From the Gallic Wars to the Conquest of the Americas and the Genocide in Gaza: Counterinsurgency as a Tool to Subdue Unruly Peoples

Ayman El Hakim, 23/1/2026

From ancient empires to contemporary powers, the same logic runs through the centuries: governing through violence populations that refuse domination. Gaza is not an exception, but the culmination of a long imperial history.

 

Counterinsurgency is often presented as a military doctrine born in the twentieth century, forged in colonial wars and later refined in the age of drones and algorithms. This is a comforting illusion. In reality, counterinsurgency is one of the oldest modes of imperial governance, experimented with long before modernity, systematized in the nineteenth century, industrialized in the twentieth, and today normalized under the language of security and humanitarianism.

What changes are not the fundamental objectives, but the vocabularies, the tools, and the thresholds of acceptability.

The Original Matrix: Conquer, Disperse, Erase

The wars of conquest in the Americas constitute one of the first modern laboratories of counterinsurgency. Confronted with organized, rooted, and resistant Indigenous societies, Spanish, Portuguese, and later Anglo-USAmerican colonial powers developed a grammar of domination that remains tragically familiar: the destruction of villages and subsistence economies, forced displacement and death marches, confinement in reservations, the fragmentation of communities, and racial and religious dehumanization.

The Indian Wars in the United States extended this logic throughout the nineteenth century. The goal was not merely to defeat Indigenous nations militarily, but to break their collective capacity to exist as peoples. The reservation was not a space of protection; it was a tool of permanent pacification, a technology of confinement.

Yet these populations were never passive. They resisted through guerrilla warfare, mobility, intertribal alliances, and the clandestine preservation of languages, rituals, and memory. Cultural survival was — and remains — a form of political resistance.

Before Modernity: Counterinsurgency Without a Mask

This imperial grammar did not originate with modern colonialism. It was already fully operative in Antiquity. The Gallic Wars, as staged by Julius Caesar, amount to counterinsurgency avant la lettre: exemplary massacres, systematic destruction of cities and granaries, mass enslavement of populations, and alliances with local elites to fragment solidarities. Rome understood that insurrection was not merely military, but social and political.

The repression of internal revolts — from the Servile Wars to the Jewish revolts in Judea — radicalized this logic: collective punishment, staged terror, deportations, territorial and symbolic erasure. The destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE and the renaming of the province after 135 were aimed not merely at defeating an enemy, but at destroying a people as a historical subject. Antiquity reveals without disguise what later empires would seek to obscure: counterinsurgency is first and foremost a technique of governance rooted in fear of unruly communities.

The Nineteenth Century: Empire Rationalized

Nineteenth-century European empires — British, French, Russian — systematized these practices. Counterinsurgency became an administrative science. In Algeria, India, Ireland, and southern Africa, the same methods recur: territorial grid systems, population registries, collective punishments, forced displacement, and the destruction of local economies.

“Pacification” was never peaceful. Its purpose was to produce a governable population stripped of autonomous political structures. In response, resistance took many forms: armed insurrections, clandestine networks, tax refusal, resistance to forced labor, symbolic reappropriation of land, and oral transmission of forbidden histories. Empire could occupy territory, but it could never govern without fracture.

The Twentieth Century: Counterinsurgency as Explicit Doctrine

With wars of decolonization and the Cold War, counterinsurgency became a formalized doctrine. In Malaya, Algeria, and Vietnam, the population was explicitly identified as the center of gravity of the conflict. Populations were regrouped, displaced, surveilled, tortured, and “developed.” Camps, “new villages,” strategic hamlets, and forbidden zones were not anomalies — they were the core of the system.

Politically, these strategies failed. Populations developed counter-counterinsurgencies: infiltration of imposed structures, reversal of colonial institutions, politicization of suffering, internationalization of struggles, and the construction of liberation narratives. Algeria and Vietnam demonstrate that a war can be lost militarily yet won politically and historically.

The Twenty-First Century: Containment Rather Than Conquest

The twenty-first century marks a major shift. The objective is no longer always to conquer or integrate, but to contain populations deemed irredeemable. Counterinsurgency becomes urban, permanent, technologized, and legally euphemized.

Gaza represents the extreme expression of this transformation: blockade, total enclosure, cyclical destruction, humanitarian dependency, and constant surveillance. Everything converges toward the management of life and death on a massive scale. What is happening in Gaza is not a moral or historical anomaly, but the most radical contemporary actualization of ancient imperial logics: governing a people by destroying the very conditions of its collective existence.

Yet resistance persists, often in invisibilized forms: the maintenance of social solidarities, self-organization of aid, transmission of memory amid annihilation, refusal of symbolic erasure, and the inscription of the Palestinian narrative in global space. Resistance is not reducible to arms; it is ontological — the act of continuing to exist as a people.

In a quieter register, Western Sahara operates according to the same contemporary grammar of counterinsurgency. Sand walls, territorial fragmentation, settler colonization, economic marginalization, and the criminalization of civil resistance: domination functions less through open warfare than through freezing, normalization, and the erosion of time. As in Gaza, international law is instrumentalized not to resolve the conflict, but to suspend it indefinitely. One is a loud laboratory; the other a silent one — but the logic is the same.

A Historical Constant: The Political Failure of Counterinsurgency

Across the longue durée, [long term] one conclusion is unavoidable: counterinsurgency can destroy, displace, and kill — but it consistently fails to produce lasting legitimacy. It radicalizes the societies it seeks to pacify, generates irreversible memories of violence, and transforms domination into chronic instability.

History teaches not the omnipotence of empires, but their structural fragility in the face of peoples who refuse to disappear.

Conclusion

From the Gallic Wars to the enclosed territories of the twenty-first century, counterinsurgency appears for what it is: not a response to violence, but a fear of politics — the fear of peoples who insist on deciding their own future. Every time it is imposed, it reveals less the strength of the dominant order than its inability to tolerate the existence of another historical horizon. And every time it fails, it leaves behind what empires fear most: peoples militarily dominated, yet politically irreducible.

De la guerra de las Galias a la conquista de las Américas y al genocidio en Gaza: la contrainsurgencia para sofocar a los pueblos indóciles

Ayman El Hakim, 23-1-2026

Desde los imperios antiguos hasta las potencias contemporáneas, la misma lógica atraviesa los siglos: gobernar mediante la violencia a poblaciones que rechazan la dominación. Gaza no es una excepción, sino la culminación de una larga historia imperial.

A menudo se presenta la contrainsurgencia como una doctrina militar nacida en el siglo XX, forjada en las guerras coloniales y perfeccionada posteriormente en la era de los drones y los algoritmos. Es una ilusión reconfortante. En realidad, la contrainsurgencia es uno de los modos más antiguos de gobierno imperial, ensayado mucho antes de la modernidad, sistematizado en el siglo XIX, industrializado en el siglo XX y hoy normalizado bajo el lenguaje de la seguridad y la acción humanitaria.

Lo que cambia no son los objetivos fundamentales, sino los lenguajes, los instrumentos y los umbrales de aceptabilidad.

La matriz originaria: conquistar, dispersar, borrar

Las guerras de conquista de las Américas constituyen uno de los primeros laboratorios modernos de la contrainsurgencia. Frente a sociedades indígenas organizadas, arraigadas y resistentes, las potencias coloniales españolas, portuguesas y luego anglousamericana desarrollaron una gramática de dominación que sigue resultando tristemente familiar: destrucción de aldeas y economías de subsistencia, desplazamientos forzados y marchas de la muerte, confinamiento en reservas, fragmentación de las comunidades y deshumanización racial y religiosa.

Las guerras indias en USA prolongaron esta lógica a lo largo del siglo XIX. No se trataba únicamente de derrotar militarmente a las naciones indígenas, sino de quebrar su capacidad colectiva de existir como pueblos. La reserva no fue un espacio de protección, sino un instrumento de pacificación permanente, una tecnología de confinamiento.

Sin embargo, estas poblaciones nunca fueron pasivas. Resistieron mediante la guerrilla, la movilidad, las alianzas intertribales y la preservación clandestina de lenguas, rituales y memorias. La supervivencia cultural fue —y sigue siendo— una forma de resistencia política.

Antes de la modernidad: la contrainsurgencia sin máscara

Esta gramática imperial no nace con el colonialismo moderno. Ya está plenamente operativa en la Antigüedad. La guerra de las Galias, tal como la presenta Julio César, constituye una contrainsurgencia avant la lettre: masacres ejemplares, destrucción sistemática de ciudades y graneros, esclavización masiva de poblaciones y alianzas con élites locales para fragmentar las solidaridades. Roma comprendió que la insurrección no era solo militar, sino social y política.

La represión de las revueltas internas —desde las guerras serviles hasta la Judea insurgente— radicalizó esta lógica: castigo colectivo, terror escenificado, deportaciones, borrado territorial y simbólico. La destrucción de Jerusalén en el año 70 y el cambio de nombre de la provincia tras el 135 no buscaban únicamente derrotar a un enemigo, sino destruir a un pueblo como sujeto histórico. La Antigüedad muestra sin velos lo que los imperios posteriores tratarán de ocultar: la contrainsurgencia es, ante todo, una técnica de gobierno basada en el miedo a las comunidades indóciles.

El siglo XIX: el imperio se racionaliza

Los imperios europeos del siglo XIX —británico, francés, ruso— sistematizaron estas prácticas. La contrainsurgencia se convirtió en una ciencia administrativa. En Argelia, India, Irlanda y el África austral reaparecen las mismas recetas: cuadriculación del territorio, registro de poblaciones, castigos colectivos, desplazamientos forzados y destrucción de las economías locales.

La “pacificación” nunca fue pacífica. Su objetivo era producir una población gobernable, despojada de sus estructuras políticas autónomas. Frente a ello, las resistencias adoptaron múltiples formas: insurrecciones armadas, redes clandestinas, rechazo del impuesto y del trabajo forzoso, reapropiación simbólica de la tierra y transmisión oral de relatos prohibidos. El imperio podía ocupar el territorio, pero nunca gobernarlo sin fisuras.

Siglo XX: la contrainsurgencia como doctrina explícita

Con las guerras de descolonización y la Guerra Fría, la contrainsurgencia se convirtió en un corpus doctrinal. Malasia, Argelia, Vietnam: la población pasó a ser identificada explícitamente como el centro de gravedad del conflicto. Se reagruparon poblaciones, se desplazó, se vigiló, se torturó y se “desarrolló”. Los campos de reagrupamiento, los “nuevos pueblos”, las aldeas estratégicas y las zonas prohibidas no fueron anomalías: constituyeron el núcleo del dispositivo.

Políticamente, estas estrategias fracasaron. Las poblaciones desarrollaron contra-contrainsurgencias: infiltración de los dispositivos impuestos, reapropiación de las instituciones coloniales, politización del sufrimiento, internacionalización de las luchas y construcción de relatos de liberación. Argelia y Vietnam muestran que una guerra puede perderse militarmente y ganarse política e históricamente.

Siglo XXI: contener en lugar de conquistar

El siglo XXI marca una inflexión decisiva. Ya no se trata siempre de conquistar o integrar, sino de contener a poblaciones consideradas irrecuperables. La contrainsurgencia se vuelve urbana, permanente, tecnologizada y jurídicamente eufemizada.

Gaza encarna esta mutación en su forma más extrema: bloqueo, encierro total, destrucción cíclica, dependencia humanitaria y vigilancia constante. Todo converge hacia una gestión de la vida y de la muerte a gran escala. Lo que ocurre en Gaza no es una anomalía moral o histórica, sino la actualización más radical de lógicas imperiales antiguas: gobernar a un pueblo destruyendo las condiciones mismas de su existencia colectiva.

Sin embargo, la resistencia persiste, a menudo invisibilizada: mantenimiento de las solidaridades sociales, autoorganización de la ayuda, transmisión de la memoria en medio de la aniquilación, rechazo del borrado simbólico e inscripción del relato palestino en el espacio mundial. La resistencia no se reduce a las armas; es ontológica: seguir existiendo como pueblo.

En un registro más silencioso, el Sahara Occidental responde a la misma gramática contemporánea de la contrainsurgencia. Muro de arena, fragmentación territorial, colonización de poblamiento, marginación económica y criminalización de la resistencia civil: la dominación opera menos mediante la guerra abierta que a través del congelamiento, la normalización y el desgaste del tiempo. Como en Gaza, el derecho internacional se instrumentaliza no para resolver el conflicto, sino para suspenderlo indefinidamente. Uno es un laboratorio ruidoso; el otro, un laboratorio silencioso —pero la lógica es la misma.

Una constante histórica: el fracaso político de la contrainsurgencia

En la larga duración, una constatación se impone: la contrainsurgencia puede destruir, desplazar y matar, pero fracasa sistemáticamente en producir una legitimidad duradera. Radicaliza a las sociedades que pretende pacificar, genera memorias de violencia irreversibles y transforma la dominación en inestabilidad crónica.

La historia no enseña la omnipotencia de los imperios, sino su fragilidad estructural frente a pueblos que se niegan a desaparecer.

Conclusión

Desde la guerra de las Galias hasta los territorios cercados del siglo XXI, la contrainsurgencia aparece como lo que realmente es: no una respuesta a la violencia, sino un miedo a la política —el miedo a pueblos que reclaman el derecho a decidir por sí mismos. Cada vez que se impone, revela menos la fuerza del orden dominante que su incapacidad para tolerar la existencia de otro horizonte histórico. Y cada vez que fracasa, deja tras de sí lo que los imperios temen más: pueblos dominados militarmente, pero políticamente irreductibles.

De la guerre des Gaules à la conquête des Amériques et au génocide de Gaza : la contre-insurrection pour mater les peuples indociles

Ayman El Hakim, 23/1/2026

Des empires antiques aux puissances contemporaines, la même logique traverse les siècles : gouverner par la violence des populations qui refusent la domination. Gaza n’est pas une exception, mais l’aboutissement d’une histoire impériale longue.

On présente souvent la contre-insurrection comme une doctrine militaire née au XXᵉ siècle, forgée dans les guerres coloniales puis perfectionnée à l’ère des drones et des algorithmes. C’est une illusion confortable. En réalité, la contre-insurrection est l’un des modes les plus anciens de gouvernement impérial, expérimenté bien avant la modernité, systématisé au XIXᵉ siècle, industrialisé au XXᵉ, et aujourd’hui normalisé sous couvert de sécurité et d’humanitaire.

Ce qui change, ce ne sont pas les objectifs fondamentaux, mais les langages, les outils et les seuils d’acceptabilité.

La matrice originelle : conquérir, disperser, effacer

Les guerres de conquête des Amériques constituent l’un des premiers laboratoires modernes de la contre-insurrection. Face à des sociétés autochtones organisées, enracinées et résistantes, les puissances coloniales espagnoles, portugaises puis anglo-usaméricaines ont développé une grammaire de domination qui demeure tristement familière : destruction des villages et des cultures vivrières, déplacements forcés et marches de la mort, enfermement dans des réserves, fragmentation des communautés, déshumanisation raciale et religieuse.

Les guerres indiennes aux USA prolongent cette logique au XIXᵉ siècle. Il ne s’agissait pas seulement de vaincre militairement des nations autochtones, mais de briser leur capacité collective à exister comme peuples. La réserve n’est pas un espace de protection : c’est un outil de pacification permanente, une technologie de confinement.

Pourtant, ces populations n’ont jamais été passives. Elles ont résisté par la guérilla, la mobilité, les alliances intertribales, la préservation clandestine des langues, des rites et des mémoires. La survie culturelle fut — et reste — une forme de résistance politique.

Avant la modernité : la contre-insurrection sans fard

Cette grammaire impériale ne naît pas avec la colonisation moderne. Elle est déjà pleinement assumée dans l’Antiquité. La guerre des Gaules, telle que la met en scène Jules César, relève d’une contre-insurrection avant la lettre : massacres exemplaires, destructions systématiques des villes et des greniers, mise en esclavage de populations entières, alliances avec des élites locales pour fragmenter les solidarités. Rome comprend que l’insurrection n’est pas seulement militaire, mais sociale et politique.

La répression des révoltes internes — des guerres serviles à la Judée insurgée — radicalise cette logique : punition collective, terreur mise en scène, déportations, effacement territorial et symbolique. La destruction de Jérusalem en 70 et le changement du nom de la province après 135 ne visent pas seulement à vaincre un ennemi, mais à détruire durablement un peuple comme sujet historique. L’Antiquité montre ainsi sans fard ce que les empires ultérieurs chercheront à masquer : la contre-insurrection est d’abord une technique de gouvernement fondée sur la peur des communautés indociles.

Le XIXᵉ siècle : l’empire se rationalise

Les empires européens du XIXᵉ siècle — britannique, français, russe — systématisent ces pratiques. La contre-insurrection devient une science administrative. En Algérie, en Inde, en Irlande, en Afrique australe, on retrouve les mêmes recettes : quadrillage du territoire, fichage des populations, châtiments collectifs, déplacements forcés, destruction des économies locales.

La « pacification » n’est jamais pacifique. Elle vise à produire une population gouvernable, dépouillée de ses structures politiques autonomes. Face à cela, les résistances prennent des formes multiples : insurrections armées, réseaux clandestins, refus de l’impôt et du travail forcé, réappropriation symbolique de la terre, transmission orale de récits interdits. L’empire peut occuper, mais il ne parvient jamais à gouverner sans fracture.

XXᵉ siècle : la contre-insurrection comme doctrine explicite

Avec les guerres de décolonisation et la guerre froide, la contre-insurrection devient un corpus théorisé. Malaisie, Algérie, Vietnam : la population est désormais identifiée comme le centre de gravité du conflit. On regroupe, on déplace, on surveille, on torture, on « développe ». Les camps de regroupement, les « nouveaux villages », les hameaux stratégiques, les zones interdites ne sont pas des anomalies : ils constituent le cœur du dispositif.

Mais ces stratégies échouent politiquement. Parce que les populations développent des contre-contre-insurrections : infiltration des dispositifs, retournement des institutions imposées, politisation de la souffrance, internationalisation des luttes, construction de récits de libération. L’Algérie et le Vietnam montrent que l’on peut perdre la guerre militairement tout en la gagnant politiquement et historiquement.

XXIᵉ siècle : contenir plutôt que conquérir

Le XXIᵉ siècle marque une inflexion majeure. Il ne s’agit plus toujours de conquérir ou d’intégrer, mais de contenir des populations jugées irrécupérables. La contre-insurrection devient urbaine, permanente, technologisée, juridiquement euphémisée.

Gaza incarne cette mutation à son point extrême : blocus, enfermement total, destruction cyclique, dépendance humanitaire, surveillance constante. Tout converge vers une gestion de la vie et de la mort à grande échelle. Ce qui se joue à Gaza n’est pas une anomalie morale ou historique, mais l’actualisation la plus radicale de logiques impériales anciennes : gouverner un peuple en détruisant les conditions mêmes de son existence collective.

Mais la résistance persiste, sous des formes souvent invisibilisées : maintien des solidarités sociales, auto-organisation de l’aide, transmission de la mémoire malgré l’anéantissement, refus de l’effacement symbolique, inscription du récit palestinien dans l’espace mondial. La résistance ne se réduit pas aux armes, elle est ontologique  : continuer à exister comme peuple.

Dans un registre plus silencieux, le Sahara occidental relève de la même grammaire contemporaine de la contre-insurrection. Mur de sable, fragmentation territoriale, colonisation de peuplement, marginalisation économique, criminalisation de la résistance civile : la domination y opère moins par la guerre ouverte que par le gel, la normalisation et l’usure du temps. Comme à Gaza, le droit international est instrumentalisé non pour résoudre le conflit, mais pour le suspendre indéfiniment. L’un est un laboratoire bruyant, l’autre un laboratoire silencieux — mais la logique est identique.

Une constante historique : l’échec politique de la contre-insurrection

Sur la longue durée, un constat s’impose : la contre-insurrection peut détruire, déplacer, tuer — mais elle échoue toujours à produire une légitimité durable. Elle radicalise les sociétés qu’elle prétend pacifier, engendre des mémoires de violence irréversibles, et transforme la domination en instabilité chronique.

Ce que l’histoire enseigne, ce n’est pas la toute-puissance des empires, mais leur fragilité structurelle face à des peuples qui refusent de disparaître.

Conclusion

De la guerre des Gaules aux territoires enfermés du XXIᵉ siècle, la contre-insurrection apparaît pour ce qu’elle est : non une réponse à la violence, mais une peur du politique — la peur de peuples qui revendiquent leur droit à décider d’eux-mêmes. Chaque fois qu’elle s’impose, elle révèle moins la force de l’ordre dominant que son incapacité à tolérer l’existence d’un autre horizon historique. Et chaque fois qu’elle échoue, elle laisse derrière elle ce que les empires redoutent le plus : des peuples militairement dominés, mais politiquement irréductibles.

End of a Reign in Morocco, with Heir Moulay Hassan in Sight

 Mohammed VI may still have a long life ahead of him, but a sense of the end of an era has already taken hold in the kingdom. Barring unforeseen events, he will leave his son, Moulay Hassan, a stable country and an authoritarian regime boasting numerous diplomatic successes.

Ignacio Cembrero, El Confidencial, 31/12/2025

Translated by Ayman El Hakim

Ilustration: EC Diseño

Morocco is already experiencing a phase marking the end of a reign. It is not that King Mohammed VI, aged 62, is gravely ill or that his days are numbered after twenty-six long years on the throne. Yet dynastic succession has become a topic of conversation among Casablanca’s bourgeois circles, while subtle movements can be observed among officials seeking to position themselves more advantageously when a new king ascends the throne.

Although his portrait is everywhere, Mohammed VI has never been very present in the life of his country. Between his long holiday stays abroad, periods of convalescence and recurring ailments, the sovereign became known as “the missing king”, as described in 2023 by the British weekly The Economist.

He was not even present on Sunday the 21st at the inauguration in Rabat of the Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON), the biggest sporting event held in Morocco in years. He began his holidays in Abu Dhabi on 5 November, continued them in Paris and Cairo, and was still extending them last weekend, even though official propaganda portrays the tournament as “the spark of Morocco’s general rebirth”. He delegated the ceremonial kick-off to his son, Moulay Hassan.

The collective awareness of Mohammed VI’s frailty may have crystallised in late October 2024, when he travelled to Rabat airport to welcome French President Emmanuel Macron. He appeared extremely thin, leaning on a cane and walking with difficulty. The official explanation for the use of the cane failed to convince many observers.

When Mohammed VI eventually passes away, Morocco will undergo a transition without upheaval. The king has an undisputed heir: Moulay Hassan, 22, his only son. Little is known about him, as the royal palace has not even communicated about the progress of his studies at UM6P, a private university. In theory, he is less well trained than his father, having neither completed a doctorate nor undertaken internships in international organisations. Nor has he been entrusted with many representational duties.

He did, however, receive Chinese President Xi Jinping in November 2024 during a technical stopover in Casablanca. The king was once again on holiday at the time. That episode remained an exception. The following month, it was Moulay Rachid, Mohammed VI’s brother, who represented the monarch at the reopening of Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris, attended by the world’s elite.

Some of the heir’s personal inclinations have nevertheless become known. He is very close to his mother, Princess Lalla Salma, 47, from whom Mohammed VI separated in March 2018. He lives with her and his sister, Lalla Khadija, 18, in the Dar Es Salam palace; he endured the painful divorce at her side; and he goes on holiday with her to Courchevel in the French Alps or to Mykonos in the Aegean Sea. When he accedes to the throne, this information-systems engineer will exert considerable influence over the new king.

When the time comes, Mohammed VI will leave his son—provided no unforeseen and undesirable events occur—a well-established kingdom. Despite deep social inequalities, Morocco is the most stable country in all of North Africa, more so than Algeria despite its gas and mineral wealth. This stability stems from the monarchy’s role in structuring the country both politically and religiously.

Mohammed VI’s escapades—his holidays stretching to nearly six months in some years, his close friendship with three German-Moroccan mixed martial arts (MMA) fighters with whom he lived in the palace, or his unsteady wanderings with a drink in hand during a Parisian night in August 2022—have even trended on social media.

They have prompted a flood of mocking or scandalised comments about his person, yet without eroding the monarchical institution. Not even the major Moroccan Islamist movement Justice and Charity (Al-Adl wal-Ihsan), illegal but relatively tolerated, took advantage of the situation to attack the Commander of the Faithful, the religious title also held by the king.

Over time, Mohammed VI has become more cautious. After having allowed the Azaitar brothers, the MMA fighters, for years to decide who among the royal family could visit him in his private quarters and at what time of day, he has now relegated them to the background. They no longer appear at his side nor flaunt their luxury gifts—Rolex watches or Ferrari and Bentley cars—on social media.

Since the summer of 2022, his main companion has been Yusef Kaddur, 41, a Spaniard from Melilla and also a martial-arts expert. Unlike the Azaitars, he is discreet and modest, but equally uneducated. When he still lived in Melilla, he wrote on Facebook riddled with spelling mistakes. He does, however, help lift the monarch’s spirits when he is feeling down. Kaddur enjoys the esteem of the royal family.

The respect—or fear—inspired by the king is such that protesters do not even dare mention him. The young activists of the GenZ212 movement, who took to the streets in September to demand better education and healthcare, criticised the government headed by billionaire Aziz Akhannouch. They never targeted the monarch, even though many of the decisions later implemented by the government are taken within the royal palace.

Today, youth mobilisations, jihadism, political Islam or a nearly non-existent left pose no threat in Morocco to the monarchy or to the courtiers—sometimes referred to as the “makhzen”—who gravitate around it. Hence the incomprehensible scale of repression exercised, for example, against those who responded to the GenZ212 call. In the autumn alone, 5,780 arrests were made; around 2,480 protesters have been or will be tried, and 1,473 are already behind bars, including some 300 minors.

These and many other episodes make it clear that Morocco is not on a path toward a parliamentary monarchy, contrary to what figures such as Omar Azziman once suggested when he was ambassador to Spain (2004–2010) before becoming a royal adviser.

When Mohammed VI ascended the throne, there were no Moroccan prisoners of conscience—only Sahrawis—because his father, Hassan II, had relaxed repression at the end of his reign. A quarter of a century later, many are behind bars, starting with the four leaders of the peaceful Rif uprising (2016–2017) and Mohamed Ziane, 82, Africa’s oldest political prisoner. This former human-rights minister under Hassan II dared to suggest in a video that, given the king’s frequent absences, abdication might be preferable. Ziane holds dual Moroccan and Spanish nationality, his mother being from Málaga.

Winds of freedom gradually stopped blowing in Morocco from 2003 onwards, following the jihadist attacks in Casablanca (33 dead). They briefly returned during the fleeting “Arab Spring” in early 2011, but another terrorist attack, this time in Marrakech (17 dead), put an end to the opening. Authorities tightened the screws again in 2020, after the pandemic, to silence the last dissenting voices, starting with the finest pens of independent journalism, who ended up in prison. They were pardoned in 2024, but are barred from practising their profession.

Only the massive peaceful demonstrations against the invasion of Gaza and Morocco’s close relations with Israel escaped repression. They were called by the Moroccan Front for Solidarity with Palestine and other associations discreetly supported by Justice and Charity Islamists.

Public indignation was such that the authorities did not dare ban them, yet they did not scale back cooperation with the Hebrew state, which has become a strategic partner. The truce in Gaza has brought relief to Moroccan authorities.

“Morocco has moved from the dictatorship of Hassan II to the enlightened autocracy of Mohammed VI,” Le Monde summarised in a six-part series published last summer on the Moroccan monarchy. The autocrat is not alone. He is supported by a very small circle of collaborators, among whom Fouad Ali El Himma, 63, sometimes dubbed the viceroy, stands out. A former schoolmate of Mohammed VI at the Royal College in Rabat, he often holds the reins of a country whose head of state periodically disappears.

He intervenes in all areas, but has a particular fondness for the massive domestic security apparatus, in which he worked from 1999 to 2007, headed by the kingdom’s top policeman, Abdellatif Hammouchi, architect of the use of the Pegasus spyware. He also plays a role in foreign policy, implemented by Nasser Bourita, Mohammed VI’s most influential foreign minister.

For the first time this century, cracks have appeared in the counter-intelligence and secret-police machinery, tasks overseen by the General Directorate for Territorial Surveillance (DGST), under Hammouchi and ultimately under El Himma’s supervision.

From a mysterious Telegram channel, a hacker group called Jabaroot revealed in August personal data relating to several senior DGST agents, including their real-estate holdings. Among them was the agency’s de facto number two, Mohamed Raji, nicknamed “Monsieur Wiretaps”, who has headed telephone surveillance for over thirty years and carried out assignments for the king himself.

The flight abroad of Mehdi Hijaoui, former number two of the General Directorate of Studies and Documentation (DGED), also reveals unease within the foreign-intelligence agency. With far fewer staff than the DGST, it nevertheless operates with a larger budget. Some signs also point to friction between domestic and foreign intelligence services, without this having undermined the country’s security.

The one area where everything has run smoothly is foreign policy, which is almost monothematic. More than one hundred countries now support Morocco’s three-page autonomy plan—currently being fleshed out—offered since 2007 for Western Sahara. Two major democracies, the United States and France, have gone even further by recognising Moroccan sovereignty over a territory the UN still considers non-self-governing and awaiting decolonisation.

The culmination of this wave of diplomatic successes came on 31 October, when the UN Security Council adopted, without a single vote against, Resolution 2797, establishing the Moroccan autonomy proposal as the basis for future negotiations. This endorsement is all the more significant as it was driven by the administration of President Donald Trump, backed by France. A third power, Israel, completes this triumvirate of support for Morocco.

“This accumulation of diplomatic victories is all the more striking given that they are achieved by a country whose head of state constitutionally wields almost all power, yet is frequently absent,” marvels a European official who served for many years in Rabat.

This backing from the UN’s highest body does not by any means put an end to the Sahara dispute, which erupted half a century ago when Spain handed over its colony to Morocco and Mauritania. It will, however, lead to the resumption of negotiations. As long as Algeria resists Western pressure and continues to support the Polisario Front, which it hosts in the southwest of its territory, the conflict will persist, albeit at low intensity.

Rabat may even decide in the medium term to bring this latent confrontation to the surface, at the risk of igniting the region. One of its objectives, viewed favourably by Washington, is to force MINURSO, the small UN mission that has long ceased to fulfil its role, out of Western Sahara. If that were to happen, Morocco would be tempted to exploit its military superiority to seize the eastern strip of the former colony—20 % of the territory (50,000 km²) that it does not control and through which the Polisario operates.

“With or without an agreement, and with US approval, Morocco will decide, when the time is right, to annex those areas east of the wall that belong to it,” predicted Abdelhamid Harifi, administrator of the unofficial forum Royal Armed Forces–Morocco. “It would then take only two or three weeks,” he stressed. How would Algeria react? Would it go to war to try to prevent it and save its protégé?

The Sahara is not the only arena of confrontation between Morocco and Algeria. Moroccan diplomacy is also exploiting Algerian setbacks in the Sahel to advance its own agenda. The most striking example is the offer, made by the king himself, to give Niger, Burkina Faso and Mali access to the sea via the port under construction in Dakhla (formerly Villa Cisneros) in Western Sahara.

The project, which ignores Mauritania, is somewhat far-fetched, like the 6,000-kilometre gas pipeline linking Nigeria to Morocco. They are unlikely to materialise, but in April Mohammed VI was already photographed in Rabat with the foreign ministers of those three countries, once protégés of Algiers. Morocco is now the one expanding its soft power in parts of the Sahel. It even successfully mediated in December 2024 to secure the release of four French spies imprisoned in Burkina Faso.

All these Moroccan achievements carry a more troubling reading for Spain. No sooner had the Security Council resolution been adopted than Moroccan diplomacy publicly laid out its claims vis-à-vis its Spanish neighbour, via Atalayar, the unofficial mouthpiece of the Moroccan lobby in Spain, and Media24, the digital daily closest to Foreign Minister Nasser Bourita. “They are emboldened,” more than one Spanish diplomat remarked at year’s end.

In its effort to extract concessions from Spain while offering little in return, “Morocco uses instruments that are not strictly military to consolidate strategic objectives, such as asserting its sovereignty over Western Sahara,” recalls Alejandro López Canorea in his newly published book La Guerra del Estrecho [The War of the Strait]. “All this amounts to a form of hybrid warfare that does not necessarily involve the outbreak of open conflict, but rather a deep-seated, sustained confrontation waged with non-conventional tools,” the author explains.

Irregular migration is Rabat’s preferred instrument, used with particular brazenness in May 2021, when it encouraged—according to Spanish intelligence reports—the entry into Ceuta of more than 10,000 Moroccans, a fifth of them minors, in less than 48 hours. Since President Pedro Sánchez sent his mysterious letter to Mohammed VI in March 2022, never officially disclosed, Moroccan security forces have nevertheless worked to curb migration flows to the Canary Islands and Andalusia, though not to Ceuta.

This effort was the only tangible quid pro quo in exchange for Sánchez aligning himself with Rabat’s autonomy solution to resolve the Sahara conflict. It is reversible, and Moroccan authorities could loosen controls again whenever they deem it useful to exert greater pressure on the Spanish government. The ambitious joint project of the 2030 World Cup, to be hosted together with Spain and Portugal, may, however, encourage them to postpone that moment.

Spanish military officers express another concern, often upon retirement. “Morocco now has a very strong ally: Israel and its technology,” recalled General Miguel Ángel Ballesteros, until two years ago director of Spain’s National Security Department. “Originally it is not aimed at us (…), but we must not forget that Morocco has very serious claims over Spanish territory,” he warned. “That alliance worries me,” he concluded.

When his time comes, the young king will have to decide whether to retain his father’s collaborators in diplomacy and security. The former have carried out their mission successfully. The latter monitored and curtailed his mother’s movements after the divorce, following royal orders but increasing her suffering. They are unlikely to remain in their posts.

Who will Moulay Hassan rely on to govern? His school and university friends lack the experience needed to advise him soundly. By contrast, Commissioner Fouad Boutlaoui, the current head of the heir’s security, is tipped for promotion. He harbours resentment toward Hammouchi, who manoeuvred to have his brother, also a police officer, imprisoned.

Perhaps the best part of the inheritance the father will pass on to the son is his fortune. Forbes last estimated it in 2015 at around €4.85 billion. From the outset of his reign, it grew exponentially, the magazine noted. It has likely increased further over the past decade, judging by the growing weight of Al Mada, the royal holding company, in Morocco’s economy and its expansion into 24 countries, mostly in Africa.

The worst part of Mohammed VI’s legacy to his son is poverty. The balance sheet of twenty years of the National Initiative for Human Development, launched in 2005 to alleviate it, is far from satisfactory. Poverty has declined slightly, according to studies by the High Commission for Planning, yet 44 % of Moroccans wish to emigrate in search of better opportunities abroad, according to the latest survey. The younger they are, the higher the proportion.

Behind spectacular infrastructure projects—such as Africa’s first high-speed rail line or Tanger-Med, the continent’s leading port which has overtaken Algeciras in the Strait—lies another, less gleaming Morocco. In his most recent Throne Speech, delivered last July, Mohammed VI himself acknowledged this duality. “There is no room, neither today nor tomorrow, for a Morocco moving at two speeds,” he stressed.

That should be Moulay Hassan’s great task: to achieve harmonised growth that brings his country’s standard of living closer to that of its southern European neighbours. Morocco’s per-capita income (€4,240 in 2025) is now seven times lower than Spain’s. Spain has around ten million more inhabitants than Morocco, yet its GDP is ten times larger. Morocco’s total wealth is equivalent to that of a single Spanish autonomous region: Valencia.

Israel recognizes Somaliland: the diplomacy of accomplished facts and the engineering of peripheries

Ayman El Hakim, 28/12/2025

The official recognition of Somaliland by Israel, announced on Friday, December 26, 2025, is not merely a diplomatic realignment. It is part of a broader regional strategy, where state recognition becomes an instrument of security projection and, potentially, a lever for demographic engineering.

For the first time, a core state in the international system recognizes an entity resulting from unilateral secession, outside any multilateral framework. By breaking with the consensus on Somalia's territorial integrity, Israel is not merely supporting a marginalized actor: it is opening a new space for politico-military intervention in a region that has become central to the direct and indirect confrontation with Iran and the Houthis in Yemen.

The choice of Somaliland is strategic. Located on the Gulf of Aden, near the Bab el-Mandeb strait, the territory overlooks one of the world's most sensitive maritime routes. For months, this area has been at the heart of Houthi attacks against international shipping, carried out with Iran's political and military support. By recognizing Somaliland, Israel gains a forward base for intelligence, maritime surveillance, and securing its trade routes, in coordination with its regional partners.

But this recognition could serve another purpose. Several analysts are now raising the hypothesis of an Israeli project aimed at encouraging the emigration of Palestinians from Gaza to peripheral territories, among which Somaliland would be a possible option. This is not, at this stage, an officially declared plan, but a hypothesis fueled by repeated Israeli political statements about a “migration solution” for Gaza and the active search for third countries willing to receive “voluntarily deported” populations.

The recognition of Somaliland would provide a diplomatic and legal framework for this type of project. A poor, isolated territory, in search of recognition and investment, could be presented as a “humanitarian solution,” while in reality, it would constitute an outsourcing of the Palestinian problem, in line with an old logic of displacement rather than political resolution.

If this hypothesis were to materialize, it would raise major questions. It would transform the recognition of Somaliland into a tool for demographic reconfiguration, not merely a security one. Above all, it would reinforce accusations of double standards: while Palestinian self-determination continues to be denied on their own land, a solution based on yet another exile would be promoted under the guise of pragmatism.

The regional consequences would be significant. For Somalia and the African Union, this recognition already sets a dangerous precedent, weakening the principle of borders inherited from colonization. For Somaliland itself, it carries a major risk: becoming both a military outpost in the confrontation with Iran and Yemen and a receptacle for displaced populations, instrumentalized by external powers.

By recognizing Somaliland, Israel is not merely expanding its diplomatic network. It is experimenting with a form of diplomacy of accomplished facts, where recognition serves to redraw the security and human maps of the regional conflict.

In this recomposing world, being recognized no longer means being sovereign. It means being useful—militarily, politically, or demographically.

Israel reconoce a Somalilandia: La diplomacia del hecho consumado y la ingeniería de las periferias

Ayman El Hakim, 28-12-2025

El reconocimiento oficial de Somalilandia por parte de Israel, anunciado el viernes 26 de diciembre de 2025, no responde a un simple realineamiento diplomático. Se inscribe en una estrategia regional más amplia, donde el reconocimiento estatal se convierte en un instrumento de proyección de seguridad y, potencialmente, en una palanca para la ingeniería demográfica.

Por primera vez, un Estado central del sistema internacional reconoce una entidad resultante de una secesión unilateral, fuera de todo marco multilateral. Al romper con el consenso sobre la integridad territorial de Somalia, Israel no se limita a apoyar a un actor marginado: abre un nuevo espacio de intervención político-militar en una región que se ha vuelto central para el enfrentamiento directo e indirecto con Irán y los hutíes en Yemen.

La elección de Somalilandia es estratégica. Situado en el golfo de Adén, cerca del estrecho de Bab el-Mandeb, el territorio domina una de las rutas marítimas más sensibles del planeta. Desde hace meses, esta zona es el epicentro de los ataques hutíes contra la navegación internacional, llevados a cabo con el apoyo político y militar de Irán. Al reconocer a Somalilandia, Israel obtiene una base avanzada para inteligencia, vigilancia marítima y la seguridad de sus rutas comerciales, en coordinación con sus socios regionales.

Pero este reconocimiento podría tener también otra función. Varios analistas mencionan ahora la hipótesis de un proyecto israelí destinado a fomentar la emigración de palestinos de Gaza hacia territorios periféricos, entre los cuales Somalilandia figuraría como una opción posible. No se trata, en esta etapa, de un plan declarado oficialmente, sino de una hipótesis alimentada por declaraciones políticas israelíes repetidas sobre la “solución migratoria” para Gaza y por la búsqueda activa de terceros países dispuestos a acoger a poblaciones “deportadas voluntariamente”.

El reconocimiento de Somalilandia ofrecería un marco diplomático y jurídico para este tipo de proyecto. Un territorio pobre, aislado, en busca de reconocimiento e inversiones, podría presentarse como una “solución humanitaria”, cuando en realidad se trataría de una externalización del problema palestino, conforme a una lógica antigua de desplazamiento más que de resolución política.

Esta hipótesis, de materializarse, plantearía cuestiones mayores. Transformaría el reconocimiento de Somalilandia en una herramienta de reconfiguración demográfica, y no solo de seguridad. Sobre todo, reforzaría la acusación de doble rasero: mientras se sigue negando la autodeterminación de los palestinos en su propia tierra, se promovería una solución basada en un enésimo exilio bajo el pretexto del pragmatismo.

Las consecuencias regionales serían graves. Para Somalia y la Unión Africana, este reconocimiento constituye ya un precedente peligroso, que debilita el principio de las fronteras heredadas de la colonización. Para la propia Somalilandia, conlleva un riesgo mayor: convertirse a la vez en un puesto avanzado militar en la confrontación con Irán y Yemen y en un receptáculo de poblaciones desplazadas, instrumentalizado por potencias externas.

Al reconocer a Somalilandia, Israel no se limita a extender su red diplomática. Experimenta con una forma de diplomacia del hecho consumado, donde el reconocimiento sirve para redibujar los mapas de seguridad y humanos del conflicto regional.

En este mundo en recomposición, ser reconocido ya no significa ser soberano. Significa ser útil —militar, política o demográficamente.

Israël reconnaît le Somaliland : la diplomatie du fait accompli et l’ingénierie des périphéries

Ayman El Hakim, 28/12/2025

La reconnaissance officielle du Somaliland par Israël, annoncée le vendredi 26 décembre 2025, ne relève pas d’un simple réalignement diplomatique. Elle s’inscrit dans une stratégie régionale plus large, où la reconnaissance étatique devient un instrument de projection sécuritaire, mais aussi, potentiellement, un levier d’ingénierie démographique.

Pour la première fois, un État central du système international reconnaît une entité issue d’une sécession unilatérale, en dehors de tout cadre multilatéral. En rompant avec le consensus sur l’intégrité territoriale de la Somalie, Israël ne se contente pas de soutenir un acteur marginalisé : il ouvre un nouvel espace d’intervention politico-militaire dans une région devenue centrale pour l’affrontement direct et indirect avec l’Iran et les Houthis au Yémen.

Le choix du Somaliland est stratégique. Situé sur le golfe d’Aden, à proximité du détroit de Bab el-Mandeb, le territoire surplombe l’un des axes maritimes les plus sensibles du globe. Depuis des mois, cette zone est au cœur des attaques houthies contre la navigation internationale, menées avec le soutien politique et militaire de l’Iran. En reconnaissant le Somaliland, Israël se dote d’un point d’appui avancé pour le renseignement, la surveillance maritime et la sécurisation de ses routes commerciales, en coordination avec ses partenaires régionaux.

Mais cette reconnaissance pourrait avoir aussi une autre fonction. Plusieurs analystes évoquent désormais l’hypothèse d’un projet israélien visant à encourager l’émigration de Palestiniens de Gaza vers des territoires périphériques, parmi lesquels le Somaliland figurerait comme option possible. Il ne s’agit pas, à ce stade, d’un plan officiellement déclaré, mais d’une hypothèse alimentée par des déclarations politiques israéliennes répétées sur la « solution migratoire » pour Gaza et par la recherche active de pays tiers prêts à accueillir des populations « déportées volontaires ».

La reconnaissance du Somaliland offrirait un cadre diplomatique et juridique à ce type de projet. Un territoire pauvre, isolé, en quête de reconnaissance et d’investissements, pourrait être présenté comme une « solution humanitaire », alors qu’il s’agirait en réalité d’une externalisation du problème palestinien, conforme à une logique ancienne de déplacement plutôt que de résolution politique.

Cette hypothèse, si elle venait à se concrétiser, poserait des questions majeures. Elle transformerait la reconnaissance du Somaliland en outil de reconfiguration démographique, et non seulement sécuritaire. Elle renforcerait surtout l’accusation de deux poids-deux mesures : alors que l’autodétermination des Palestiniens continue d’être niée sur leur propre terre, une solution fondée sur un énième exil serait promue sous couvert de pragmatisme.

Les conséquences régionales seraient lourdes. Pour la Somalie et l’Union africaine, cette reconnaissance constitue déjà un précédent dangereux, fragilisant le principe des frontières héritées de la colonisation. Pour le Somaliland lui-même, elle comporte un risque majeur : devenir à la fois un avant-poste militaire dans la confrontation avec l’Iran et le Yémen et un réceptacle de populations déplacées, instrumentalisé par des puissances extérieures.

En reconnaissant le Somaliland, Israël ne se contente pas d’étendre son réseau diplomatique. Il expérimente une forme de diplomatie du fait accompli, où la reconnaissance sert à redessiner les cartes sécuritaires et humaines du conflit régional.

Dans ce monde en recomposition, être reconnu ne signifie plus être souverain. Cela signifie être utile — militairement, politiquement, ou démographiquement.