If Britain backs Morocco’s claim over Western Sahara, why not Argentina’s claim to the Falklands?
By Sidi Ahmed Lyadasi, President of Adala UK | June 2025
Britain’s New Position on Western Sahara Signals a Troubling Double Standard
In April 2025, with little fanfare and scant public debate, the United Kingdom shifted its official position on one of Africa’s longest-running conflicts. In a notable diplomatic realignment, the UK declared Morocco’s 2007 autonomy plan for Western Sahara to be the “most credible, serious and realistic” basis for resolving the dispute. Though carefully worded, the UK’s language mirrored that of France and the United States, and aligned it more closely with Rabat’s narrative.
To the average observer, this may seem like a dry geopolitical footnote. But for those who believe in the universality of rights, especially the right of all peoples to self-determination, this move represents something far more serious: a dangerous departure from principle and an act of political inconsistency.
Indeed, it raises a fundamental question: if the UK is prepared to support Morocco’s claim over Western Sahara—a territory the UN still considers non-self-governing, and whose people have never had a chance to vote on their future—why should the world continue to support Britain’s position in other territorial disputes, like those over the Falkland Islands or Gibraltar?
If London believes Rabat’s autonomy plan is acceptable for the Sahrawi people—without their consent—what moral ground remains to oppose, say, Argentina’s claim over the Falklands, or Spain’s longstanding position on Gibraltar?
The Right to Self-Determination Is Not Optional
At the heart of the Western Sahara issue is a simple but powerful principle: the right of a people to determine their own political status. Enshrined in Article 1 of the UN Charter and reaffirmed repeatedly by the International Court of Justice and the General Assembly, this right is not conditional on political convenience, economic interests, or strategic alliances.
In 1975, as Spain withdrew from its former colony, the International Court of Justice ruled that Morocco’s historical ties to the territory were insufficient to justify sovereignty, and that the people of Western Sahara were entitled to determine their own future through a free and fair referendum.
That referendum has never happened. Instead, Morocco unilaterally annexed the territory, sparking a war with the Polisario Front, the internationally recognised representative of the Sahrawi people. A UN-brokered ceasefire in 1991 was supposed to pave the way for the long-promised vote. But the process has been frozen ever since, largely due to disputes—often fuelled by Morocco—over voter eligibility and political terms.
In the meantime, Moroccan occupation has aggressively expanded its control over the territory, built a 2,700-kilometre militarised sand wall (the “berm”), and promoted a costly settlement policy in the occupied zones. Thousands of Sahrawis live in refugee camps in southern Algeria, while those still inside Western Sahara face repression, arbitrary detention, and surveillance—documented extensively by human rights organisations.
Despite this, Morocco’s occupation proposal of limited autonomy under its sovereignty—offered without the option of independence—has increasingly gained international favour, culminating in recent endorsements by Washington, Paris, and now, London.
For the UK, this shift is not merely a policy update—it is a breach of a long-standing moral and legal standard that underpins its own international credibility. It is, quite plainly, an abandonment of the decolonisation principles that Britain has long claimed to defend.
Double Standards: The Falkland Islands and Gibraltar
The contradiction is starkest when viewed through the lens of Britain’s own territorial disputes. In the South Atlantic, the UK asserts sovereignty over the Falkland Islands, known in Argentina as the Islas Malvinas. Argentina claims the islands were unlawfully taken by Britain in 1833 and continues to press its case through diplomatic and international forums.
The UK, however, consistently rebuffs these claims by invoking the right of the Falkland Islanders themselves. In a 2013 referendum, 99.8% of them voted to remain a British Overseas Territory. That vote, London insists, settles the matter. The wishes of the people come first.
But if that principle is sacrosanct in the Falklands, why is it dispensable in Western Sahara? The Sahrawis have never had the opportunity to vote in any meaningful way on their future. The referendum they were promised has been obstructed at every turn.
A similar contradiction exists in Gibraltar. Spain has long claimed sovereignty over the territory, but the people of Gibraltar have twice rejected proposals for shared governance—in 1967 and again in 2002. The UK has firmly maintained that their will is the only legitimate basis for any resolution.
Yet when it comes to the Sahrawis, Britain is now endorsing a plan that was never subject to popular approval and that explicitly denies the possibility of full independence. It is a selective reading of international law, driven by expediency rather than consistency.
Realpolitik in Disguise
Some policymakers argue that the UK’s support for Morocco is simply a reflection of diplomatic pragmatism. Rabat is a key counterterrorism partner, a gateway to African markets, and a strategic ally in the Sahel region. The autonomy plan, they claim, is the only realistic path forward in a frozen conflict.
But realism without principle is a slippery slope. If the UK is prepared to cast aside the right to self-determination in Western Sahara for strategic reasons, what is to stop other countries from doing the same elsewhere? What moral leverage will the UK have when defending its overseas territories in the future?
Suppose China or Russia began recognising Argentina’s claim to the Falklands as the “most credible and realistic” solution, bypassing the will of the islanders altogether. Would Britain accept that logic, or denounce it as a cynical violation of international norms?
This is the danger of diplomacy unmoored from principle: it opens the door to selective enforcement, hypocrisy, and the erosion of the very legal framework the UK depends on to protect its own interests.
What Is at Stake
Western Sahara has often been called “Africa’s last colony.” But it is also a test case for the integrity of the international system. For nearly five decades, the Sahrawi people have waited for the world to honour its promise of self-determination. Instead, they are being offered a predetermined outcome disguised as a compromise.
Britain’s new stance is not just a betrayal of the Sahrawis—it is a betrayal of its own professed values. It sends a message to the world that rights are negotiable, and that the principle of consent is subject to geopolitical convenience.
For a country that claims to uphold the rule of law, that prides itself on supporting freedom and democracy around the globe, and that relies on those principles to defend its own territorial integrity, this is a dangerous and short-sighted precedent.
The UK may see short-term gains in siding with Morocco. But in doing so, it weakens the foundations of its own international legitimacy. What Britain now supports abroad may very well be used against it tomorrow.