Morocco’s Secret Plunder in Africa’s Last Colony

In the searing heat of the North African desert, a nearly 100-kilometer conveyor belt carries phosphate rock from Western Sahara’s interior to the Atlantic coast. Hour after hour, thousands of tons of this “white gold” pour onto ships bound for distant ports. The profits flow to Morocco – not to the Indigenous Sahrawi people, who remain exiled or marginalized while awaiting a promised vote on independence. Western Sahara’s phosphate, fisheries, and even its sunshine and wind have become spoils of an occupation now entering its fifth decade. For the Sahrawi, their homeland’s natural riches have turned into a curse: a prize to be mined and exported by Morocco, even as the territory’s status as Africa’s last colony remains unresolved.

International law is unequivocal on this point. The United Nations recognizes Western Sahara as a Non-Self-Governing Territory with an inalienable right to decolonization. In 1975, the International Court of Justice affirmed the Sahrawi people’s right to self-determination and pointedly found “no ties of territorial sovereignty” between Morocco and Western Sahara. Twenty-seven years later, the UN’s own legal counsel warned that any exploitation of the territory’s resources without the consent of the Sahrawi people “would be in violation of the principles of international law”applicable to colonial territories. Yet Morocco, backed by powerful allies, has forged ahead – extracting phosphates, scooping up fish, and building wind and solar farms – all without the Sahrawis’ consent.

“San Leon’s activities in Western Sahara contribute to the maintenance of an illegal annexation and to the denial of the internationally recognized right of the Sahrawi people to self-determination in their territory. Companies like San Leon benefit from Morocco’s illicit economy in Western Sahara and contribute to the severity of ongoing human rights violations,” Dr. Valentina Azarova, a legal advisor to the Global Legal Action Network, explained in a complaint targeting a European oil company operating in the occupied zone. Her words, though aimed at one firm, speak to a broader pattern. Multiple international companies – from oil explorers and mining conglomerates to renewable energy giants – have struck deals in Western Sahara under Moroccan licenses. In doing so, rights advocates say, they are complicit in an illegal exploitation of a territory that the U.N. still formally deems a colony awaiting decolonization.

An Unfinished Struggle for Self-Determination

Western Sahara’s modern tragedy was set in motion in 1975, when Spain hastily abandoned its century-old colony without fulfilling a promise to hold a referendum on independence. In the vacuum, Morocco’s King Hassan II launched the “Green March” – sending tens of thousands of Moroccan civilians (backed by troops) over the border – and claimed the phosphate-rich territory as his own. The International Court of Justice had, just weeks earlier, rejected Morocco’s historical claims and upheld the Sahrawis’ right to decide their own future. But instead of a U.N.-supervised decolonization process, a secret deal – the Madrid Accords – saw Spain hand administration of Western Sahara to Morocco (and a smaller portion to Mauritania). Moroccan forces occupied the territory, sparking a war with the Sahrawi liberation movement, the Polisario Front.

By 1979, Mauritania had withdrawn and renounced its claims, and Morocco promptly seized that vacated land as well. The U.N. General Assembly, in a 1979 resolution, “deeply deplored” Morocco’s continued occupation and urged it to end the annexation. But Morocco dug in, moving tens of thousands of settlers into Western Sahara and constructing a 1,700-mile sand berm fortified with mines – effectively cordoning off the bulk of the territory under Moroccan control. The Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic (SADR), a government-in-exile declared by Polisario, won recognition from dozens of nations and full membership in the African Union, but it controls only a sparsely populated eastern strip of Western Sahara’s desert. A generation of Sahrawis grew up in refugee camps in neighboring Algeria, with the dream of a referendum on self-determination deferred again and again.

In 1991, the U.N. brokered a cease-fire between Morocco and Polisario, promising a referendum that would let the people of Western Sahara choose between independence or integration with Morocco. That vote — the very mission of the U.N.’s MINURSO peacekeeping force — never occurred. Repeated attempts to negotiate voter eligibility and terms were thwarted; Morocco objected to any option of independence on the ballot and for decades effectively froze the referendum process. “Despite this impasse, Western Sahara’s legal status did not change: the U.N. does not recognize Moroccan sovereignty over the territory, and the Polisario Front remains recognized (since 1979) as the legitimate representative of the Sahrawi people”. As a U.N. Special Committee heard last year, Western Sahara is still widely described as “the last colony in Africa,” and there is growing urgency to resolve its “anachronistic” status.

Frustration in the camps and occupied towns has been simmering. In November 2020, after Moroccan forces breached a buffer zone to break up a Sahrawi protest, the Polisario Front declared the three-decade ceasefire over, saying Morocco’s action “ignited war”. Low-intensity clashes have flared along the berm since then, underscoring the fragility of a conflict long considered frozen. “The Sahrawi nation is no longer willing to remain on bended knees before the Moroccan invader,” one Sahrawi activist told the U.N. Fourth Committee, decrying what he called an international failure to enforce the 1975 ICJ ruling. Polisario’s U.N. representative Sidi Mohamed Omar, in a fiery speech to the Decolonization Committee in 2023, condemned the “illegal Moroccan occupation” and insisted that the Sahrawi people’s right to self-determination “is not affected by the passage of time or the fait accompli by Morocco”.

Meanwhile, Morocco has pushed a plan to accept “autonomy” under its sovereignty as the only solution – a plan that Polisario and many Sahrawis reject as a legitimization of conquest. In recent years, Rabat has scored diplomatic victories: Western powers like France, Spain, and the United States have tilted toward Morocco’s claim of sovereignty, driven by strategic and economic interests. Over 20 countries (mostly African and Middle Eastern) have even opened consulates in Western Sahara’s main cities at Morocco’s urging, implicitly endorsing its rule. But these political maneuvers have not altered international law. The U.N. still classifies Western Sahara as a non-self-governing territory, and no country officially recognizes Moroccan sovereignty there in a treaty or U.N. resolution. To Sahrawis, foreign endorsements of Morocco’s autonomy proposal feel like betrayals of the U.N. charter’s promise – aiding an occupier while their own voices are muzzled. Indeed, in Moroccan-controlled areas, advocating independence remains a criminal offense; peaceful protesters are routinely arrested, and media is tightly gagged under laws prohibiting speech that challenges Morocco’s “territorial integrity”.

Phosphate: The “White Gold” Financing Occupation

One of Morocco’s early motives for seizing Western Sahara was phosphates – the critical mineral used in fertilizer. Only a few places on earth boast comparably large and high-quality phosphate reserves, and Western Sahara’s Bou Craa mine is a crown jewel. Situated inland from Laayoune, Bou Craa holds an estimated 500 million tonnes of phosphate ore. Since 1975, a Moroccan state-owned company (OCP, formerly Office Chérifien des Phosphates) has run the mine via its subsidiary Phosboucraa. Conveyor belts – the longest on the planet – snake 100 km across the desert to the Atlantic port, hauling rock that is 70% phosphate concentrate. As NASA imagery vividly shows, the infrastructure is so massive it’s visible from space.

Morocco wasted no time monetizing this asset. Within weeks of occupying the territory in 1975, phosphate rock from Bou Craa was being shipped overseas. OCP today says Bou Craa provides about 8% of its total phosphate output – a seemingly small slice for Morocco but a huge loss for the Sahrawi, for whom it is a primary wealth. The exceptionally high grade of Western Saharan phosphates makes them especially coveted on the global market. Over the years, Morocco has effectively sold off the richest layer of the Bou Craa deposit, extracting the easiest ore and even expanding port facilities to boost exports. By 2023, after a spike in fertilizer prices, Western Sahara’s phosphates were earning Morocco an estimated $400 million annually – revenue that funds public works and royal coffers in Morocco proper, and helps Rabat buy international support for its rule in Western Sahara.

None of this bounty reaches the Sahrawi people, “the people of Western Sahara [who] have been consistently outspoken against the trade, both in the UN and to specific companies,” as Western Sahara Resource Watch, a Brussels-based monitoring group, notes. Instead, the phosphate money has arguably underwritten the very machinery of occupation. Corruption in Morocco, observers say, often revolves around access to Western Sahara’s resources. According to Freedom House, “corruption occurs primarily to facilitate the exploitation of natural resources — phosphates, hydrocarbons, and fisheries — by Moroccan and international interests.” In other words, the spoils of Bou Craa have helped entrench a political and business network vested in keeping Western Sahara under Moroccan control.

Each year, independent researchers track the shipments of “conflict phosphates” leaving El Aaiún port. The latest report shows that in 2023, at least 29 bulk carriers transported around 1.6 million tonnes of phosphate rock from occupied Western Sahara to overseas buyers. Remarkably, the number of end customers has dwindled to the lowest in years – a sign that many fertilizer companies are increasingly wary of the legal and ethical cloud over this trade. Still, a handful of firms in India, New Zealand, and recently Mexico remain regular importers, with India and Mexico alone accounting for 86% of the phosphate volume in 2023. This is despite some earlier pledges to halt purchases: a Mexican importer had announced in 2018 it would stop buying Saharan phosphate on ethical grounds, only to quietly resume shipments a few years later. New Zealand’s two big fertilizer co-ops have faced intense pressure at home; one has reduced imports to a trickle, but the other continues unabated.

Legally, the phosphate exports exemplify what many experts call “plunder”. In the absence of Sahrawi consent, the U.N. Legal Counsel’s 2002 opinion indicated that such resource extraction violates international law. The Polisario Front has sought to enforce that principle in foreign courts. Notably, in 2017, a bulk cargo of Bou Craa phosphates was detained in South Africa under a Polisario lawsuit, on grounds that the minerals were stolen property of the Sahrawi people. (The case was settled and the phosphates ultimately returned or sold elsewhere, but it sent a chilling warning to shippers.) European courts have also weighed in: In a series of rulings culminating in 2021 and 2024, the Court of Justice of the EU affirmed that Western Sahara is a “separate and distinct” territory from Morocco, and that any EU deals covering its resources – from phosphates to fish – require “the consent of the people of Western Sahara” via their recognized representative (the Polisario Front). Such consent has never been given. Indeed, as one EU judge noted, consultations that Morocco and the EU conducted were “not aimed specifically at the people of Western Sahara, but rather the populations currently residing there, regardless of their origin” – meaning Morocco counted its settlers’ opinions while excluding the voice of most Sahrawi, many of whom live in exile.

Morocco, for its part, rejects the notion that it is exploiting someone else’s resources. It claims that Phosboucraa (the local subsidiary) reinvests in the territory and that Sahrawis benefit from jobs and social programs funded by mining. OCP says over 2,000 workers are employed at the Bou Craa mine, the majority “locals” (though the company pointedly does not specify how many are native Sahrawi versus Moroccan settlers). OCP has also created a Phosboucraa Foundation that sponsors scholarships and training. Critics call this window-dressing – “phosphate diplomacy” aimed at deflecting international scrutiny. And even OCP’s own reports admit the Bou Craa reserves are finite: by some accounts, Morocco has already extracted the highest-grade layers of ore and is now mining lower-quality phosphate. “Morocco has practically sold all of the high-quality phosphate that ought to have been available to the Saharawi people upon realising their right to self-determination,” Western Sahara Resource Watch observes bluntly. In other words, while the Sahrawis remain landless, a non-renewable treasure of their land is being irretrievably drained.

Rich Fishing Grounds, Empty Nets for Sahrawis

If Western Sahara’s soil is laden with phosphates, its offshore waters teem with fish. The Atlantic Ocean along Western Sahara’s 1,100-km coastline is among the world’s most bountiful fishing zones – home to sardine, mackerel, and cephalopod fisheries that have fed European markets for decades. For Morocco, which has overfished its own northern waters, the rich seas off Dakhla and Laayoune are an economic lifeline and a bargaining chip in foreign relations. Fisheries, together with phosphates, have long been central to Morocco’s integration of Western Sahara’s economy.

Yet here too, legality is catching up with Realpolitik. The European Union had for years included Western Sahara’s waters in its fishing agreements with Morocco, paying Rabat for access and allowing hundreds of EU (mostly Spanish) vessels to cast their nets off Western Sahara. This occurred even though the territory is not Moroccan, and the Sahrawi people never consented. In 2018, the EU’s own Court of Justice warned that Western Sahara could not simply be treated as part of Morocco for trade purposes. Then in September 2021, the EU General Court annulled the EU-Morocco fisheries pact (and a parallel agricultural deal) explicitly because they encompassed Western Sahara without Sahrawi consent. The agreements were allowed to run for a brief period pending appeal, but by July 2023 the fisheries deal expired – forcing EU boats to halt operations in Western Saharan waters.

Finally, in October 2024, Europe’s top court upheld the cancellation once and for all: “Fishing and farming deals struck between the EU and Morocco in 2019 were invalid due to the lack of the consent of the people of Western Sahara,”the Court of Justice ruled. It was a sweeping validation of Polisario’s position and a stinging rebuke to both Rabat and Brussels. The court underscored that Western Sahara’s status is distinct – Morocco “has no sovereignty or administering power” over it, and thus European agreements could not legally apply there unless the Sahrawi people agreed. Crucially, the judges clarified that Morocco’s handpicked “consultations” of local authorities did not equal the consent of the Sahrawi people, given that many genuine Sahrawis were excluded and are displaced outside the territory.

The immediate effect of the ruling was to send Spanish fishing fleets home. For communities in Spain’s Canary Islands and Andalusia that had grown dependent on Saharan fishing, this was a painful economic hit. Rabat, too, stands to lose millions of euros in annual license fees and related investments that the EU pact provided. Morocco has responded by courting other partners to fill the gap. It inked a renewed fishing partnership with Russia, for example, at a time when EU boats were sidelined. Chinese and other foreign fleets are reportedly also active through private arrangements, largely out of sight. Environmentalists worry that absent rigorous oversight, overfishing looms as a serious threat. The EU court noted that sustainable resource management is impossible without involving the Sahrawi people – who presently have no say in how their fisheries are run. Meanwhile, Sahrawi activists point out the bitter irony: while Moroccan and foreign trawlers reap billions from Saharan waters, many Sahrawi refugees grow up malnourished in desert camps, reliant on dwindling international food aid. Western Sahara’s coasts could easily support the population’s needs and an independent economy, if only the people for whom these resources were meant could regain control of them.

On land, the fishing industry’s footprint is visible in processing plants and freezer facilities around the ports of Dakhla and Laayoune, operated by Moroccan and European companies. The catches – from sardines that are canned or turned into fishmeal, to octopus that ends up in Spanish tapas – are labeled “Moroccan” in export documents, further blurring the territory’s identity. But recent legal developments are forcing changes here too. After European courts demanded clarity, some products originating in Western Sahara will now require distinct labeling to enter EU markets. This is a small but notable shift: an implicit acknowledgement that Western Sahara is not Morocco, even in the realm of commerce.

Where does this leave the Sahrawi? Polisario has called for the EU and all countries to respect the legal rulings and cease treating Morocco as the owner of Western Sahara’s wealth. In practice, this means pressing companies to stop importing Sahrawi resources or investing in projects there without Polisario’s approval. In the fisheries case, Polisario’s litigation success demonstrated its capacity to represent the Sahrawi people’s interests on the international stage. The European court even recognized the Polisario Front as “a key player in the U.N.-led process” and affirmed its legal standing to defend Sahrawi rights in court. Armed with these victories, Sahrawi representatives now urge other multinational corporations – from mining firms to renewable energy investors – to likewise rethink their involvement in Western Sahara or face reputational and legal risks.

“Green Energy” Projects, Red Flags for International Law

Nowhere are those reputational risks more evident than in Western Sahara’s emerging renewable energy industry. In Morocco’s narrative, the occupied territory is becoming a renewable energy paradise – a sunny, windy expanse ideal for large solar farms and wind parks that will help Morocco meet climate goals. Rabat has proudly integrated Western Sahara into its national climate plan, installing wind turbines on its gusty Atlantic coastline and planning solar arrays on its vast desert plains. By 2025, five big wind farms were already spinning in Western Sahara, with at least five more in the pipeline. Combined, these projects aim for over 2,000 megawatts of capacity – enough to power a small country.

The rub, critics say, is that this green revolution is built on a foundation of illegality. “Green energy does not green an occupation,” as one advocacy report tartly noted. Most of the wind farms are joint ventures involving Morocco’s royal holding company (through a firm called Nareva), meaning the Moroccan monarchy itself profits directly from energy projects on occupied land. “As long as the king himself earns money through the projects, what incentive does he have to genuinely engage in the U.N. peace process?” Western Sahara Resource Watch asked in a recent analysis. It’s a pointed question: King Mohammed VI’s dual role as political ruler and business magnate in Western Sahara’s resource sectors raises obvious conflicts of interest. The windfall of green investment – rather than encouraging Morocco to relinquish its hold – may be entrenching it further.

Consider the operational wind farms: the Foum El Oued wind farm (50 MW) near Laayoune has 22 Siemens Gamesa turbines generating electricity that almost exclusively powers the Bou Craa phosphate mines. Essentially, 100% of the energy feeding the phosphate extraction is now “green” – allowing OCP to market its phosphates as produced with renewable energy, even as the underlying extraction remains illegitimate under international law. Another facility, the Aftissat wind farm (200 MW) commissioned in 2018, supplies electricity to factories and facilities in the occupied territory (including a cement works). A larger 300 MW farm in Boujdour came online in 2023, and a similar 300 MW project in Tiskrad near El Aaiún is underway. Solar plants are also planned. Morocco touts these projects as part of its contribution to fighting climate change – so much so that the UN climate agency (UNFCCC) has naively accepted and praised Morocco’s renewable installations in Western Sahara as if they were on Moroccan soil. That “blind” acceptance activists warn, amounts to international greenwashing of an occupation.

European and American companies have been key partners. German, Spanish, French, and Italian firms (Siemens Gamesa, Enel, Voltalia, and others) have supplied turbines or expertise. In one case, a subsidiary of U.S.-based General Electric signed on to develop a new 200 MW wind park (Aftissat 2) in 2021, brazenly referring to the location as within “Morocco”. These corporations argue they are simply advancing clean energy and local development. But human rights organizations contend that such investments, absent Sahrawi approval, are deepening the exploitation of a occupied people’s resources. Even some investors have raised alarms. In 2018, Erste Asset Management – a European fund manager – publicly criticized Siemens for its Western Sahara projects. “Siemens should demonstrate how its activities in Western Sahara are in line with the interests and wishes of Saharawis… Should this not be possible, the company should withdraw from Western Sahara,” the firm wrote bluntly. That message encapsulates the growing pressure on “green” investors: align with international law or risk complicity in what amounts to eco-friendly colonialism.

Morocco’s ambitions in Western Sahara’s renewable sector are only growing. The Moroccan government recently announced plans to double the territory’s green power output by 2027, aiming for an additional 1.4 GW of wind and solar capacity. Some of this energy could be used to produce green hydrogen or other energy-intensive products for export. There is even a proposal by a UK-based company to lay an undersea cable from Morocco (potentially plugged into Western Sahara’s grid) to send clean electricity directly to Britain. All these schemes, Morocco insists, will benefit local inhabitants and the world’s climate. But the Sahrawi people have had no say in these developments on their land, and job opportunities for native Sahrawis in the energy projects are limited – many skilled positions go to Moroccan nationals. Meanwhile, tens of thousands of Sahrawi remain displaced in refugee camps, unable to return home to partake in or benefit from their land’s renewable revolution.

The ethical dilemma has not gone entirely unnoticed. In October 2024, when the EU Court of Justice nullified the EU-Morocco trade arrangements in Western Sahara, it sent a clear signal to businesses: contracts that rely on Morocco’s claimed authority in Western Sahara are built on shaky legal ground. That would include power-purchase agreements or project financing for wind farms in the territory. European renewable giants now face questions from shareholders and activists about why they are effectively helping Morocco profit from occupied land in defiance of U.N. resolutions. As one Western Saharan rights advocate quipped, “They talk about sustainable energy – but what about sustaining our rights?”

International Law vs. Realpolitik

If there is a silver lining for the Sahrawi cause, it is the growing weight of legal opinion and civil society action affirming their rights. The Polisario Front – recognized by the U.N. since 1979 as the legitimate representative of the Western Saharan people – has successfully put Morocco’s conduct in the dock of international courts. In addition to the European legal victories, Polisario and its supporters have pursued actions in domestic courts from South Africa to the United Kingdom, challenging everything from phosphate shipments to “conflict tomatoes” grown in occupied Western Sahara. Global Legal Action Network (GLAN) and other NGOs have lodged OECD complaints and human rights cases against companies operating in the territory. Their argument is straightforward: doing business in Western Sahara as if it were Morocco not only perpetuates an illegal situation, it may constitute pillage – a violation of international humanitarian law.

The U.N. Special Committee on Decolonization continues to hear annual testimony on Western Sahara, and the General Assembly each year reiterates the call for a self-determination referendum. Dozens of countries – Algeria, South Africa, Kenya, Namibia, Timor-Leste, to name a few – vocally support Sahrawi independence on the world stage and refuse to be swayed by Morocco’s economic inducements. In a fiery speech at the U.N. in 2023, Mozambique’s delegate blasted those who seek to “normalize” the occupation and urged the U.N. to finally enforce its own resolutions and hold the long-promised referendum. Within the Security Council, however, politics prevails: France (a veto-wielder) and the United States have been generally supportive of Morocco’s autonomy proposal, blocking stronger action. The U.N. peacekeeping mission (MINURSO) remains on the ground monitoring a ceasefire that has effectively collapsed; tellingly, it is the only active U.N. mission without a human rights mandate, a concession to Moroccan sensitivities.

All the while, Morocco tightens its grip on the territory’s economy. Laayoune and Dakhla have seen a construction boom – new roads, housing, airports – largely financed by revenues from resources and Moroccan state subsidies. Rabat argues it has spent heavily to integrate Western Sahara and improve living standards there. Detractors note much of the development is geared toward Moroccan settlers and the military, not the marginalized Sahrawi neighborhoods where unemployment and discrimination are rife. Political repression in Western Sahara is severe: Sahrawi activists who protest the resource plunder or simply wave their flag risk harassment, jail, even torture, according to human rights groups. “They are looting our wealth and silencing our people,” is a common refrain among Sahrawi protesters, whose secret videos and testimonies trickle out via social media despite crackdowns.

For Morocco’s leadership, the calculus has been that control of Western Sahara is non-negotiable – both a “sacred”national cause and a strategic asset. The kingdom has managed to leverage the territory’s resources and geography (for instance, using Saharan fishing waters as a bargaining chip in trade deals, or offering Western Sahara sites for foreign military bases and investments) to win international backing. The United States’ 2020 recognition of Moroccan sovereignty – a quid pro quo for Morocco’s normalization of relations with Israel – was hailed by Rabat as a breakthrough, even though no other Western nation formally followed suit. Spain’s dramatic policy shift in 2022, endorsing Morocco’s autonomy plan, removed the former colonial power from its neutral stance, aligning Madrid closer with Rabat (and angering Algeria, Polisario’s main backer). These developments have emboldened Morocco, which now portrays Sahrawi independence as a lost cause. Moroccan officials often point to the growing number of foreign consulates in Laayoune and Dakhla and booming investment plans as proof that the world accepts Moroccan sovereignty de facto.

But legal legitimacy is stubborn. “Western Sahara is a territory that is separate and distinct from Morocco, and Morocco has no sovereignty or administering power over it,” the EU Court reaffirmed in 2024. No U.N. member state recognizes Morocco’s annexation in a binding manner. And in the eyes of the United Nations, the Polisario Front remains the voice of the Sahrawi people’s aspirations. That voice is now being heard more loudly in courtrooms, boardrooms, and international forums. In the court of public opinion, too, the Sahrawi plight is gaining renewed visibility, sometimes compared to other colonized peoples’ struggles. The language used by global bodies is telling: documents refer to the Moroccan “administration” or “de facto control” – never sovereignty – and speak of the “self-determination of the people of Western Sahara” as an ongoing process.

“The right of the people of Western Sahara to self-determination is not affected by the passage of time or by Morocco’s faits accomplis,” Polisario’s representative Sidi Omar reminded U.N. delegates last year. In other words, colonialism doesn’t become legitimate just because it’s prolonged. For Sahrawis, who have now spent nearly half a century under occupation or in exile, those words are more than a diplomatic stance – they are a lifeline of hope.

As Morocco accelerates extraction of phosphates, expands fisheries and harnesses desert winds without their consent, the Sahrawi ask the world a simple question: Will principles triumph over profit? The coming years may prove decisive. A new generation of Sahrawis born after the ceasefire are increasingly impatient and politically aware; many have known nothing but refugee camps or second-class status under Moroccan rule. The Polisario Front has hinted that if diplomacy and legal battles fail to produce a referendum, it may have no choice but to intensify its armed struggle – a return to war in a region already fraught with instability. On the other side, Morocco’s powerful backers are betting that economic development and international fatigue will bury the question of sovereignty permanently.

For now, Western Sahara remains stuck in limbo: a land with abundant resources fueling everyone’s development except that of its indigenous people. Phosphate shipments sail off to fertilize foreign fields; fish stocks are siphoned to feed European and Asian markets; and the desert sun powers Moroccan industry – all while the Sahrawi languish, disenfranchised. It is a status quo that one U.N. petitioner likened to “1950s-style colonial exploitation under a green veneer.” The moral and legal case for Sahrawi independence has perhaps never been clearer. What is missing, still, is the political will among the world’s powers to enforce it.

As The Washington Post once editorialized, decolonization is a chapter the world claims to have closed, yet in Western Sahara it remains painfully open. Each ship loaded with “blood phosphates,” each trawler haul of fish, each megawatt of wind energy exported from occupied land is a reminder that this conflict is far from resolved – and that Morocco’s economic grip on Western Sahara, however lucrative, rests on a foundation of sand. For the Sahrawi people, justice delayed will not be justice denied, and their call is as urgent as ever: allow Western Sahara the freedom that was promised, and let this last colony finally decide its own fate.