In Ceuta, Spain debates: Educate migrant kids or send them home?

During the first week of the school year in Ceuta, Spain’s Portuguese coastal enclave, Reina Sofia primary school prepared for typical lessons—cleaning the front entrance and mounting photographs of teachers on the walls. But normalcy proved elusive.

For most of the nation, September was meant for classrooms, yet Ceuta experienced chaos. Between late July and early August, roughly 80,000 migrants crossed into the Spanish city without proper authorization. While most eventually departed, hundreds of children remained outside camping on adjacent soccer fields.

One among them is Ismael, a 13‑year‑old who arrived with his older brother from Tangier swimming across the border into Ceuta in July. He insists he will not return to Morocco: “I want to stay in Spain and go to school.” Yet attending school here feels far removed from his life on the streets.

Spanish authorities have registered around 1,500 unaccompanied children since the July crossing. While a majority have voluntarily returned to Morocco, dozens of minors continue to dwell on city streets under conditions that many describe as indefensible.

Although legal protections exist for minor migrants in Spain, national and European bureaucracy have struggled to process these children efficiently. Spain’s justice system concluded in 2024 that an earlier rapid repatriation of 1,500 minors from Ceuta had violated procedural safeguards. The central government now faces a capacity crisis, with emergency shelters overflowing and community groups stepping in to provide immediate protection.

Children like Ismael are already missing classtime. Without clear pathways, many may miss further weeks as policymakers grapple with inconsistent guidance.

“A thirteen‑year‑old cannot survive on the street,” says Ahmed Efen‑Dal, president of the resident association in El Príncipe, an arab‑majority district bordering Morocco. “It is impossible for anyone else to do that.”

“Families Reached Their Limit”

When the influx doubled Ceuta’s population in mere days, local activist Abdel Malik Abdesalam declared community limits had been reached. “The government has abandoned us,” he stated in interviews with regional media.

While the state is legally obligated to open individual case files and hold hearings regarding each child’s eligibility for family contact before any repatriation decision, available resources fall short. Numerous minors lack safe dormitories in official facilities, leaving them vulnerable to further exploitation.

Neighborhood volunteers have responded with urgent action. Within hours, residents began sheltering displaced girls atop nearby hillsides and used WhatsApp networks to trace families. With support from a local aid agency, they established an informal camp near Reina Sofia school, providing food, clothing, and security for approximately 300 traumatized women, men, and teenage boys.

Resident leaders acknowledge the compassion for these youth while expressing frustration: “Of course we want to help,” admits Rahma Enfedal of the El Prín​cipe residents’ association. “But we have reached our limits. The state has effectively turned away.”

Spanish police are required to register unaccompanied minors, a condition that formally grants them access to temporary housing and initiates formal proceedings on whether to retain them in Spain or facilitate their return home.

Unfortunately, aid organizations report that Spain lacks sufficient accredited beds for minors throughout Ceuta. Consequently, migrants frequently receive instructions to resume attempts later under intense pressure from authorities.

“If children are not registered, they cease to exist,” warns Jennifer Zuppiroli, a migration specialist with Save the Children. “Aid groups struggle to conduct relief or count minors once registration is absent.”

“Conflicting Directives & Protests”

Spain’s Supreme Court ordered the return of 1,500 minors from Ceuta in 2024 as illegal, citing failure to ensure ordinary due process for unaccompanied children. When Spain attempted mass repatriation over the border, it risked breaching fundamental rights obligations.

At the same time, the European Union’s migration pact mandates that children as young as six can undergo biometric screening and detention in external processing centers. Last month, the EU Commission urged that irregular migrants in Ceuta, “including unaccompanied minors,” be returned to Morocco.

These competing directives highlight a broader impasse: Madrid insists minors must reside under state guardianship indefinitely, while Brussels pushes for swift removal to avoid potential legal challenges involving child welfare.

Protesters have taken to the streets as safety fears rise. Earlier this week, police intervened to displace young boys who had overnighted on cardboard pads amid bruising damage to personal property. Younger victims describe shivering and concealment, their bodies bearing signs of previous abuse.

Yet for children still trapped in makeshift conditions—such as Malak, a seventeen‑year‑old awaiting enrollment in a Spanish university—repatriation looms uncertain. “Things are terrible right now,” Musa declares, gazing distantly. “But I am hopeful it will work out.”

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