Rubielos de Mora, Spain: 30 of 110 refugees already have jobs

Thirty of the 110 refugees in Rubielos de Sarracena already work, and the village looks in the mirror

In Rubielos de Sarracena (Teruel, Spain) there are 110 refugees housed by ACCEN. Thirty of them already have jobs, according to the local press. The news has landed like a bucket of cold water on those who have spent years looking for the same thing in that same region without finding it. The question is not whether the story is heartwarming. The question is why it works for some and not for others.

What the news says and what is reported in the Teruel press

The headline circulating these days is explicit: "Facing a labour shortage, local employers have facilitated their entry into the workforce and provided them with housing". The protagonists of the photo are Abduly and Papa Moctar Diop. Employers in the area, the report says, have gone all out. Thirty of the 110 refugees already work for companies in the area and, according to the story, want to learn a trade.

So far, the feel-good part. The problem appears when you compare it with what happens to any Spaniard who arrives new in that region. Access to rural jobs works through word of mouth, through family networks and through contacts a newcomer does not have. Access to housing works through payslips, contracts and guarantors a newcomer also does not have. And here, all of a sudden, offers arrive without anyone having to apply, dress up for an interview, or call three times to find out if they got the job.

The networking that does not exist for those arriving from outside

There is one detail that sums up the asymmetry: the refugees do not need to look for work. Employers go to them. No printed CV, no scanning of qualifications, no car to get to the interview, no months living off savings while heating the house in winter. The machine works in reverse: employers' associations bring the offers to the doorstep and someone with a translator explains that a paper will be signed tomorrow.

Those who know the area tell it without embellishment. Renting even a hovel starts at 600 euros a month, and you must present your last three payslips and a contract to qualify. On Idealista, as of today, there is one flat listed at 500 euros, but it is temporary and there are only three. A car is mandatory to widen your job options. Heating eats up ten months of expenses. And the whole search process falls on the candidate, who also acts as a walking errand service: printing, scanning, calling, waiting.

The magic of being a refugee in Spain, sums up with a smirk someone who assists newcomers in the region. Full board while looking for work, a team of all-in-one case managers, and access to sustainable housing once you start earning.

Why don't Spaniards take those jobs?

The answer given by the employers themselves is the labour shortage. The answer given by critics is a different one: the jobs are subsidised. It is pointed out that hiring people in an irregular situation or going through a regularisation process comes with tax breaks, and that this explains the enthusiasm. It is also pointed out that the real business lies in the clientelist networks that manage the reception system, with public funding per place and per day.

The calculation circulating in the sector is striking: 145 euros per place per day to co-finance reception, accommodation, food and integration of unaccompanied minors, which works out at 52,925 euros per minor per year. With that money, part of the analysis argues, an employer's salary can be paid under the table in exchange for pretending to hire, and everyone goes home happy.

The other leg of the argument is demographic. It claims there is an attempt at forced population replacement, that Spanish men are an endangered species while Spanish women enjoy the newcomers, who are overwhelmingly men. It is a thesis repeated insistently, and it is not backed by any data in the thread. It is framed as suspicion, not as fact.

The village that empties out and the house that never rents

There is one fact that unsettles those who defend the replacement theory: the villages of Teruel are emptying out on their own. The population is fleeing those holes. There is no work, rent is expensive for what is on offer, and the climate is extreme. Tens of thousands of Spaniards would not fight over a 1,500-euro job with a village boss, paying 600 for housing and needing a car. Even those who claim the arrival of refugees is a threat admit as much.

The logical consequence would be that the newcomers will leave too. And here the forecast splits. Some argue that as soon as they get their papers and can claim benefits, they will bolt for the big European city: France, Switzerland, Germany or Sweden. Others point out that migration works through family networks, and that someone who knows nobody in Europe will not bother trying. Those who leave are the ones with contacts abroad.

They are just passing through, people used to say. It is the phrase repeated every time a reception centre opens. And it is also the phrase that avoids opening the underlying debate: why the same state that rolls out the red carpet for some does not do so for those who have lived in the village all their lives.

The mirror of empty Spain

The most uncomfortable comparison is the treatment. Anyone assisting Spaniards who move to the countryside to make a living encounters a list of obstacles: no rentals, the few available demand three payslips, everything works through contacts, you have to survive months on savings, heating is a rip-off and without a car there is nothing to be done. Nobody brings job offers to their door. Nobody provides a translator. Nobody signs a contract for them while they sleep.

The question left hanging is not whether the refugees deserve help. It is why the help is designed as a comprehensive service for some and as a maze for others. And why, when someone points out the contradiction, the usual response is to accuse them of failing to realise that employers benefit too.

Thirty out of 110 already work. The other eighty are waiting. In the same village, in the same region, there are Spaniards who have spent years waiting for the same thing. Nobody has called them on the phone to offer them the job.