Spain faces record low birth rates and social stigma toward babies

Record low birth rates and contempt for babies in Spain

Calling a newborn by the name of an insect larva is not just the eccentricity of a few outliers. It is a symptom of a country that has stopped reproducing and has learned to speak of its children as if they were a plague. The question is direct: why has this derogatory term taken root exactly where the fewest children are being born? The answer is less biological and more economic.

Why do babies trigger empathy in almost any adult?

The first explanation offered is instinct. A human baby is designed to provoke care: they cry to create urgency, smile to evoke tenderness, and their absolute dependency activates a hard-wired response. The initial premise suggests this mechanism is not exclusive to parents: anyone who spends time with a baby ends up feeling something akin to protection, even those who previously had no interest in strollers.

It is also argued that this effect leaves a measurable mark. Studies using electrodes reportedly record changes in the brain structures of those caring for a baby, not just the mother. The adoption of non-biological offspring by the species is presented as proof that this mechanism works even without a biological bond. That is the thesis: empathy toward children is not a choice; it is hardwired.

From care instinct to rejection: explaining the derogatory term

And yet, popular language has found a shortcut to naming children that sounds like pest control. The term larvas (larvae), applied to babies and children, is the centerpiece of this phenomenon, and explanations vary. One side maintains that the contempt is not aimed at the child but at the mother, who is blamed for the conflict; another reads it as outright denial—from those who wanted children but could not have them or did not dare to.

There is a third way, less psychological and more sociological: contact with babies has plummeted. Families are smaller, there are fewer siblings and cousins, and schools and nurseries occupy the time that used to be spent in the arms of the family. If instinct is activated by exposure, less exposure means less available tenderness. Some summarize this as the symptom of a sick society, while others argue it is just a word whose meaning depends on the tone in which it is spoken.

Studying until 30 and earning a decent wage at 40

The most frequent objection has nothing to do with empathy: it is material. A lack of economic, job, and political stability is cited as the real barrier. The argument is bluntly stated: if you finish studying at 30 and do not find a decent job until 40—if you find one at all—there is no life plan that goes beyond mere survival. And without a settled life, it is concluded, the sensible thing is not to have children.

The counter-argument is historical. No one has ever had children with a settled life, it is argued: humanity has reproduced under infinitely worse conditions. As recounted in the thread, during the Middle Ages, around 50% of babies did not reach their first year, many due to common illnesses with high fevers, and infanticide—due to illegitimacy or extreme poverty—was a cause of infant mortality. This uncomfortable fact serves to dismantle the idea that raising children requires an orderly life.

Spain's birth rate year by year: from 12.64‰ to 7.52‰

The numbers are tightening. The crude birth rate series cited shows a continuous decline:

• 2021: 7.52‰
• 2020: 8.52‰
• 2019: 10.41‰
• 2018: 10.86‰
• 2017: 12.64‰

Five years, a drop of nearly five points. The complete series, with its associated indicators, shows a downward slope that no birth plan has managed to reverse. That the collapse coincides with the spread of derogatory vocabulary toward children is, at the very least, a suggestive coincidence.

Does more money miccionan more children? What Japan and India show

The pattern repeats elsewhere. It is argued that the wealthier a country is, the fewer children it has, and that this is a global trend. Japan, one of the world's three largest economies, has had minimal birth rates for decades; India, by reducing its fertility, has boosted its gross domestic product. The conclusion drawn is uncomfortable for the narrative that blames precariousness: high-GDP countries are not exactly the ones with the most children.

On the other hand, there is distrust in the figures. Some claim that data from countries like Iran—1.8 children per woman—or China are inflated, and that the abolition of the one-child policy did not change things as much as is claimed. The discussion ends in a stalemate: some see an economic law, others see demographic propaganda.

Blaming the government and blaming women

The political shift arrives quickly. One part of the opinions attributes the falling birth rate to specific public policies and a cultural shift that has reordered the priorities of an entire generation; another responds that the problem is the lack of economic, job, and political stability, and that without looking at those numbers, no diagnosis is possible. In parallel, one line of the exchange drifted toward anti-immigration sentiment, an argument that does not answer the initial question and, in this matter, functions more as a vent than an analysis.

With birth rates declining and contact with babies at record lows, it is likely that derogatory vocabulary will not disappear: it will be recycled. It remains to be seen whether any public plan will tackle the real cost of raising a child, or if we will continue debating the name while the cradles are emptied.