Hasta la Vista, Baby!
For many Spaniards, first came love, then marriage, and then of course, a baby carriage. Then another baby, and another baby . . . and so on. The world's image of Spain as a country that stood for traditionalism and the defence of rigid Catholic values had, like most stereotypical visions, a grain of truth to it. Until the 1970s, Spain was a country where big families were not only sacred, but also received medals and free refrigerators from the government.
How times can give way to an entirely different set of cultural values and attitudes. In plain terms, Spaniards stopped making babies. The decline from 2.8 children per woman in 1975 to 1.2 in 2005 is one of the steepest in the world ñ rates that make North American women look like fertility goddesses with 2.08 children apiece. Indeed, death rates are now neck and neck with birth rates in this country of only 40 million. By 2050, even with the current influx of immigrants, Spain is expected to shed 10 million of its inhabitants ñ primarily due to the graying of its population. Worldwide, only Bulgaria, Russia and Latvia fare worse.
So why did this Mediterranean retreat that is often described as "Catholic" or "traditional" in the mainstream American media develop such a distaste for procreation? Sociologists list a plethora of disincentives for childbearing. Although, no definition is comprehensive: growing secularism, inadequate family-friendly policies, de-stigmatization of childlessness, and perhaps more importantly, economic insecurity and difficulties that young couples face in purchasing a home have been touted as possible causes for low fecundity.
According to El Pais, Spain's mainstream newspaper, the country has one of the highest unemployment rates amongst college graduates in Europe; with only 1 in 4 between the ages of 25 and 29 holding a permanent full-time position. For women, the scene is even more difficult: twice as many women as men are unemployed in Spain and 40 percent of those fortunate enough to find a job have contract or temp based positions. Indeed, these numbers partially explain why young Spaniards are struggling to become economically independent, with many unable to fly the family nest before their thirties. Statistics indicate that seven out of ten Spanish adults in their mid thirties still sleep in their childhood bedrooms, while quite a few of the remainder rely on financial hand outs from los padres because of spiraling housing prices.1
With an average salary of between 600 and 1000 euros per month, Spanish youth has been priced out of a property market that has risen by a whopping 150 percent nationwide in just seven years.2 Maria Olevar in El Pais, cites research showing that, compared to the rest of EU, Spanish youth ranks the lowest in emancipation from parents, and that it would take an "esfuerzo econÛmico sobrehumano'", (superhuman economic effort) to purchase a home in today's market. In some pockets of Madrid, prices have increased by 400 percent since 2001. And it is not unusual now for a four-bedroom apartment in the center of the capital to cost as much as 698,000 euros. Thus, far from symbolizing a Mediterranean reluctance to leave the family kitchen, the majority of young adults simply cannot afford to move out. And living with los padres, however liberal they may be, does tend to make one behave more bashfully with members of the opposite sex.
Even for those women who have managed to surpass economic obstacles and wholeheartedly embrace motherhood, there is an additional threat: mama's boy affliction. "Spain is one of those countries where an equal distribution of domestic chores has not taken root," laments Margarita Delgado of the Superior Council for Scientific Research in a report. Italy is another, she points out. Amalia Gomez, secretary general of the Social-Affairs Ministry echoes similar sentiments: "In a patriarchal society, the incorporation of a woman into the workforce means double work for woman. If women can go to work and count on the man to shoulder some of the responsibilities at home, they'll have more children." When the first baby arrives - if it arrives at all - the experience is often so distressing that women choose not to have another. Temper tantrums aside, the difficulty of juggling baby and briefcase when couch-potato husbands don't do diapers, can prove to be insurmountable in today's pace of life. Rejection of motherhood, in this context, could be interpreted as a silent form of protest.
The inadequate availability of social programs that cater to working mother's needs also provide context for the issue of vanishing babies in Spain. Fertility rates usually go hand in hand with generous family-friendly programs. A case in point: Scandinavia. All over Northern Europe women are hearing the biological clock tick loud and clear. In Iceland, Norway, Finland and Sweden, where social expenditures for families amount to almost 4 percent of GDP - compared to a mere 0.5% in Spain, fertility rates are comparatively higher.3 As far back as the 1970s, Swedish social policies offered mothers lavish maternity benefits and the right to work on an eighty percent schedule as long as a pre-school child is present at home. If you go to Norway, maternity benefit is 80 percent of full salary for 12 consecutive months after childbirth. In Sweden, parents can opt to work a shorter day until their children are eight years old, thus enabling parents to effectively balance work and home rather than opt-out from parenting altogether. Despite severe budget cuts in recent years, not a single Scandinavian government has curbed its maternity benefits. In fact, it is not unusual for politicians to compete over how to best advance further support for families. Many researchers have argued that as a result of these pro-natal policies, the proportion of Scandinavian women choosing to have children has increased steadily since the 1980s. 4
Aside from economic, and cultural factors that have played major roles in the fall of the big, traditional Spanish family, the speedy secularization of the country also deserves close attention. The Catholic Church has seen its moral influence wane across the continent; so too has Spain been shaking off the church's once Franconian ironclad grip. Evident in the empty churches across the country, regular church attendance has fallen drastically, and only 14 percent of Spanish youth describe themselves as religious, according to latest findings.5 By sharp comparison, in 1976 almost two thirds of those polled by Gallup described themselves as ëvery or practicing believers'; ten years later, only two-fifths of the population still did.6 There is no denying it: Spain is changing and it is changing fast. The waning influence of religion today has brought a flood of changes in attitudes and laws on issues from abortion and gay rights to divorce. Just a generation ago, with the Franco dictatorship dispensing cash rewards each year to women with the largest hatch, a family of six was commonplace. The sale of birth control devices was illegal in this bastion of Catholicism; women were barred from opening up a bank account under their name, let alone terminate a pregnancy.
Fast forward to 2006. The Pill is purchased easily, without a prescription. It has been quite some time that most Spaniards, including the good Catholics amongst them, have shunned contraception. Abortion and prostitution are both tolerated and legal. Sex change operations are state subsidized in Andalusia. In the summer of last year, Zapatero's socialist government extended marriage and adoption rights for gays and lesbians, incurring the wrath of the Pope; placing Spain with the Netherlands and Belgium as countries where sexual minorities enjoy full matrimonial rights, including adoption rights.
Is it possible then, rejection of maternidad fits into a general pattern of defiance against the old Franconian, patriarchal order? "I did not want to emulate the ways of the previous generations, so I followed my own heart," says Encarne de Frutos, a French language specialist in Segovia, who is intentionally childless and relishing every moment of it. "Secularization has converted motherhood from obligation to choice. I believe in family, though not necessarily the old-fashioned kind," she says, sipping her cafe con leche.7 Poised and confident in her demeanor, she is certain that giving into the biological imperative, would have spelled the end of everything she had strived for in life: material comfort, freedom, and choice. Like their American and French counterparts before them, many Spaniards have now discovered ëyuppiedom' and want to enjoy life, revel in the moment, and let go of the weight of the past. Marriage and babies can wait for years, perhaps for many years to come.
Allusions to Spain's, and in general Europe's ëageing population' are commonplace now. A sense of pessimism pervades the media on this issue. We routinely speak of the birth dearth in the same manner we speak of the ravages of a hurricane, or the shifting of grand tectonic plates. All the while, we remain oblivious to the advantages the up-and-coming generation will have; one of which will be the wide availability of jobs when they get older. Also, for the present, fewer students in schools, has meant better student-teacher ratio. Simply, today's kids get better access to the best of toys, clothes, and education. "The mentality of my generation is different," says Juan Jimenez, 37, of Madrid who has decided to "stop at one child." 8 The trend is toward "reducing family size and providing quality education." After all, isn't it quality and not quantity that counts in the greater scheme of things?
1 Spain to help young adults flee the nest, The Guardian, July 20, 2006
2 Rising prices trap Spanish young at home, Daily Telegraph, July 28, 2006
3 Europe’s Demographic Challenge, www.hwwa.de
4 Norway's welfare model helps birth rate, BBC, 28 March 2006
5 Church’s influence waning in Spain, Washington Post, April 11, 2005
6 Who speaks for Spain, World politics and current affairs, March 11, 1989
7 Conversation with Encarne, February, 2006
8 Interview with Juan Jimenez, September, 2006
