der Leyen lamenting the lack of “European solidarity” and denouncing the “attacks, misinformation and prejudice” weaponised for political gain.
Finally, let’s imagine if this had happened in Belarus. European leaders would cry out loud: “weaponised migration”, “Russian disinformation.” But now, as Spain keeps a contestatory position on what is happening in Gaza, the West Bank, and the support of the EU and the US for Israel, and is one of the few member states to firmly hold European morals and values, no European leader has put the blame on Morocco, the US or Israel, but preferred to solely criticise Spain. Dangerous, double-standard games aggravated by weak EU leadership.
Ricardo Martins – Doctor of Sociology, specialist in European and international politics as well as geopolitics
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