They say their names are Yassim and Ahmed. One is a mechanic and the other, a waiter. They are brothers, Barça fans, and 15 days ago, when the Ceuta border dissolved for a few hours, they swam across the border along with another 75,000 souls. After that ordeal, they are now sipping a slushie in a café in Castillejos, the Moroccan border town, next to the market that bursts with activity every Saturday. “We stayed only two days in Ceuta because it was terrible,” they admit. “We had no money or food. We slept in a park. So we went back home.”
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-Would you go back to Spain?
-I don’t know, really – reflects Ahmed -. I think yes, but with things better prepared.
The young brothers are part of the tens of thousands of Moroccans who yesterday resisted the call of the #haraga, the viral movement promoting a collective “invasion” of Ceuta for 15-A. It wasn’t for lack of desire, they insist, but a matter of calculation: after monitoring social networks, the regime of Mohamed VI set up such a security device on the border that this Saturday, precisely, was the day with the fewest attempts by Maghrebis to cross into Spain on record.
There was indeed a blockade of more than 200 people of other origins, mainly sub-Saharan, in their alleged attempt to reach Ceuta. These migrants had been camouflaged in the mountains for weeks, waiting for the right moment to assault, without anyone bothering them. But just yesterday the Moroccan troops decided to break the implicit truce they maintain with these men and surrounded them equipped with ostentatious riot gear. It was a timely way to obtain images embodying the effectiveness of the lockdown imposed by Rabat on the border.
Yassim and Ahmed are also part of the vaccine that the late July assault on Ceuta has represented for Maghrebi youth. Tens of thousands of youngsters have firsthand realized that life in Spain is not the paradise that social networks portray. Not only that: these days they have also shared their misadventures with their friends, those for whom the white shirt of Lamine Yamal with the number 19 of the Spanish national team is the most coveted garment of the summer.
“It has been a form of immunization,” says Luis Mayandía, head of the Central Unit of Illegal Immigration Networks and Document Falsifications (UCRIF) of the National Police until his retirement last May. “I assure you that the vast majority of those who have returned from Ceuta will not try to reach Spain again for a good while. If we take advantage of the opportunity, it can help us reduce migratory pressure on the border temporarily.”
Because that is precisely the question that remains after the tremendous setback with which the feared 15-A ended: what will happen when the Moroccan regime dismantles its proto-war device on the border and reaching Ceuta becomes again a matter of hope, audacity, and good lungs for swimming.
Migration experts say that, in reality, two very different populations aspire to reach the autonomous city: sub-Saharans and Moroccans. The former accumulate a journey of months, even years, to reach Europe from countries with dreadful poverty. As soon as the device shows the slightest crack, they will try to infiltrate through the Ceuta border. “Their lives are worth nothing”, says a local businessman settled in the north of the country.
The phenomenon of Moroccans is more complex, for whom the leap to Europe is more an aspirational option than a matter of pure physical survival. They do not starve, but lack a dream to get up for every day. The influence of celebrities like Lamine Yamal, teenagers boasting about their millions of euros on social networks, slowly poisons their spirit until convincing them that risking their lives to reach Ceuta is a more than appealing option.
“They are youngsters with steady jobs and a salary of about 350 euros, which is not bad for Morocco,” says Mayandía. “But, of course, they are convinced that in Spain they have guaranteed work with a minimum salary of 1,200 euros. Wouldn’t you migrate under those circumstances? Well, I would too.”
This dilemma, however, will have to wait until the regime loosens its migratory clamp. At dusk, Castillejos was still under the scrutiny of thousands of soldiers, police, and intelligence agents controlling every conversation and every movement, especially those of groups of teenagers more attracted by the #haraga. Morocco’s strategy thus fulfilled its second phase: if 15 days ago they showed what happens when they raise their hand at the border, yesterday it was about boasting about their ability to curb immigration when they really set their mind to it.
Nothing explains this strategy better than the zero zone of the deployment before 15-A: the esplanade that separates Castillejos from the autonomous city. More than a hundred vehicles of all kinds, from riot vans to trucks weighing hundreds of tons, lined up in perfect sync with the colors of the national flag printed on their bodies. The persistent buzzing of a drone provided the soundtrack of an almost apocalyptic scene that conveyed the regime’s longed-for image of power.
Although photographs of the security device are absolutely restricted by the regime, they have ended up reaching the phones of all Castillejos residents, including Yassim and Ahmed. They know there are lookouts on every hill, concertinas on every beach, and spies listening in every café. They are still not sure if they want to resume the Spanish dream. Yesterday, certainly, was the least suitable day to consider it.
