The Bou Craa Conveyor System, a nearly 100-kilometer-long industrial conveyor belt transports phosphate rock from the interior mine deposits directly to the Atlantic Ocean for global export. Photo: The Cradle.
By The Cradle’s N. Africa Correspondent – Aug 3, 2026
Trump’s naming of a highway in occupied Western Sahara exposes the network of political, economic, and royal interests linking Morocco, Israel, and the US through phosphate, trade, and occupation.
There is a machine in the Sahara you can see from space. A conveyor belt, the longest on earth, nearly one hundred kilometers of steel from a mine called Bou Craa to the Atlantic. For half a century it has moved phosphate out of occupied Western Sahara, through wars, ceasefires, and a promised referendum that never came. The richest layer of the deposit is already gone, sold before the Sahrawis could ever vote on it. And the electricity that keeps the belt running is sold to the state by a wind farm belonging to the king.
On 26 July, US President Donald Trump announced that the highway running past this machine now carries his name. The announcement arrived as a four-minute Truth Social video, narrated by an obvious AI voice praising his “historic courage.” Rabat, six days on, has not said the name out loud. It does not need to. The name was never the payment.
The road is. It is 1,055 kilometers of settlement poured across Africa’s last colony, the kind of road empires have always built and named for themselves. It connects the mine, the port, an Israeli-held offshore block, and the duty-free fertilizer now sailing for New Orleans under an emergency Washington manufactured itself. Follow it far enough and the asphalt runs from phosphate to palace.
An occupation, bought in installments
Every payment has a paper trail, and this one begins five years before the name. The convention that built the road was signed in the presence of Moroccan King Mohammed VI in El-Aaiun (also known as Laayoune) in 2015, on the 40th anniversary of the Green March, at a cost of 10 billion Moroccan dirhams (MAD) – or around $1.074 billion. Morocco poured its annexation in asphalt, as empires always have, long before Washington blessed it. What arrived in December 2020 was not the road. It was the signature.
Morocco became the fourth Arab state to normalize relations with the occupation state, and in exchange the US recognized Moroccan sovereignty over the whole of Western Sahara. Jared Kushner, Trump’s son-in-law, negotiated the deal and supplied the doctrine, likening the Sahara recognition to Trump’s recognition of Israeli sovereignty over the occupied Golan Heights. One occupation legitimized on the template of another. The architect said it so no analyst has to.
Tel Aviv paid its own installment in July 2023, when Netanyahu sent Mohammed VI a letter recognizing the Moroccan claim. A senior Moroccan official explained what the letter was for – Rabat expects the recognition to encourage Israeli investment in the territory. Recognition as prospectus. This is trans-Zionism as designed: the occupation state sets the template, Washington executes, the client kingdom collects.
What the road runs past
South of El-Aaiun, the machine comes back into view. The Bou Craa mine feeds its conveyor belt to the harbor at El-Aaiun, where bulk vessels have carried the territory’s wealth abroad since 1975. According to the figures of the world’s largest phosphate and fertilizer producer, Morocco’s OCP Group, Bou Craa delivers around a fifth of the company’s exports from just eight percent of its extracted volume. That is what occupations are for.
The quality tells its own story. Bou Craa’s deposit sits in two layers, and Western Sahara Resource Watch, which tracks every bulk shipment out of El-Aaiun, documented that Morocco has practically sold off the high-grade layer that should have been available to the Sahrawi people, mining the poorer second seam since 2014. What remains is the residue.
None of this is legally ambiguous. The UN’s legal counsel concluded in 2002 that further exploitation of the territory’s resources against the wishes of its people would violate international law. A South African court ruled in 2018 that ownership of a phosphate cargo from El-Aaiun was never lawfully vested in OCP at all. The company ships stolen goods. A court has said so. The road Trump wants his name on is the overland artery of that trade.
An emergency of Washington’s own making
The American market took the long way round. In 2021, Washington slapped a 19.97 percent countervailing duty on OCP after Florida’s Mosaic Company complained of subsidized competition. The rate yo-yoed for five years until a trade court cut it to 2.11 percent in December 2025 and Washington quietly dropped its appeal. Then came the war.
Washington’s strikes on Iran choked the Strait of Hormuz, the artery for roughly a third of the world’s seaborne fertilizer trade. Prices climbed, farmers rationed, and on 29 June Trump declared a national emergency under a Depression-era clause of the 1930 Tariff Act, suspending the duties entirely. The suspension is time-bound, not volume-bound: a USDA official confirmed OCP can ship unlimited tonnage for eight months. Washington set fire to the supply chain, declared an emergency over the smoke, and handed the normalization partner the keys to the American market.
Now examine what sails in. North African sedimentary phosphate is naturally high in cadmium, a carcinogen the EU capped at 60 milligrams per kilo in its fertilizers. OCP’s response was to lobby against the cap, hiring Dechert LLP and Edelman and proposing Brussels raise the limit to 80. The US has no comparable federal ceiling, leaving oversight to a patchwork of state rules. Europe’s restricted rock has found a market with no thermostat. American capital wasted no time: two weeks after the proclamation, US-based firm Koch Ag signed a joint venture stake in OCP’s fertilizer complex at Jorf Lasfar. The same conglomerate poured half a billion dollars into the occupation state’s tech sector through its investment arm Koch Disruptive Technologies (KDT), built under Eli Groner, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s former top civil servant, settled in the occupied West Bank.
From phosphate to palace
Tracing the flow of revenue shows that it extends beyond the state treasury. OCP belongs to the Moroccan state. But the throne sits atop a parallel structure: the royal family controls roughly 60 percent of the Al-Mada conglomerate through personal holdings named SIGER and ERGIS, both derived from regis, Latin for king, feeding a fund in which Mohammed VI holds 50.6 percent. SIGER’s director, Mounir Majidi, is also the king’s private secretary: one man running the head of state’s office and the family vault.
Al-Mada’s energy arm, Nareva, is where the phosphate money turns royal. The wind farm at Foum el-Oued, built by a wholly-owned Nareva subsidiary, supplies nearly all the electricity OCP needs to mine Bou Craa, run the conveyor belt, and wash the rock for export. The state plunders the phosphate. The king sells the state the power that does the plundering. Every tonne leaving El-Aaiun has burned royal electricity first. All but one wind farm in the occupied territory sits in Nareva’s portfolio, and WSRW poses the question that answers itself: why would a king who profits from occupation ever back a UN peace process?
Moroccan outlet Barlamane reported that quantities invoiced on the expressway far exceeded the work actually built, prompting the equipment minister to bar the implicated survey bureau from public contracts for five years. On the road to Dakhla, even the overcharging is infrastructure.
The name was never the payment
Empires have always paved roads through conquered land and called it civilization. Rome did it, France did it in this same desert, and in July 2026 the tradition produced its densest month yet: duty-free phosphate sailing for New Orleans, Kosh Ag signing into Jorf Lasfar, and an American president naming a highway across a territory that was never Morocco’s to give. The belt at Bou Craa keeps turning, the royal turbines keep spinning, the receipts keep printing – and the only thing Rabat has still not done is say the name out loud.
