Vol. 6. Identity in Spanish Arab rap
Countering racism and right-wing discrimination
Yo nací en Marruecos y aprendí que el respeto es lo primero
Yo crecí en España y España me enseñó a ser un guerrero
Dos mundos - El Paisano
During the 2022 World Cup in Qatar, Morocco’s national team carved its name into history, reaching the semifinals for the first time, marking a milestone as the first African team to go that far. Those days, I found myself celebrating in Puerta del Sol, surrounded by friends, with each victory of the Lions of Atlas igniting a shared joy. It was one of those rare moments of pure bliss: Moroccans, young and old, waving their flags high, alongside Spanish ones, in a blend of cultures and triumphs. It was an image that some couldn’t bear—extreme-right groups gathering nearby, ready to disrupt the celebration with their violent intent, launching an assault on the Moroccan supporters.
Trajectories of anti-Moroccan racism in Spain
Los moros no son capaces de integrar los valores de la civilización occidental, por mucho que se les intente civilizar.
José Antonio Primo de Rivera, founder of the Spanish Falange.
Although Spain is often described as a country without deep-rooted racism, hate crimes continue to rise, disproportionately affecting migrant communities, particularly those from Africa and South America. The Spanish Observatory for Racism and Xenophobia (Oberaxe) reports that North Africans are the most frequent targets of online hate speech, with Moroccans facing particularly harsh discrimination. The derogatory term moro, used for centuries, reflects deep-seated prejudices that persist today.
The origins of anti-Moroccan racism in Spain trace back to the medieval Reconquista, when Christian rulers sought to expel Muslim forces from the Iberian Peninsula. Later waves of North African Muslim rulers, particularly the Almoravids and Almohads, reinforced the perception of Moroccans as invaders. These historical conflicts fuel far-right narratives today, depicting Moroccan migration as a continuation of an age-old "threat" to Spanish identity.
Spain’s colonial history further entrenched negative perceptions of Moroccans. During its occupation of northern and southern Morocco, Spain faced fierce resistance, particularly in the Rif War (1920-1927), where Berber fighters humiliated Spanish forces. This conflict left a lasting imprint on Spanish national memory, reinforcing stereotypes of Moroccans as rebellious and violent. Colonialist and Orientalist narratives also depicted Moroccans as backward, justifying European "civilizing" efforts and shaping long-term biases.
The Spanish left’s perception of Moroccans has been shaped by historical contradictions. While advocating for decolonization and migrant rights, some leftist sectors remained wary due to Morocco’s association with Franco’s dictatorship and the Western Sahara conflict. During the Spanish Civil War, Franco recruited thousands of Moroccan soldiers (Regulares) to fight for the Nationalists. Rather than being seen as victims of colonial exploitation, they were widely viewed as mercenaries and enforcers of Francoist repression, deepening leftist distrust toward Moroccans.
The Western Sahara conflict further complicated these perceptions. When Spain withdrew in 1975, Morocco’s occupation of the territory was seen by the Spanish left as a betrayal of Sahrawi self-determination. The Polisario Front, leading the Sahrawi independence movement, received strong leftist backing, reinforcing a broader narrative of Morocco as an aggressor. In regions like the Canary Islands, where Sahrawi solidarity is strong and Moroccan migration has increased, these tensions are particularly pronounced, with Moroccan migrants often perceived not just as foreigners but as representatives of a hostile state.
Despite the Spanish left’s broader commitment to anti-racism, Moroccans often remain an exception. While Latin American migrants are embraced within progressive circles due to linguistic and cultural ties, Moroccans continue to be marginalized. Historical grievances, economic crises, nationalist rhetoric, and rising Islamophobia have reinforced long-standing prejudices. Although official policies promote human rights and anti-discrimination measures, the perception of Moroccan migration as a security threat continues to fuel discrimination, shaping the challenges Moroccan communities face in Spain today.
National Identity or Walou: The Right-Wing Narrative
Y tu padre facha me llamaría MENA
Y yo pago los impuestos por lo meno'
Un racista que critica to' mis tema'
Es porque su hija se enamoró de un nene
Seguimos - Morad
Right-wing discourses in Spain have shaped debates on immigration, national identity, and security, often using loaded rhetoric and perpetuating stereotypes. These narratives frequently target immigrants, particularly those from Morocco, sub-Saharan Africa, and Muslim-majority countries, portraying them as threats to Spanish society.
A central theme is the framing of illegal immigration as an "invasion," particularly regarding migrants arriving by boat or crossing through Ceuta and Melilla. This rhetoric fuels fears of national identity dilution and loss of border control. Similarly, the term "MENAs" (Unaccompanied Foreign Minors) has been politicized to stigmatize young migrants, especially Moroccans, portraying them as unruly and a burden on social services.
Another key discourse is the fear of "Islamization," where Muslim immigrants are depicted as culturally incompatible with Spanish values. Concerns about mosques, Islamic dress, and religious institutions contribute to the idea that Islam threatens Spain’s secular and Catholic identity. Right-wing figures argue that Muslim communities seek to impose their beliefs, despite little evidence supporting these claims.
Economic anxieties also play a role, with the concept of "la paguita" promoting the belief that immigrants exploit Spain’s welfare system. This rhetoric ignores migrant contributions to sectors like agriculture and construction, reinforcing the false perception of immigrants as dependent on public resources.
Security fears further fuel anti-immigrant sentiment, with Moroccan and sub-Saharan migrants often stereotyped as criminals. Right-wing media frequently highlight crime rates involving immigrants, creating the perception of a public safety threat. Muslim communities are also linked to extremism, with terrorist attacks like those in Madrid (2004) and Barcelona (2017) cited to justify stricter immigration controls and surveillance measures.
By combining economic, security, and cultural fears, right-wing narratives construct a political identity based on exclusion and the defense of an "authentic" Spanish culture. These arguments shape public opinion and policy, fueling hostility toward immigrants and influencing Spain’s national identity debates.
Countering unique identities in rap discourses
“There is many people in Spain who does not like me holding this flag. But I sing in Spanish, I represent my neighbourhood, La Florida, which is in Spain, I have been born in Spain, my first love was in Spain, and truly I owe everything to Spain.”
Morad in a concert in Zurich, 22 February 2025
Debunking the "Invasion" Narrative: Migration, Identity, and Exclusion
The idea of "migration as an invasion"—a framing that portrays migrants as an existential threat to Spain's culture, economy, and social fabric—is one of the most enduring right-wing myths surrounding immigration. Arab drill artists refute the idea that their presence is an assault on Spanish identity by revealing the actual experiences of immigrant groups.
This contradiction is explicitly addressed by Morad, whose unvarnished portrayal of life in underprivileged communities is the foundation of his fame. In El Barrio featuring Guleed, he critiques the fearmongering rhetoric that labels immigrants as threats: “Niños en su habitación escuchando mi música con corazón, su padre facha y abusón, les dice: ‘No escuches al malandrón’. Malandrón por querer yo buscarme tranquilo rápidamente mi pan.” The absurdity of a father forewarning his kids not to listen to Morad's music is encapsulated in this verse, which perpetuates prejudice while ignoring the reality of social exclusion and economic hardship that his lyrics depict.
Many artists emphasize that the rejection of immigrants is often more about class than culture or religion. In El Barrio V2, El Paisano points out the hypocrisy in Spain’s immigration policies: “Los que vienen con dinero van primero. A los jeques bienvenidos caballeros, a los moros no queremos extranjeros.” His lyrics reveal how wealth determines acceptance—while rich foreign investors are welcomed, working-class migrants from the Maghreb are treated as intruders.
Beyond the systemic discrimination, these artists also shed light on the human cost of migration, challenging the criminalization of those seeking a better future. El Paisano mourns the thousands who have lost their lives in the attempt to reach Spain: “Muchos chavales murieron en pateras. Muchas vidas en mares y carreteras, mucho pobre quiere irse afuera, a pesar de que él ama su bandera.” These words serve as a stark reminder that migration is not an act of aggression but a desperate escape from hardship—one that too often ends in tragedy.
Aiman JR, whose Moroccan heritage is central to his music, uses his platform to push back against the expectation that immigrants must erase their identities to be accepted. In Orgullo Marroquí, he asserts his right to celebrate his heritage while being part of Spanish society: “Orgullo marroquí, ya se hizo normal.” His words reflect a broader struggle for recognition among immigrants, who often find themselves caught between cultures yet fully embraced by neither.
This experience of exclusion is particularly pronounced for those born in Spain to immigrant parents. Delarue, in an interview, articulates this feeling of permanent foreignness: "I was born in Spain, and I consider myself a Madrileño, not Spanish. I have never walked down the street and had a Spanish person make me feel Spanish, not once in my life. I have always felt like the Moroccan, and not even just the Moroccan, but el moro." His words reflect the common experience of many young Spaniards of immigrant descent, who, despite being born and raised in the country, are still viewed as outsiders.
Morad has shared his experiences with racism and exclusion, highlighting how being the only Moroccan student in his private school and facing economic disparities shaped his music, making him a voice for marginalized youth. Yet, despite this rejection, Morad reclaims his Spanish identity on his own terms. In a recent concert in Zurich, holding the Spanish flag, he addressed his audience: “There are many people in Spain who do not like me holding this flag. But I sing in Spanish, I represent my neighborhood, La Florida, which is in Spain, I was born in Spain, my first love was in Spain, and truly, I owe everything to Spain.” His words serve as a powerful statement—one that challenges the right-wing notion of immigrants as outsiders and instead affirms their integral place in Spanish society.
Challenging the "Islamization" Narrative
The fear of "Islamization"—the idea that the Muslim community in Spain is trying to force Islamic ideals on the general populace, endangering the nation's secularism and cultural norms—is one of the most enduring themes spread by the right-wing. Concerns regarding the building of mosques, the increasing prominence of Islamic customs like the hijab, and the alleged rise in the number of Muslims in particular cities are frequently used to characterize this danger.
Arab artists have addressed these issues in various ways. One approach is to highlight the importance of faith in shaping their values, presenting it not merely as a belief but as an integral life philosophy, as sings Delarue in La Suerte Pt. 1: “The devil tempts me, but Allah will guide me.” At the same time, they criticize the fact that, despite centuries of coexistence, Spanish society still struggles to understand many aspects of Muslim culture. “It’s unbelievable that many of my colleagues don’t understand why my mother wears a hijab or why I practice Ramadan,” says Houda, a Spanish rapper of Moroccan origin, in an interview. “How can you live with people from other cultures and not know anything about them?” she remarks, with resignation.
Another issue that arises for Moroccan men in Spanish society is the perception of who "owns" women. Right-wing supporters often accuse Arab men of "stealing" Spanish women, claiming that this undermines Spanish society. Morad addresses this issue in his song Seguimos, where he raps, “And your father, the fascist, would call me MENA, but I pay taxes, at least. A racist who criticizes all my themes does so because his daughter fell in love with a guy [Arab].”
Overall, Arab artists—whether born in Spain or immigrants—embrace their dual identity and advocate for the possibility of blending the best of both cultures.
Who Really Lives Off the State? Challenging the Myth of "La Paguita"
One of the most persistent narratives in right-wing discourse is the accusation that immigrants exploit Spain’s welfare system, portrayed as freeloaders who drain public resources without contributing. The term “la paguita”—a colloquial and often derogatory reference to social welfare payments—has become a rhetorical weapon used to paint migrants as burdens on the state.
However, artists from immigrant backgrounds have reclaimed and subverted this term, turning it into a critique of who truly benefits from state resources: working-class people or politicians. In Generación Maldita, Morad and Delarue expose this contradiction: “Algunos te ponen culo’ pa’ tener visita’, otros se parten la espalda para la paguita”—a stark contrast between those who manipulate the system for personal gain and those who toil to survive.
Beyond challenging this stereotype, artists emphasize taxation as the highest form of social contribution, countering the notion that immigrants do not give back to society. Morad explicitly addresses this in a statement that underlines both his economic contribution and the hypocrisy of anti-immigrant rhetoric:
"For now, as long as I continue living here in Spain, if I have to pay, I pay. And that's it. Everyone has to comply. I pay 47% of what I earn. If I make a million, I pay 470,000 euros. If I make two, I pay almost a million. And I'm giving it to Spain. I'm not giving it to Morocco for you to look at me with a bad face or hate me. It's staying here. So why am I worse than the politician who steals that million from you? That's why I can't believe in those things."
This perspective reflects a strong class consciousness, positioning these artists as representatives of the working class—those from the barrios—and as part of wider Spanish society in direct opposition to the political and media elite. Morad reinforces this idea in Seguimos: “Soy de la clase, la clase obrera, los que odian porque suben por más que no quieran”—a defiant assertion of working-class resilience despite systemic obstacles. Another recurring theme is the rejection of the idea that poverty equates to a lack of dignity. Morad’s well-known phrase, “Pobres pero no pobrecitos”, serves as a powerful rejection of both victimization and right-wing narratives that infantilize immigrant communities.
Artists also highlight the structural barriers faced by immigrant youth, who are often left with limited opportunities, making government assistance a necessity rather than a choice—or worse, forcing them into illegal activities for survival. In Zona Barrial, Delarue raps: “A los draris del 7ouma les toca vivir del hram, por el precio del poder o simple necesidad”, underscoring the harsh realities that push young people into difficult moral and economic dilemmas.
By addressing these issues in their music, these artists not only challenge the idea that immigrants are passive beneficiaries of the system but also expose the deeper inequalities that make survival an ongoing struggle for many in Spain’s working-class neighborhoods.
Confronting Security Issues and Extremism
Right-wing rhetoric often links immigration to security concerns, particularly in the aftermath of terrorist attacks carried out by extremists who claim to represent Islam. This has fueled heightened fears of radicalization within immigrant communities, especially among young people. The media frequently sensationalizes the idea of "homegrown terrorism," portraying immigrants as potential security threats rather than as citizens with legitimate grievances.
Artists like El Paisano have addressed this issue in their work. In his song El Barrio, he raps: “Somos los chicos de barrio, buscamos solo pa’ sacar los khawas del patio, aquellos que acusaron de terrorismo, y sufrieron esto por el racismo. Siempre es por yihadismo porque es lo que más se vende en el periodismo.” He critiques the way immigrant youth are unfairly labeled as terrorists, using their lived experiences to highlight the role of racism and sensationalized media narratives in perpetuating these stereotypes.
Another related issue is the perceived criminality and insecurity attributed to these youth, despite the lack of evidence. They often face accusations and discriminatory practices by law enforcement. This theme is a recurrent one in Morad's music, where he frequently criticizes police actions. In an interview, he addressed this issue, stating: “It’s not illegal because I’m not saying anything specific. Corrupt police, this, that. If the police are corrupt, what should I do? I have to say it in the song. What should I do if they treat us badly here? I’ll have to give my voice. If I get into trouble, it’s fine, but freedom. I’m going to sing everything I’ve lived.” Through his lyrics and statements, Morad sheds light on the systemic discrimination faced by immigrant youth.
The Role of Media in Promoting or Challenging Right-Wing Narratives
The media plays a significant role in shaping narratives, and right-wing media often promote a fear-based perspective, particularly regarding immigration. This limited portrayal can misrepresent marginalized communities, reinforcing negative stereotypes. However, social media platforms have allowed artists from these communities to bypass traditional media, spreading messages of empowerment and resistance. These artists use their voices not only to entertain but to challenge these harmful narratives, sharing their personal experiences and giving a voice to those often silenced by mainstream media.
As activist Moha Gerehou mentions, people are seeking stories that resonate with their lived experiences, particularly racialized individuals who often find themselves excluded from mainstream narratives. These artists create spaces for connection outside the dominant white-centric sector, offering a new, more inclusive discourse. The media, while sometimes attempting to highlight these artists' success, often distorts their message, focusing on negative aspects like their run-ins with justice or their confrontations with the police, instead of their broader social impact.
Morad, a prominent artist, critiques this tendency, pointing out the discrepancy between the media's portrayal of his music and the reality of his fanbase: “In the end, the people who listen to me know that it’s all a lie and just a way to tarnish my name because some people don’t like seeing me succeed.” He highlights that the media often fixates on controversy, disregarding the more complex, nuanced aspects of his career. His words emphasize the harsh scrutiny placed on individuals from marginalized backgrounds and the prejudice they face, but also the strength and resilience that emerge in response.
The media's focus on controversy, rather than understanding the artist's life and struggles, further perpetuates a damaging narrative. “It seems worse when someone like me makes a mistake—because of the way I am, the way I speak, or the way I look. But of course, I don’t take it well. I don’t like it. Because of these things, I could end up quitting music”, he denounces. Yet, despite this, the artists remain connected to their communities, finding support from their listeners who understand their true message. Morad’s refusal to let media criticism define him speaks to the resilience of those who challenge the status quo, using their art as a form of self-expression and defiance against oppressive structures. “I can't hate my life just because a politician criticizes me if 100 kids from my neighborhood love me and don't care about him.”
Conclusion: A Reimagined Spanish Identity
Through their music, these artists are redefining what it means to be Spanish in the 21st century, countering the fear-based rhetoric of the right wing with a vision that embraces cultural diversity rather than fearing it. They offer a powerful voice to marginalized communities, challenging divisive narratives and highlighting the importance of integration, respect, and shared experience. Their work is a reminder that immigration is not an invasion, that Islam is not a threat, and that social welfare is not being "exploited," but rather reflects the struggles of those seeking a better life amidst inequality.
As El Paisano aptly states, "Yo nací en Marruecos y aprendí que el respeto es lo primero. Yo crecí en España y España me enseñó a ser un guerrero." ("I was born in Morocco and learned that respect comes first. I grew up in Spain, and Spain taught me to be a warrior.") This sentiment captures the dual identity these artists navigate, blending their cultural roots with their Spanish upbringing. Through their music, they not only challenge harmful stereotypes but also shape a more inclusive, compassionate Spain where all voices are valued and the true essence of national identity is forged through unity, not division.
Now listen to it!
In our upcoming issue…
Vol. 7. C’est Marseille bébé. How Marseille became the epicentre of French Rap