The Polisario's relentless orthodoxy: when disagreement is worth more than blood

Beyond the debates and approaches defended by both sides, a bitter, uncomfortable but inevitable reflection emerges on certain behaviors deeply rooted in the Polisario's political culture.

Many of those who today surround themselves with an aura of revolutionary purity were yesterday close friends, comrades in arms, or confidants in their youth. Some even share the same blood. But all that human fabric, built up over decades, collapses without hesitation as soon as a disagreement arises, a slight difference of opinion, or, worse still, the decision to abandon the ideology that once united them.

Humanity evolves. People change, mature, and reexamine their beliefs. That is normal. But in the Polisario's mental universe, that elementary gesture of personal growth becomes an unforgivable affront. There, evolution is a moral crime. There are red lines that no one can cross, dogmas that function as walls, and anyone who dares to cross them automatically enters the cursed zone of their militant ethics.

The paradox—and here the inevitable cynicism rears its head—is that for many it is more tolerable to change religion than political opinion. Embracing another faith can be interpreted as straying; abandoning the official ideology, on the other hand, is ontological treason. The friend, the cousin, the childhood companion ceases to exist: all that remains is the “deviant,” the “enemy,” the “sellout.” In their ironclad morality, to stop thinking like them is a greater sin than renouncing God.

This iron discipline, celebrated internally as a revolutionary virtue, slips shamelessly into the most extreme sectarianism. And it should be said bluntly: there are practices within the Polisario that even the most rigid totalitarian movements would not allow. Even in certain fascist-style experiments—without this implying any praise—human relationships survive discrepancies. 

In the Polisario, on the other hand, difference not only distances: it destroys, devours, and contaminates any bond, no matter how intimate.

And the inconsistency reaches the point of absurdity: the same delegation allows itself to greet, converse, and share with the Moroccan delegation—supposedly its historical enemy—but returning a “good morning” out of simple courtesy to former comrades enters the realm of the worst heresy.

All of this reveals an uncomfortable truth: the Polisario has constructed an ethic where ideology takes precedence over family, friendship, and, ultimately, humanity itself. An ethic that turns political loyalty into a lifelong obligation and dissent into a moral crime that demands punishment and ostracism. An ethic that confuses cohesion with vigilance, and principles with blind obedience.

In the end, everything indicates that the Polisario does not fear opposing ideas: it fears, above all, people capable of thinking for themselves. This fear, disguised as discipline, reveals the fragility of a project that presents itself as liberating while reproducing—and sometimes even surpassing—the most sectarian reflexes of the worst authoritarianisms.

That is, in short, the human drama that lies behind the rhetoric of “unity.” In the Polisario, the price of being oneself is too high: it requires renouncing the ties that defined us and any possibility of dissent without paying a devastating social price. When an organization places its ideology above people, what remains is no longer a liberation movement: it is a machine that ends up devouring its own people.

Everything should be simpler and more humane than any dogma. People will disappear, and so will the ideologies that today seem unshakeable. The only thing that will remain in our memory is the intimate imprint of what each person was: whether, beyond the vicissitudes of politics and life, they deserved to be considered a dignified person.

Hach Ahmed. First Secretary of the Sahrawi Movement for Peace (MSP)