Over a month ago, several Saudi newspapers reported the arrest of five men in a massage parlor in Jeddah—a coastal city along the Red Sea and an economic hub of the country. The specifics of the arrests were initially unclear, but it soon became evident that this was not an isolated incident. A few days later, reports emerged of three women being detained in a different region of the Kingdom. The allegations suggested their involvement in activities related to organized exploitation or human trafficking.
Shortly thereafter, the crackdown extended to the capital, Riyadh, where children were found begging on the streets, accompanied by adults suspected of being part of criminal networks specializing in exploiting vulnerable individuals. What initially appeared as a series of unrelated incidents soon revealed itself as a nationwide operation.
According to investigations by the Financial Times, approximately 50 men and women have been arrested across the Kingdom in coordinated actions led by a newly established special unit within the Ministry of Interior. This unit bears the formal title: General Department for Community Security and Combating Human Trafficking Crimes.
This police unit was specifically created to combat modern forms of slavery, forced labor, sexual exploitation, and the commercial exploitation of children and other particularly vulnerable groups. Its establishment is part of Saudi Arabia’s efforts to improve its international image, especially in light of regular criticism from Western countries and human rights organizations regarding the nation’s human rights standards.
The recent arrests demonstrate the Saudi leadership’s official commitment to addressing these issues. However, observers interpret these actions as part of a public relations strategy aimed at showcasing the Kingdom’s alignment with international conventions. It remains questionable whether these measures will lead to structural changes in the treatment of migrant workers, women, and children, or if they are merely isolated, publicity-driven actions.
This police unit was recently established to, according to the ministry, prosecute crimes that violate personal rights, infringe upon fundamental freedoms guaranteed by Sharia and law, or compromise individual dignity in any way. So far, the special unit appears to be primarily targeting prostitution and begging, activities that were previously officially nonexistent in Saudi Arabia.
The country was previously strictly isolated until Crown Prince and de facto ruler Mohammed bin Salman began opening it up: women are now allowed to drive, attend cinemas, and participate in sports events where they can also interact with men. Shop owners are no longer required to close their businesses five times a day for prayer.
Previously, the religious police, known as the Committee for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice, or Mutawa, monitored women’s veiling and public behavior, often leading to arbitrary arrests and harassment. Over the past ten years, the Crown Prince has effectively abolished the religious police, relegating the remaining members to desk duties. Many Saudis joked that the most important authority since then has been the General Entertainment Authority, which organizes concerts and has transformed the country into a kind of amusement park.
This image appeals to Mohammed bin Salman. The Crown Prince is revered by Saudi youth; he has secured the 2034 FIFA World Cup for his country. However, Saudi Arabia remains, in large parts, an ultra-conservative nation that is concerned about its reputation in the Islamic world as the guardian of the holy sites.
Previously, the country was difficult to access; today, visitors can obtain a “Visa on Arrival” at the airport. Yet, not all guests are apparently welcome. “If such immoral and illegal practices were previously conducted in secret, those who engage in them today should never feel that they can appear in public without consequences,” wrote columnist Khalid al-Sulaiman in the government-affiliated daily Okaz. He refers primarily to sex workers who have recently advertised their services quite openly in Saudi Arabia, similar to other Gulf states.
Human rights groups, however, fear that the newly initiated law enforcement could eventually lead to arbitrariness, potentially resembling the former moral police. “The proper way to monitor human trafficking or sex work is through clearly defined laws that narrowly constrain behavior, not vague regulations about ‘morality’ and ‘dignity’ that open the door to arbitrary arrests and prosecutions,” said Sarah Leah Whitson of Democracy for the Arab World Now (DAWN) to the news portal Middle East Eye.
Ultimately, openness and repression in Saudi Arabia have been conspicuously intertwined for years—almost like two sides of the same coin. On one hand, under Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, the Kingdom presents itself as a modern, reform-oriented state that is reinventing itself economically, socially, and culturally. The ambitious Vision 2030 aims to reduce dependence on oil, expand tourism, grant women more rights, and liberalize public life. Concerts by international stars, film screenings, a revitalized tourism sector, and the lifting of the driving ban for women are all measures intended to showcase the country to the world as open and forward-thinking.
Yet, in parallel, domestic repression has noticeably intensified. Human rights organizations report an increasing number of politically motivated arrests, harsh sentences against government critics and activists, and a judicial system lacking transparency. Particularly striking is the rise in executions. In 2022 and 2023, more death sentences were carried out than in previous years—many for alleged terrorism offenses or “anti-state activities,” terms that can be broadly and vaguely interpreted in Saudi Arabia.
This contradictory policy was also evident in early March at the beginning of the fasting month of Ramadan: Abdulaziz al-Howairini, the head of Saudi state security, made a remarkable appeal to opposition members living abroad, inviting them to return to the country. The tone was officially conciliatory, almost paternal. Those who had not actually committed a crime but only “entertained the thought” could be helped, said al-Howairini. The state would “address this issue and fix it.”
To underscore this appeal, a dedicated return hotline was even set up—a phone number that exiled Saudis can call if they are willing to come back. The message seems clear: those who repent or submit may be granted forgiveness. But how credible is such an offer in a country where prominent human rights advocates like Loujain al-Hathloul or Salman al-Odah have been imprisoned for years for peacefully expressing their opinions—sometimes subjected to torture and solitary confinement?
Critics fear that the initiative is primarily a means of monitoring and intimidating the diaspora, rather than a sincere gesture of reconciliation. The repatriation campaign appears to be yet another measure within a broader strategy through which Saudi Arabia stages openness while silencing dissent. Those who conform are embraced. Those who dissent must face the full force of the system.
Saudi Arabia’s dual strategy—modernization outwardly, authoritarian control inwardly—is no accident. It is not a temporary contradiction but an integral part of the political calculus of the current leadership. And it poses a dilemma for the international community: How should one deal with a partner that presents itself as liberal, yet grows increasingly authoritarian at home?
