Ceuta Strives for Unity Amid Historic Migrant Influx and Community Tensions

Ceuta, SPAIN
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Sept. 30, 2026, 11:04 a.m. ET
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9 min read

The Spanish enclave of Ceuta experienced an unprecedented wave of migration this summer that has placed Spain’s immigration policy under intense scrutiny. Since July 30, when 80,000 people swam across the sea border separating Morocco from the Spanish exclave on North Africa’s tip, Abdellah Mustafa has remained constantly active.

Throughout the day, he addresses requests: A Moroccan mother seeks a bandage for her son. Two women need assistance completing their asylum applications. A migrant boy has broken into a nearby car and requires police transport.

Migrants continuously approach the makeshift tent that Mr. Mustafa helped establish with a local aid organization in this Muslim-majority neighborhood, following the largest single migration flow in the exclave’s history, asking: Is there room for one more?

“We need to carry on!” Mr. Mustafa, a cook and president of his neighborhood association, calls out to a friend across the street, pumping his fist in the air. Then he says defiantly, “The only reason I continue is that I cannot abandon these people.”

Colette Davidson

Abdellah Mustafa, president of the Sidi Embarek neighborhood association, stands outside the migrant tent for women and children that he has been overseeing for nearly two months, Sept. 8, 2026, in Ceuta, Spain.

This 7-square-mile territory, ruled by Spain for millennia before Morocco gained independence, has long celebrated coexistence. Approximately half the population is Muslim, many like Mr. Mustafa—Spaniards born there of Moroccan descent. The other half is Christian, many whose families relocated from the Iberian mainland. Both Christmas and Ramadan serve as official holidays. In the tidy city center, Muslims and Christians blend seamlessly in shops and cafés, displaying clear religious tolerance through displays like couples holding hands in marriage.

However, the sudden arrival on July 30 of tens of thousands of migrants has tested this coexistence. Many residents demand the roughly 5,000 remaining migrants be sent back to Morocco and a return to “normal.” Yet the crisis has exposed deep inequalities, prejudice, and neglected Muslim-majority neighborhoods. Ceutis of Moroccan descent have led efforts to assist migrants, sometimes generating resentment from other residents. This has prompted them to question not just restoring traditional coexistence, but building something stronger.

“I’ve had people tell me to go back to my country,” says Said Mohamed, a third-generation Moroccan Ceuti volunteering at a migrant camp for women. “My grandfather fought in the Spanish civil war. I’m more Spanish than anyone. We’re the positives of this story,” he says.

“Must regain control”

Spain has been at the center of Europe’s immigration debate since Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez announced last April that the Spanish government would regularize half a million immigrants already living in the country. Since then, Mr. Sánchez has found himself increasingly at odds with European neighbors on immigration. Italy has suspended its Schengen Area cooperation with Spain, reinstating passport and customs controls, while Finland and Denmark have threatened to cut Spain off from the European Union’s free travel zone.

Ceuta is not connected by land to Europe, but European leaders worry that the crisis here threatens EU borders. In August, Germany’s Friedrich Merz told Spain that it “must regain control” of the city.

The Moroccan government has claimed sovereignty over Ceuta and Melilla, Spain’s other exclave in Moroccan territory, ever since Morocco gained independence from France and Spain in 1956. Protruding northward from the Moroccan coast and just south of the Strait of Gibraltar, Ceuta sits at a strategic point between the European and African continents in terms of global security and trade.

Though the Spanish government has said there is “no solid proof” that Moroccan authorities had any direct involvement in the recent migrant crossing, Spanish opposition parties have accused Morocco of orchestrating the crisis to destabilize Ceuta and challenge Spain’s hold over the territory.

Ana Beltran/Reuters

A settlement in Benítez Beach was created after the mass crossing of migrants from Morocco, Sept. 13, 2026, in Ceuta, Spain.

In recent years, Spain has found itself trapped between Morocco and Algeria, two countries that deeply disagree over territorial ownership of Western Sahara, which was under Spanish rule until 1975. Days before the July migrant crossing, Prime Minister Sánchez made his first official visit to Algeria in six years to smooth relations between the two nations, which observers say could have angered Morocco.

“We can’t ignore the possibility of political instrumentalization,” says Lorenzo Gabrielli, a researcher on Spanish immigration and border policy at the Universitat Pompeu Fabra in Barcelona. “The idea of a takeover is a feeling that has always been present in Ceuta.”

Although other migrant influxes have challenged Ceuta, none has been this big or this contested. In a matter of 24 hours, a majority had given up on their European dream and walked back. But today, nearly two months later, thousands remain, most of them sleeping outside on streets, beaches, and hillsides.

Ceuta’s prized beaches, like the Playa Del Trampolín, have turned into makeshift migrant camps. Young Moroccan men sit on the beach, cutting each other’s hair in the sun. Others jump in the waves or wander aimlessly along the road, a plastic bag in their hand carrying their life’s belongings.

There have been allegations of violence—Ceuta’s chief prosecutor told El País newspaper that the migrant influx had led to an exponential increase in cases of sexual assault since the end of July. Numerous migrants say they’ve had their cellphones stolen while sleeping in open fields and on hillsides.

“Yes, of course, I’m scared,” says Ashraf, a 29-year-old migrant from the border town of Fnideq. The Monitor is using only first names of migrants for their protection. “I’m sleeping in the street. Anything can happen.”

“We’re peaceful. Muslims are not our enemies”

Residents, too, say they’re afraid—that migrants, out of hunger and desperation, will steal from them as well.

Jose Luis Castillo, a retired national police officer, has started carrying a bottle of pepper spray in his pocket, even to church, since the July 30 influx. Many parents say they didn’t let their children play outside for the whole month of August. In early September, Ceuta authorities deployed police officers outside schools for drop-off and pickup, following safety concerns by local parents.

That concern, alongside frustration with the central government for not resolving the crisis fast enough, has culminated in near daily protests here. On Sept. 2, Spaniards across the country joined a nationwide demonstration in a rare showing of patriotism, in solidarity with Ceuta.

Some Spaniards outside Ceuta view the protests as xenophobic, and the far-right Vox party has latched onto the demonstrations to promote its anti-immigrant agenda. But protesters say they’re not racist.

“Any Ceuti will say the same thing. We’re peaceful. Muslims are not our enemies,” says resident Esther Sereno, rolling a large Spanish flag into a tight loop and propping it against her shoulder after a march in September. “But what’s happening now is not about coexistence. This is an invasion.”

Colette Davidson

Friends (left to right) Coral Garcia, Reshma Mirchandani, and Esther Sereno protest against what they see as a migrant “invasion” in Ceuta, Spain, Sept. 7, 2026.

The Spanish government has unlocked €309 million ($353 million) to deal with the migrant crisis in Ceuta, expanding temporary accommodation and processing requests for asylum. It has said that the majority of migrants do not qualify for international protection and will eventually be returned.

But authorities remain overwhelmed by the influx. And residents say they’re exhausted by the situation.

“It’s awful to see people struggling, but I don’t want to be scared anymore,” says Sara Mohamed, (no relation to Said Mohamed), a third-generation Moroccan, who lives in El Príncipe, another Muslim-majority neighborhood on the edge of the Moroccan border. “The only thing I share with these people is religion.”

For the many residents here of Moroccan descent, who were born and raised in Ceuta, the influx has generated a complex reality.

Since the start of the crisis, they have been on the front lines. Mr. Mustafa’s neighborhood association opened the local football field to give migrant women and children a safe place to stay. Others in this neighborhood, called Sidi Embarek, have donated food and clothing, offered rides into town, and invited migrants into their homes to shower or sleep. If residents hadn’t helped house and feed migrants, many say, the town would have seen far more homelessness and violence.

Prizing diversity

Yet Ceuti Muslims have faced public attacks—for offering too much help to migrants or simply looking too much like them, a majority of whom are Moroccan.

“I was riding by the beach on my scooter and a Spanish woman yelled, ‘Look, some of them even have scooters!'” says Omar Amesnaou, a third-generation Muslim who lives between Ceuta and Barcelona. “When I told her I was from here, in Spanish, she looked embarrassed and said she was sorry.”

Protesters have taken to wearing red-and-yellow-striped bracelets—the colors of the Spanish flag—to show their opposition to migrants. Many Muslims participate in the protests, too, but even if they don’t, some wear the bracelet to protect themselves against demonstrators. That’s worrying to those who have always prized Ceuta’s celebration of diversity.

“Coexistence is necessary for our small community to function,” says Carlos Rontomé Romero, a sociologist and director of the National University of Distance Education in Ceuta. “But it’s fragile, and it won’t continue if we don’t put in the work.”

Few Muslim Ceutis associate themselves with the state of Morocco. That’s partly because for those whose families have been in Ceuta for decades, their Moroccan heritage feels far away. But it’s also based on a fear that they could lose everything their ancestors fought for—notably, the right to be Spanish and live in Spain.

Colette Davidson

Church services have been filled since the migrant crisis in Ceuta began, with parishioners seeking solace in community, Sept. 8, 2026.

Though Muslims have been living for decades in Ceuta and Melilla, they were not eligible for Spanish nationality until 1986 when Spain passed its Ley de Extranjería. They did not have Moroccan nationality either.

In 1986 and the years that followed, more than 10,000 Muslims in Ceuta and 14,000 in Melilla received Spanish citizenship. But observers say the scars from that era have left their marks.

Though Spain does not gather official statistics on race or religion, surveys show that around 55% of Ceutis are Christian, 45% are Muslim, and around 2% are Jewish or Hindu. The city suffers from 22.2% unemployment, a majority of which is concentrated in its Muslim communities, like El Príncipe and Sidi Embarek, where Mr. Mustafa works.

“Today there is this discourse of diversity, a city of four religions,” says Victor Albert-Blanco, a professor of sociology and researcher on religious diversity at the Open University of Catalonia. “But for decades, Muslims have had to reinforce their will to participate in public life and claim their rights. They’re constantly trying to prove that they’re integrated.”

Forging a deeper integration

In a way, the migrant crisis has become a catalyzing force for the Muslim community of Ceuta. For the past 45 days, Mr. Mohamed and a rotating group of neighborhood men have acted as unofficial bodyguards at an impromptu migrant camp for women and girls on the El Príncipe football field. They take turns waking up at 4 a.m. and sit at the edge of the field, yelling at passersby who try to take photos or watch the girls shower.

“One girl told me she was doing bicycle kicks in the air all night so she wouldn’t fall asleep,” says Mr. Mohamed, his eyes red from lack of sleep. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to these girls.”

Up the road in Sidi Embarek, at the end of a strip of orange brick apartments lined with satellite dishes and hanging laundry, a streetlight flickers on and off. Flies buzz over a pile of garbage, left to rot, as men sit idle on park benches.

This is what many Ceutis associate with this Muslim-majority community. But Mr. Mustafa is anything but idle—answering his buzzing cellphone, pouring insecticide into the puddles collecting in front of the migrant tent, and managing more requests for help. He’s tired, but hopes one day the rest of Ceuta will appreciate his efforts—and that this could help forge deeper integration for his community.

“When this happened, many people took the ferry and left. Our community stayed,” says Mr. Mustafa, taking a break in a red plastic chair. “I hope people will start to see how much we’ve done for these migrants and how good we are.”

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