Morocco is ramping up tourism initiatives in the disputed Western Sahara region, but human rights groups and local activists argue the push is a smokescreen for deepening occupation. As new resort developments and flights to Dakhla and Laayoune are advertised, the kingdom faces accusations of using economic development to legitimise its control over the territory.
The move comes as the United Nations struggles to revive stalled peace talks. Morocco controls roughly 80% of Western Sahara, a former Spanish colony rich in phosphates and fishing waters. The Algeria-backed Polisario Front demands a referendum on independence, but Rabat insists on autonomy under its sovereignty.
From a technological viewpoint, Morocco's strategy is a masterclass in digital placemaking. The government has invested heavily in branding Western Sahara as a holiday paradise, with high-speed internet infrastructure and solar-powered desalination plants to support tourism. Tax incentives and flexible visa regimes lure travel companies. But beneath this shimmering facade, a different reality persists.
Critics point to the militarisation of the buffer zone near the berm, a vast sand wall built by Morocco in the 1980s, now monitored by drones and electronic surveillance systems. The algorithm of control here is stark: 24/7 monitoring of movement, checkpoints that throb with facial recognition technology, and a digital identity system that tags every Sahrawi in Moroccan-controlled areas. "It is a world of borderless beaches and fenceless prisons," notes a regional analyst.
For the average tourist, the experience is seamless. Luxury eco-lodges offer camel treks at sunset, and windsurfing competitions attract global athletes. But the user experience for locals is polarising. The Sahrawi population, many of whom live in refugee camps in Algeria, see the development as a land grab. "They are building hotels on our graves," said a Sahrawi activist speaking from the camp. Polisario Front representatives say the tourism campaign is an attempt to create facts on the ground, making a UN-supervised referendum impossible by integrating the territory economically and culturally into Morocco.
Morocco denies these accusations, insisting that the region enjoys autonomy and that economic projects benefit all residents. The government points to modern hospitals and vocational training centres, but independent observers report disparities. In the tech sector, while Rabat invests in digital literacy programmes, Sahrawi activists claim their online content is censored, and anonymous accounts that criticise the government are often blocked by the Moroccan state's digital gatekeepers.
The White House under the previous administration recognised Moroccan sovereignty over Western Sahara in exchange for normalisation with Israel, but the Biden administration has yet to reverse or reinforce this stance. The international community remains divided, with the African Union backing self-determination and European countries split over support for Morocco's autonomy plan.
As a technology and innovation ambassador, I see both promise and peril here. Quantum computing could eventually underpin conflict resolution models, but currently, the digital war is fought over data sovereignty. Morocco uses predictive policing to quell dissent, a foretaste of a world where algorithms decide truths. The tourism push, with its gleaming websites and curated Instagram feeds, is the user interface of a complex geopolitical machine. But behind every click, there is a human story.
The desert winds carry whispers of a ghost nation. Until the core issue of self-determination is resolved, the digital mirage of a unified region will remain just that. For now, the party on the coast continues, while the inhabitants of the camp next door watch the lights flicker, knowing they are not invited.
