The quiet southeastern Spanish town of Jumilla, nestled in the sun-baked Murcia region, has found itself at the center of a heated national and international debate after its local council approved a ban on religious gatherings in public sports centers—a measure that, in practice, overwhelmingly affects the town’s Muslim minority. Passed on August 1, 2025, the controversial ordinance prohibits the use of municipal sports facilities and civic centers for any cultural, social, or religious activities considered “foreign to the City Council,” unless they are organized by the municipality itself. The immediate effect: local Muslims, who make up about 1,500 of Jumilla’s 27,000 residents, can no longer celebrate their two most important religious holidays—Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha—in the large public spaces they have used for years.
This is the first such prohibition of its kind in Spain, and it comes at a time when questions of national identity, religious freedom, and integration are roiling not just Spain, but much of Europe. According to DW News Agency, the ban was originally proposed by the far-right Vox party, which sought a complete ban on Islamic events. In a twist, Vox abstained during the final vote, allowing Mayor Seve Gonzalez of the conservative Popular Party to pass a revised version. Still, Vox wasted little time in celebrating the outcome. Posting on X (formerly Twitter), the party declared, “Spain is and will be forever the land of Christian people.”
Vox’s spokesperson Alba Franco didn’t mince words, linking Muslim gatherings to “insecurity” and warning of “Islamisation” in the region. The party’s rhetoric, echoed on social media, framed the ban as a defense of Spanish traditions against activities “alien to our identity.” The local council itself justified the measure as an effort to “promote and preserve traditional values and cultural identity.”
But critics, both within Spain and abroad, have been quick to call out the ban as discriminatory and dangerous. Spain's Migration Minister Elma Saiz was among the first to react, telling Antena 3 that the policy was “shameful” and urging Jumilla’s leaders to “take a step back” and apologize to residents. She emphasized that such policies harm “citizens who have been living for decades in our towns, in our cities, in our country, contributing and perfectly integrated without any problems of coexistence.”
Muslim organizations, too, have condemned the move. Mohamed El Ghaidouni, secretary of the Union of Islamic Communities of Spain, described the ban as “institutionalised Islamophobia,” arguing that it directly contradicts the Spanish state’s protections for religious freedom. Walid Habbal, coordinator of the Islamic Commission of Murcia, called the decision “a step backwards” and “a lack of respect.” Mounir Benjelloun Andaloussi Azhari, president of the Spanish Federation of Islamic Organisations, expressed his alarm: “For the first time in 30 years I feel afraid,” he said, accusing Jumilla’s government of “going after” Muslims and labeling the ban “Islamophobic and discriminatory.”
The controversy has even drawn the attention of international bodies. Miguel Moratinos, the United Nations special envoy to combat Islamophobia, said he was “shocked” by Jumilla’s decision and expressed “deep concern about the rise in xenophobic rhetoric and Islamophobic sentiments in some regions in Spain.” In a statement, he warned, “The decision undermines the right to freedom of thought, conscience, and religion as enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Policies that single out or disproportionately affect one community pose a threat to social cohesion and erode the principle of living together in peace.”
Spain’s Catholic bishops, often seen as guardians of the country’s Christian heritage, also criticized the ban for violating fundamental rights. Their stance underscores the complexity of the issue: while the ban’s supporters claim to defend Christian values, some of the nation’s most prominent Christian leaders see it as an affront to those very principles.
Spain’s Ombudsman Ángel Gabilondo has launched an official inquiry into the measure, requesting that Jumilla’s authorities clarify how they will ensure religious groups can exercise their right to worship in public spaces and what alternative arrangements will be made for large religious ceremonies. This investigation, reported by DW News Agency, puts additional pressure on local officials to justify the ban’s legality and fairness.
The roots of the ban, however, run deeper than a simple municipal ordinance. It follows a wave of anti-migrant tension in the region. On July 9, 2025, in the nearby town of Torre-Pacheco—where about 18 percent of the 35,000 residents are of African origin—an elderly local was allegedly attacked by three Moroccan men. The incident ignited two nights of violent protests, with locals reportedly arming themselves with baseball bats and targeting North African migrants. A kebab shop was vandalized, and 14 people were arrested. Right-wing groups, including Vox, used social media to rally support for action against migrants. The ban in Jumilla, many argue, is a reaction to these events, a move designed to appease rising nationalist sentiment and fears of cultural change.
The measure’s legal standing is also in question. Article 16 of the Spanish Constitution guarantees “freedom of ideology, religion and worship of individuals and communities,” with restrictions allowed only as necessary to maintain public order. The constitution further states that “no religion [in Spain] shall have a state character” and that public authorities “shall take into account the religious beliefs of Spanish society.” While 56.1 percent of Spaniards identify as Catholic, Spain officially has no state religion and is committed to the protection of religious plurality.
For many, the ban is especially painful given Spain’s long and complex history of religious coexistence. For nearly 800 years, much of Spain—Jumilla included—was under Muslim rule. The period known as Al Andaluz, from the early eighth to late fifteenth centuries, saw Muslims, Jews, and Christians living, working, and creating together. Cities like Córdoba and Granada became centers of learning and culture, and their legacy is still visible today in Spain’s language, architecture, and traditions. As Juana Guardiola, a former Socialist mayor of Jumilla, asked pointedly, “What do they mean by identity? And what about the centuries of Muslim legacy here?”
The debate in Jumilla is not unique. Similar measures have appeared elsewhere in Europe. In Monfalcone, Italy, a 2024 ban on prayers in a cultural center led to protests by some 8,000 people, and the city’s Muslim community is now appealing the measure in court. Such incidents reflect a broader continental struggle over nationalism, immigration, and the nature of European identity in the 21st century.
As the investigation by Spain’s Ombudsman unfolds and criticism mounts from religious leaders, human rights advocates, and international observers, the people of Jumilla—and Spain as a whole—face a fundamental question: What does it mean to belong? For now, the answer remains hotly contested, with the town’s Muslim residents caught in the crossfire of a battle over history, identity, and the future of Spanish pluralism.
