The arrival of tens of thousands of people in Ceuta occurred at the same moment as Moroccan naval vessels ventured into Spanish waters. The timing points to something akin to a hybrid operation: a blend of migration pressure with a display of military force, possibly designed to probe Spain’s response without triggering an outright clash. Yet such a reading presumes that the Moroccan state operates as a single, coordinated engine, with all institutions executing identical orders and with the events part of a master plan conceived at the top echelons of power. Perhaps this interpretation reveals more about how we understand Morocco than about how its political system actually functions.
A crisis five times larger than in 2021
The comparison with May 2021 is hard to ignore. Back then, between 8,000 and 10,000 people crossed into Ceuta amid a diplomatic crisis triggered by Spain’s decision to host Brahim Gali, the leader of the Polisario Front. The two states were in an open dispute, and the chronology suggested that migration pressure could be a form of coercion.
Five years on, the scale seems markedly different. Initial estimates in July 2026 placed the number of entrants into Ceuta between 50,000 and 60,000. Later reports have indicated even higher figures, though these remain unverified and depend on methodological choices. In any event, the crisis would appear to be several times larger than in 2021.
The bilateral backdrop had also evolved. Spain shifted its stance on Western Sahara in 2022, and since then Morocco and Spain had rebuilt their relationship. The two nations collaborate on migration issues and, alongside Portugal, are set to co-host the 2030 FIFA World Cup. For Rabat, the tournament represents a long-term project and a means to bolster its international standing.
What did Morocco seek to achieve with a crisis on a scale well beyond 2021? If the aim was to pressure Spain, one would need to explain why Rabat undertook such a risky move at a moment when it had substantial interests in preserving cooperation with Madrid.
The Infantino paradox
One detail deserves particular scrutiny: FIFA president Gianni Infantino was in Morocco for Throne Day celebrations as the crisis unfolded. His presence coincided with a pivotal moment in the country’s sports diplomacy. The 2030 World Cup, which Morocco will co-host with Spain and Portugal, sits at the heart of Mohammed VI’s major international initiatives. Rabat hopes to stage the final and has leveraged football as a vehicle to elevate its global profile and prestige.
“If the aim was to put pressure on Spain, we need to explain why Rabat took such a high risk at that particular moment”
While the monarchy sought to project an image of stability in front of a prominent guest, images of thousands of people trying to reach Ceuta told a different story. What could Morocco gain from triggering a crisis that tarnished that image and jeopardised relations with a partner it needs to organise the World Cup?
States may bear reputational costs if they anticipate a strategic upside. But that explanation requires identifying the benefit and showing why it justified taking such a risk. The possibility of a deliberate operation cannot be ruled out; it is not the only possible interpretation of what occurred.
When crowds slip beyond control
In political systems with highly concentrated power, authorities typically devote substantial resources to monitoring public spaces and preventing mass mobilisations that could overwhelm security forces. Maintaining order is not just a policing matter; it also signals that the state retains the capacity to exert its authority.
“The possibility of a deliberate operation cannot be ruled out; it is simply not the only way to interpret what happened”
Viewed through that lens, the movement of tens of thousands toward Ceuta presents a paradox. It is one thing for a government to temporarily ease border controls to press a neighbour; it is another to permit an exceptionally large crowd to assemble in a way that appears uncontrolled, with unpredictable consequences and under the glare of global media.
In the first scenario, the state uses people’s movements as a tool of leverage. In the second, it risks exposing the limits of its own control. The coincidence with Throne Day heightened this tension. While Mohammed VI welcomed Infantino and Morocco aimed to project stability, thousands of citizens were heading toward a border that the state was supposed to manage.
The imagery conveyed more than frustration among those wishing to depart the country. It also raised questions about whether Moroccan institutions could anticipate and manage a mobilisation of this magnitude. For a political system that derives much of its legitimacy from preserving order, the scenes could be particularly damaging.
“While Mohammed VI was receiving Infantino and Morocco was attempting to project stability, thousands of citizens were heading towards a border that the state was supposed to control”
Authoritarian regimes can also mobilise masses when they believe it serves their interests. That is why it is crucial to distinguish between a crowd that is directed and contained by the state and one whose movements eventually escape its control. In Ceuta’s case, we still do not know who allowed so many people to reach the border, nor what capacity existed to halt them. Nor is it clear whether the outcome matched what decision-makers had intended.
The concentration of power does not guarantee absolute control. A state can appear immensely powerful from the outside while wrestling with social dynamics within its own borders.
Who is really in charge?
Morocco is not a parliamentary democracy in which fundamental national-security choices rest solely with a government answerable to a legislative majority. The monarchy maintains a central role in the state’s structure, particularly in military affairs, diplomacy, and intelligence.
“A state can appear extremely powerful from the outside while struggling to manage social dynamics within its own borders”
Nevertheless, concentrated authority does not guarantee perfect coordination. Security agencies have their own hierarchies, institutional interests, and degrees of autonomy. In highly personalised political systems, competition for proximity to the centre of power can shape decisions. These dynamics may intensify if there is uncertainty about leadership succession.
This makes the question of succession worth considering. A regime’s stability also hinges on what its elites expect for the future. Mohammed VI’s succession does not seem imminent, but preparations for a possible dynastic transition raise questions about the relationships between the Palace, the armed forces, and the intelligence services.
Against this backdrop, one question often missing from the Spanish debate is: who made each decision, and how far did the authority extend?
The frigates are another matter
The naval episode deserves separate scrutiny. Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez confirmed that Moroccan military vessels had penetrated Spanish waters. Reports indicate that at least one frigate and several patrol boats entered the Ceuta area without authorization, eliciting a response from the Spanish Navy.
A warship operates within a defined chain of command. Its movements can be reconstructed from logs, communications, and operational orders. The information publicly available does not establish what instructions the commanders received or who authorised the incursions. It also does not clarify whether the naval movements were connected to the arrival of migrants or followed a different operational rationale.
The idea of hybrid warfare helps us examine how military and non-military tools can be combined. But it should not become an automatic explanation for every coincidence. To label something a hybrid operation, there must be evidence of coordination, a clear strategic objective, and a unified direction. Without those elements, we risk reconstructing a strategy after the fact from events that may have had separate origins.
Sánchez’s dilemma
Pedro Sánchez defended the crisis management through dialogue with Morocco, while the Spanish Navy carried out protective actions in Spanish waters. This blend of dialogue and deterrence seeks to demonstrate determination without foreclosing a diplomatic path.
“To describe something as a hybrid operation, we need evidence of coordination, an identifiable strategic objective and some form of unified direction”
A robust response does not require every facet of a clash to be made public. If Spain accused Morocco of orchestrating a coordinated attack, political pressure for retaliation would rise. If Rabat believed its prestige was at stake, it might react in a way that escalates the confrontation.
That does not mean the Spanish government should hide what happened indefinitely. Democratic accountability demands an explanation of sovereignty violations and the measures taken in response. It would also have been prudent to brief the principal opposition party on the situation.
There remains, however, a distinction between detailing the military response and publicly attributing strategic intent. Publicly ascribing strategic aims requires far stronger evidence.
A Strategic Doctrine for Spain
For too long, the Spanish debate has oscillated between two simplistic depictions. One sees Morocco as an indispensable partner whose cooperation must be safeguarded at almost any price; the other casts it as an adversary that relentlessly deploys every available instrument against Spain.
Neither portrayal suffices to grasp a complex political reality. Morocco shares economic interests with Spain, but the two also maintain territorial disputes. Their interdependence on migration coexists with a power structure whose evolution directly affects Spanish security.
Spain must defend its sovereignty and hold parties accountable on the basis of verified information. To do this effectively, it needs a deeper understanding of how decisions are made in Morocco. That entails grasping the relationships among institutions and the incentives guiding those who lead them, without assuming they all act under a single will.
“Spain needs to defend its sovereignty and establish responsibility on the basis of verified information. To do that effectively, it must better understand how decisions are made in Morocco”
There is also a need for closer coordination among intelligence, diplomacy, and defence. A migration crisis cannot be treated solely as a border issue; nor can a naval incursion be understood merely as a military incident.
The question we have yet to answer
The trouble with the Ceuta crisis is that Spain still lacks a convincing public explanation of what occurred. The possibility of a coordinated operation against the country remains, but the disparity in scale with 2021, Infantino’s presence, and the potential cost to Morocco suggest that other explanations should also be contemplated.
Perhaps Rabat intended to pressure Madrid and misjudged the consequences. It is also possible that some components of the state apparatus acted with a degree of autonomy we have yet to grasp, or that the migration crisis unfolded alongside naval decisions driven by a separate set of considerations.
There is not enough evidence to choose among these explanations. Spain must determine who made the decisions and whether the mass movement of people and the naval manoeuvres were part of the same strategy. Attributing to Morocco a level of control it may not have exercised could prompt the wrong response; so could dismissing a deliberate operation without proper investigation.
The lingering question is whether Ceuta represented a display of Morocco’s sway over Spain or an exposure of the limits of the Moroccan state’s control over its own society. That distinction matters before we settle on an interpretation of the crisis.
