Ahmed Salem Lebsir, battalion chief and director of the Polisario Front Military School, stands beside an installation marking Morocco’s invasion of the territory 50 years ago. Credit: Karlos Zurutuza / IPS
By Karlos Zurutuza
ROME, Nov 5 2025 (IPS)
Ehmudi Lebsir was 17 when he trudged more than 50 kilometres across the desert to stay alive. Half a century on, the Sahrawi refugee still has not gone home to what was then Spanish province of Western Sahara.
On 6 November 1975, six days after Moroccan troops pushed into the territory, hundreds of thousands of Moroccan civilians streamed south under military escort. Branded the “Green March”, it was, in effect, an invasion and the start of a military occupation of Sahrawi land.
The UN has now set aside a principle it has long held sacrosanct: the right of peoples to self-determination. That was the framework that had guided its approach to the Sahrawis for more than three decades
Dubbed “Africa’s last colony,” Western Sahara is roughly the size of the United Kingdom and remains the continent’s only territory still awaiting decolonisation. Yet on 31 October this year, that goal slipped further from reach.
Marking the 50th anniversary of Morocco’s incursion, the UN Security Council adopted a resolution that, by endorsing Rabat’s autonomy plan, lent weight to Morocco’s sovereignty claim over the territory.
The UN has now set aside a principle it has long held sacrosanct: the right of peoples to self-determination. That was the framework that had guided its approach to the Sahrawis for more than three decades.
Lebsir speaks to IPS by videoconference from the Tindouf camps in western Algeria. Nearly 2,000 kilometres southwest of Algiers, this harsh desert where summer temperatures can touch 60C has been the closest thing to home the Sahrawi people have known for 50 years.
“We faced a choice: remain in Algeria as refugees, or build the machinery of a state, with its ministries and a parliament,” recalls Lebsir, now a senior representative of the Polisario Front. Founded in 1973, it is recognised by the United Nations as the “legitimate representative of the Sahrawi people”.
A man walks past a mural in the Tindouf camps in Algeria, where the Polisario Front has managed life in exile while building state institutions. Credit: Karlos Zurutuza / IPS
On arriving in Tindouf in 1975, Lebsir was tasked with setting up schools in the camps. He later oversaw cohorts of Sahrawi students in Cuba, spent a decade in the Sahrawi Parliament and served in the SADR’s Ministries of Justice and Culture.
It was in that parliament that the Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic was proclaimed in February 1976.
“After a century of Spanish presence, we never imagined Madrid would leave and abandon us to our fate,” he says. “There’s no going back: either we have an independent state, or our people will be buried.”
After the Polisario declared independence in 1976, the UN reaffirmed the Sahrawis’ right to self-determination. But the UN Mission for the Referendum in Western Sahara (MINURSO), created in 1991, has never delivered the vote it was set up to hold.
Tomás Bárbulo was also 17 when Moroccan forces moved in. The son of a Spanish soldier based in Laayoune —Western Sahara’s capital, 1,100 kilometres south of Rabat—, he had returned to Madrid three months before that 6 November.
“The Sahrawis have survived napalm and white phosphorus, persecution, exile, the systematic plunder of their natural resources, and attempts to erase their identity through the influx of hundreds of thousands of settlers,” the journalist and author tells IPS by phone from Madrid.
Bárbulo, whose La Historia Prohibida del Sahara Español (Destino, 2002) is a standard work on the conflict, lays the stalemate chiefly at the door of “Morocco’s unyielding position, often blessed by the Security Council’s major powers.” The UN, he says, “has capitulated to Rabat”.
Ironically, even the UN does not recognise Moroccan sovereignty over Western Sahara. The occupied territory has been on the United Nations list of Non-Self-Governing Territories since 1963. In legal terms, the decolonisation of Western Sahara remains “unfinished.”
Mohamed Dadach in Laayoune, the capital of occupied Western Sahara. Released in 1999 after 24 years in prison, he is known as the “Sahrawi Nelson Mandela.” Credit: Karlos Zurutuza / IPS
‘Open-air prison’The UNHCR estimates that between 170,000 and 200,000 Sahrawis live in Algeria’s desert camps. However, life inside the Moroccan-held territory itself is harder to gauge, since Rabat does not even acknowledge the Sahrawi people exist.
Understanding living conditions there is equally difficult. Senior observers such as Noam Chomsky have labelled the territory as a “vast open-air prison”.
In a report released last July, UN Secretary-General António Guterres noted that Morocco has blocked visits by the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) since 2015.
“OHCHR continues to receive allegations of human rights violations, including intimidation, surveillance and discrimination against Sahrawi individuals, particularly those advocating for self-determination,” he wrote.
Despite restrictions, international rights groups continue to document abuses. Amnesty International’s 2024 report says Rabat curtails “dissent and the rights to freedom of association and peaceful assembly in Western Sahara” and “violently represses peaceful protests”.
Human Rights Watch denounced that courts hand down long sentences based “almost entirely” on activists’ confessions, without probing claims they were extracted under police torture.
At 36, Ahmed Ettanji is one of the most prominent Sahrawi activists in the occupied zone, something he has paid for with 18 arrests and repeated torture.
Speaking by phone from Laayoune, he says the visibility afforded by international NGOs is the only thing keeping him out of prison, or worse.
“We are marking fifty years of a harsh military blockade, extrajudicial killings and every kind of abuse,” he says. “There are thousands of disappeared and tens of thousands of arrests. The economic interests of world powers always trump human rights.”
After five decades, entire generations have been born in the Algerian desert, many families knowing each other only through video calls. Yet Ettanji insists not all is bleak.
“Born under occupation, people my age were expected to be the most assimilated, the most pro-Moroccan. That has not happened. The desire for self-determination is very much alive among the young.”
Sunset on a beach in occupied Western Sahara. In addition to a coastline rich in fishing resources, Sahrawis watch helplessly as Rabat exploits the rest of their natural wealth with the complicity of powers like the US, France, and Spain. Credit: Karlos Zurutuza / IPS
‘Autonomous Region of the Sahara’The autonomy plan that the UN has now effectively endorsed is Rabat’s sole political offer in five decades. First floated in 2007, it was backed by the Trump administration in 2020.
How this “Autonomous Region of the Sahara” would actually work is left largely undefined, beyond talk of local administrative, judicial and economic powers.
Polisario rejects the scheme, but rejection has not brought the Sahrawis any closer to deciding their own future.
For many Sahrawis, the timing of the Security Council’s move, on the very anniversary of Morocco’s 1975 incursion, felt less like coincidence than calculated cruelty.
People like Garazi Hach Embarek, daughter of a Basque nurse who treated the first displaced families half a century ago and a founding member of the Polisario Front. The 47-year-old has spent years taking the cause into classrooms, universities, town halls and any forum that will listen.
In an interview with IPS in Urretxu, 400 kilometres north of Madrid, Hach Embarek does not hide her dismay. “Active resistance is extremely difficult, and the Moroccan lobby remains highly influential,” laments the Sahrawi activist.
“We live in turbulent times, where anything seems to go, but this is neither just nor legal. Under the guise of peace, the real aim is simply to legitimise injustice,” she adds, before stressing the need “to forge new alliances.”
“Colonialism is far from over, and we’re merely the casualties of continued misgovernance in Africa’s last colony.”
Related ArticlesA session titled Youth Movements and Democratic Futures in South Asia at International Civil Society Week, held at Bangkok’s Thammasat University. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS
By Zofeen Ebrahim
BANGKOK, Nov 5 2025 (IPS)
The message is clear: today’s youth are not “wishy-washy.” They are not just the future—they are the present, full partners in shaping it, and “power-sharing” is the new mantra. The veterans of activism are being reminded not merely to listen but to hear and to leave their egos at the door.
These were among the many resonant takeaways from the five-day International Civil Society Week, held at Bangkok’s Thammasat University.
Yet beneath the optimistic rhetoric, a different mood lingered. Many young participants seemed despondent, feeling short-changed by their elders—empowered in words, but excluded in practice.
At a session titled “Youth Movements and Democratic Futures in South Asia,” young voices from Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, India, Pakistan, and Nepal shared their frustrations and fears for the future.
Student activist Ammad Talpur at the Youth Movements and Democratic Futures in South Asia session at International Civil Society Week, held at Bangkok’s Thammasat University. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS
In Pakistan, said student activist Ammad Talpur, nepotism runs deep, inequality is horrific and brutal, and the powerful break laws with impunity. “We long for change, but fear silences us, as those in power will not brook dissent.”
A similar sense of frustration echoes beyond Pakistan.
“Though sometimes its exercise may come at a cost, youth in India are free to say anything and freedom of speech does exist,” Adrian D’ruz, another panelist, told IPS after the session. And journalists, academics, students, and comedians who questioned those in power, he said, reportedly faced legal action, online harassment, or institutional pressure.
To curb dissent, legal provisions are misapplied, resulting in people “leaning towards self-censorship rather than risking consequences,” said D’Cruz, a member of a network of NGOs in India called Wada Na Todo Abhiyan, which promotes governance accountability and inclusion of marginalized communities.
While Pakistan and India illustrate the pressures youth face under entrenched power, in Nepal the response has taken a more visible, street-level form, riding a wave of unrest that began in Sri Lanka and Bangladesh.
In Kathmandu, “rising unemployment, corruption, nepotism, and broken promises” fueled the unrest, said Tikashwari Rai, a young Nepali mother of two daughters, worried for their future.
Tikashwari Rai, a Nepali mother of two daughters, at the Youth Movements and Democratic Futures in South Asia session at International Civil Society Week, held at Bangkok’s Thammasat University. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS
“We don’t want to work as domestic help in the Middle East; we want opportunities here, in our own country. But because there are none, many young people are forced to leave,” she explained.
Yet, she admitted, the protests came at a heavy cost—lives lost and infrastructure destroyed. “Our youth need guidance and stronger organization to lead social movements effectively,” she added.
Beyond the immediate triggers of street protests, some activists argue that deeper systemic issues fuel youth disenchantment.
Melani Gunathilaka, a climate and political activist from Sri Lanka, at the Youth Movements and Democratic Futures in South Asia session at International Civil Society Week, held at Bangkok’s Thammasat University. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS
Melani Gunathilaka, a young climate and political activist from Sri Lanka, who was also on the panel, believed the roots of disenchantment ran deeper. “While these protests are often labeled as anti-government, at their core, they demand systemic change and true accountability from those in power.”
The immediate triggers seem to spread across corruption, authoritarian governments, repression, lack of access to basic needs and more,” she said.
A closer look at the situation in countries like Nepal, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka and Kenya, however, exposed economic hardship, debt burdens, and deepening inequalities. And this trend is also observed globally, she pointed out.
Despite these frustrations, the conference also explored how young and older activists can work together, not just to protest, but to reshape movements constructively.
“Across civil society, there is growing recognition that youth must be meaningfully included in development and nation-building. While progress varies from group to group, the direction of change is unmistakably forward,” said D’cruz.
Talpur further fine-tuned D’Cruz’s sentiment. “It’s not about taking over; it’s about working together through collaboration.” He also found it “unfair for the boomers to create a mess and leave it to the millennials and Gen Z to fix it.”
Interestingly, the sentiment found an echo among the older generation itself. Founder of the Alternative ASEAN Network on Burma, Debbie Stothard, said it was unfair to leave the mess her generation had created to the young and then expect them to “fix it.”
Speaking at the closing plenary titled “Futures We’re Building: Youth, Climate and Intergenerational Justice, she noted that she had been talking about “intergenerational equity” for 40 years, yet many in her generation of activists still fail to “walk the talk” in how they live and lead. Still, she added, it is not too late: “We can still make space.”
That space, she explained, begins with a change in mindset. “It’s not our job to empower the youth; it’s recognizing that they have power,” she said—a reminder that true equity lies not in giving power away, but in acknowledging it already exists.
This shift in perspective is already reshaping how movements operate. Youth no longer need to “look up to” traditional authority figures for inspiration, said D’cruz. Many within their generation are already leading change.
Mihajlo Matkovic, a member of the Youth Action Team at CIVICUS, from Serbia, also at the closing, demonstrated how real change required innovation and persistence. “Because our generation did not have any great example of what a direct democracy looks like,” he said, adding, “We had to basically reinvent it.”
But success depends on civil society letting go of their ego and letting the youth enter the arena, he pointed out.
Matkovic’s example showed the potential of youth-led innovation—but for such change to succeed, civil society must genuinely make space and resist old hierarchies it claims to challenge, because these patterns have also fueled a climate of mistrust. “It’s hard to trust civil society,” said Rai. “They’re not sincere to the causes of ordinary people.”
Gunathilaka echoed this sentiment, noting that civil society has often been co-opted by the very systems the youth seek to change. “Ignoring the influence of private capital and international financial structures that prioritize the needs of global trade while sidelining the needs of communities has only deepened the mistrust among youth,” she added.
This climate of mistrust, while not explicitly mentioned in the final declaration of the ICSW—which urged governments to protect democracy, human rights, the rights of minorities and excluded groups, and to ensure environmental protection and climate justice—nonetheless underscored a broader challenge: civil society itself must look inward, confront its shortcomings, and reimagine how it engages meaningfully with the next generation.
IPS UN Bureau Report
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